The Black Pearl

by Mrs. Wilson Woodrow

  CHAPTER VIII

  The train which bore Pearl and her father to Colina had alreadycompleted its smooth progress through smiling foot hills and had begun asteep and winding ascent among wild gorges and great overhanging rocksbefore she noticed the change.

  For the greater part of the journey she had sat motionless, huddled in acorner of the seat, a thick veil covering her face; but now she began toobserve the physical changes in the landscape with a sombersatisfaction, and, for the first time, accepted the mountainslistlessly, almost gratefully, instead of rebelliously. In truth anychange was grateful to her; she did not want to think of the desert orbe reminded of it, and this transition, so marked, so sharply defined asto make the brief railway journey from the plains below seem the passageto another world, was especially welcome.

  The human desire for change is rooted in the conviction, a vain anddeceptive one, that an entirely different environment must include orcreate a new world of thought and emotion. So for once the Pearl'sdesire was for the hills. She who had ever exulted in the wide, freespaces of the desert, who had found the echo of her own heart in itseternal mutation, its luring illusions, its mystery and its beauty, nowturned to the austere, shadowed, silent mountains as if begging them toenfold her and hold her and hide her.

  It was dark when they reached Colina, but a station wagon awaited themand in this they drove through the village, a straggling settlement, thenarrow plateau permitting only two streets, both of them continuationsof the mountain roads, and surrounded by high mountains. Scatteringlights showed here and there from lamps shining through cabin windows,but the silence, differing in kind if not in degree from the desertsilence, was only broken at this hour of the night by the desolate,mocking bark of the coyotes.

  Clear of the village, the horses turned and began to mount the hillwhich led to Gallito's isolated cabin. Their progress was necessarilyslow, for the road was rough and full of deep ruts. The velvetyblackness of a mountain night was all about them and even the latespring air seemed icy cold. Pearl had begun to shiver in spite of herwraps when the light from a cabin window gleamed across the road and thedriver pulled up his horses.

  "Somebody's waiting for you," said the driver.

  "Yes, Saint Harry," answered Gallito. "He's getting supper for us."

  The door, however, was not opened for them and it was not until thedriver had turned his horses down the hill that they heard a boltwithdrawn. Then Gallito pushed in and Pearl followed, stepping wearilyacross the threshold.

  The room, a large one for a mountain cabin, was warm and clean; somelogs burned brightly on the hearth; a table set for supper was placedwithin the radius of that glow and a man was bending over a stove at oneside of the fireplace, while two women, who had evidently been seated onthe other side of the fire, rose and stood smiling a welcome. The airwas full of appetizing odors mingled with the fragrance of coffee.

  As they entered the man turned with a quick movement. He was anodd-looking creature, brown as a nut, with glinting, changing, glancingeyes which can see what seem to be immeasurable distances to thosepossessed of ordinary sight. He had a curiously crooked face, one eyewas higher than the other and his nose was not in the middle, but set onone side; its sharp, inquisitive point almost at right angles with thebridge. He had the wide, mobile mouth of the born comedian, and his chinwas as much to the right as his nose was to the left. He was extremelylight and slender in figure and his movements were like quicksilver. Hishair was black and straight and long, especially over the ears, and hehad long, slender, delicate hands, which one noticed at once for theiruncommon flexibility and deftness.

  "Supper ready?" asked Gallito, without other greeting.

  "Now," replied the other man. He began lifting the food he had beenpreparing from the pans, arranging it on various dishes and slippingthem upon the table with a rapidity and noiselessness which suggestedsleight of hand.

  Gallito gave a brief nod and advanced toward the two women, bowing lowwith Spanish courtesy. A smile, a blending of pleasure and amusement,softened his grim mouth and keen eyes as he shook hands with one, whomhe introduced to his daughter as Mrs. Nitschkan. About medium height,she was a powerfully built creature, her open flannel shirt disclosingthe great muscles of her neck and chest. Rings of short, curly brownhair covered her round head; and small, twinkling blue eyes shone oddlybright in her deeply tanned face, while her frequent smile displayedsmall, milk-white teeth. A short, weather-stained skirt showed herminer's boots and a man's coat was thrown over her shoulders. A bold,freebooting Amazon she appeared, standing there in the fire-glow, andone to whom hardihood was a birth-right.

  The other woman towered above her and even above Gallito. She was acolossal Venus, with a face pink and white as a may-blossom. Tremuloussmiles played about her soft, babyish mouth and a joyous excitementshone in her wide, blue eyes. Upon her head was a small, lop-sidedbonnet, from which depended a rusty crepe veil of which she seemedinordinately conscious, and at the throat of her black gown was a large,pink bow.

  "Make you acquainted with Mis' Thomas, Miss Gallito," said Mrs.Nitschkan heartily. "Marthy's one of my oldest friends an' one of mynewest converts. She's all right if she could let the boys alone, an'not be always tangled up in some flirtation that her friends has got tosit up nights scheming to get her out of. That pink bow an' that crepeveil shows she ain't got the right idea of her responsibilities as awidow. So I brought her up to my little cabin, just a quarter of a milethrough the trees there, hopin' I'd get her mind turned on more sensiblethings than men. Gosh a'mighty! She's got a chance to shoot bear here."

  "I don't think you got any call to introduce me to the Black Pearlthat-a-way, Sadie." Mrs. Thomas's eyes filled with ready tears. "Itain't manners. I wouldn't have come with her, Miss Gallito, but I got tosee pretty plain that the gentleman," here she blushed and bridled,"that was courting me was awful anxious to get hold of the money and thecabin that my last husband, in his grave 'most six months now, left me."She wiped the tears from her eyes on the back of her hand, a movementhampered somewhat by the fact that her handkerchief had been fashionedinto a bag to hold some chocolate creams and was tied tightly to herthumb.

  "That's what you get for cavorting around with a spindle-shanked,knock-kneed, mush-brained jack-rabbit of a man," muttered Mrs. Nitschkanscornfully.

  But this thrust was ignored by Mrs. Thomas. The color had risen on hercheeks and there was a light in her eyes. Shyly, yet gleefully, she drewa letter from her pocket. "I got a letter from him to-day with an awfulcute motto in it. Look!" She showed it proudly to Pearl, Jose andGallito. "It's on cream-tinted paper, with a red and blue border, an',"simpering consciously, "it says in black and gold letters, 'A LittleWidow Is a Dangerous Thing.'"

  The little group seemed for the moment too stunned to speak. Mrs.Nitschkan was the first to recover herself. "Gosh a'mighty!" shemurmured in an awed whisper, and allowed her glance to travel slowlyover Mrs. Thomas's well-cushioned, six feet of womanhood,"A--little--widow!" huskily.

  Gallito seized the opportunity here to direct Pearl's attention to thebandit, who had been nudging him and whispering to him for the lastmoment or so.

  "Pearl, this is--" he hesitated a moment, "Jose."

  Mrs. Nitschkan looked up at him in quick astonishment. "Gosh a'mighty,"she cried, "ain't that kind o' reckless?"

  But Jose nodded a quick, cynical approval and, with a sudden turn,executed a deep bow to the Pearl, one hand on the heart, expressinggallantry, fealty, the humblest admiration; all these sincere and yetpermeated with a subtle and volatile mockery.

  "Better so, Francisco," he said in a voice which scarcely betrayed anaccent, and indeed this was not strange considering that he spoke thepatois of many people, being a born linguist. His father had been aFrenchman, a Gascon, but his mother was a daughter of Seville. "But youhave not said all." He drew himself up with haughty and self-consciouspride and, with a sweeping gesture of his long fingers, lifted the hairfrom his ears and stood thus, leering like Pan.


  "Crop-eared Jose!" cried Pearl, falling back a pace or two and lookingfrom her father to the two women in wide-eyed astonishment. "Why, theyare still looking for him. Are you not afraid?" She looked from one tothe other as if asking the question of all. She was not shocked, nor, totell the truth, particularly surprised after the first moment of wonder.She had been used to strange company all her life, and ever since herchildhood, on her brief visits to her father's cabin, she had beenaccustomed to his cronies, lean, brown, scarred pirates and picaroons,full of strange Spanish oaths.

  "You will not mention this in letters to your mother," ordered Gallito,glooming at her with fierce eyes. "You know her. Caramba! If she shouldguess, the world would know it."

  "Lord, yes!" agreed Pearl uninterestedly. "You needn't be afraid of me,"to Jose, "I don't tell what I know."

  "That is true," commended Gallito, motioning her at the same time to thetable.

  It seems a pity to record that such a supper was set before a womansuffering from a wound of the heart. Women at all times are held to belacking in that epicurean appreciation of good food which man justlyextols; but when a woman's whole being is absorbed in a disappointmentin love, nectar and ambrosia are as sawdust to her.

  On the outer rim of that circle which knew him but slightly, or merelyknew of him, the causes of the charmed life which Jose bore were amatter of frequent speculation, also continual wonder was expressed thathis friends would sometimes take incredible risks in effecting theescape of this rogue after one of his reckless escapades. But Jose hadcertain positive qualities, had these gossips but known it, whichendeared him to his companions; although among them could never benumbered gratitude, a lively appreciation of benefits received or atried and true affection.

  Certainly a dog-like fidelity was not among Jose's virtues. He wouldlift the purse of his best friend or his rescuer from a desperateimpasse, provided it were sufficiently heavy. A favor of a nature to puthim under obligations for a lifetime he forgot as soon as it wasaccepted. He caricatured a benefactor to his face, nor ever dreamed ofsparing friend or foe his light, pointed jibes which excoriated thesurface of the smoothest vanity.

  No, the only virtues which could be accredited to Jose, and these weresufficient, were an unfailing lightness of heart, the facile andfascinating gift of yarn-spinning--for he was a born raconteur, with avaried experience to draw upon--a readiness for high play, at which helost and won with the same gay and unruffled humor, and an incomparableand heaven-bestowed gift of cookery.

  To-night the very sight of the supper set before him softened Gallito'sharsh face. Brook trout, freshly caught that afternoon from the rushingmountain stream not far away from the cabin, and smoking hot from thefrying pan; an omelette, golden brown and buttercup yellow, of a fluff,a fragrance, with savories hidden beneath its surface, a conserve offruits, luscious, amber and subtly biting, the coffee of dreams and abottle of red wine, smooth as honey.

  "I hope you don't think that we're the kind of wolves that's alwaysgatherin' round wherever there's a snack of food," murmured Mrs. Thomassoftly as she took a seat beside Pearl. "We got our own cabin just apiece up in the woods, but Jose, he kind of wanted to make a celebrationof your coming up."

  Pearl did not answer, but slipped languidly out of her cloak, untwistedher heavy veil, removed her hat, Jose's eyes as well as Mrs. Thomas'sfollowing her the while with unmixed admiration, and sat down.

  Jose immediately began to roll cigarettes and smoke them while he ate.

  "Well, what is the news?" asked Gallito, as he, at least, began hisevening meal with every evidence of appreciation; "good fishing, goodhunting, good prospecting, eh, Mrs. Nitschkan?"

  The gipsy, for she was one by birth as well as by inclination, noddedand showed her teeth in a satisfied smile. "So good that it looks likewe'd be kep' here even longer than I expected when we come." She drewsome bits of quartz from her pocket and threw them out on the tablebefore him. "Some specimens I chipped off in my new prospect," she said,her eyes upon him.

  "So," he said, examining them with interest, "your luck, Mrs. Nitschkan,as usual. Where--? Excuse me," a dark flush rose on his parchment skinat this breach of mining-camp etiquette which he had almost committed.

  For a few moments they talked exclusively of the mining interests ofthe locality. It is this feverish, inexhaustible topic that is almostexclusively dwelt upon in mining camps, all other topics seeming tameand commonplace beside this fascinating subject, presided over by thegolden fairy of fortune and involving her. To-day she tempts and eludes,she tantalizes and mocks and flies her thousands of wooers who followher to the rocks, seeking her with back-breaking toil and dreaming everof her by day and by night. Variable and cruel, deaf to all beseeching,she picks out her favorites by some rule of caprice which none butherself understands.

  Supper over, Gallito ensconced his two feminine visitors in easy chairsand took one himself, while Jose, with noiseless deftness, cleared awaythe remains of food. Pearl had wandered to the window and, drawing thecurtain aside, stood gazing out into the featureless, black expanse ofthe night.

  "Quite a few things has happened since I saw you last, Gallito," saidMrs. Nitschkan conversationally, filling a short and stubby black pipewith loose tobacco from the pocket of her coat. "For one, I gotconverted."

  "Ah!" returned Gallito with his unvarying courtesy, although his raisedeyebrows showed some perplexity, "to--to--a religion?"

  "'Course." Mrs. Nitschkan leaned forward, her arms upon her knees. "Thisworld's the limit, Gallito, and queer things is going to happen whetheryou're looking for 'em or not. About a year ago Jack and the boys wentoff on a long prospectin' spell, the girls you know are all married andhave homes of their own, an' there was me left free as air with a dandyspell of laziness right in front of me ready to be catched up 'twixt mythumb and forefinger and put in my pipe and smoked, and I hadn't eventhe spirit to grab it."

  "Why didn't you think about getting yourself some new clothes, like anyother woman would?" asked Jose, eyeing her curiously.

  "What I got's good enough for me," she returned shortly.

  "You should have gave your place a nice cleaning and cooked a little fora change, Sadie," said Mrs. Thomas softly and virtuously.

  "Such things look worse'n dying to me," replied the gipsy. "And,"turning again to Gallito, "the taste goin' out of my tea and coffeewasn't the worst. It went out of my pipe, too. Gosh a'mighty, Gallito!I'll never forget the night I sat beside my dyin' fire and felt that Ididn't even take no interest in winnin' their money from the boys; andthen suddenly most like a voice from outside somep'n in me says: 'What'sthe matter with you, Sadie Nitschkan, is that you're a reapin' theharvest you've sowed, gipsyin' and junketin', fightin' and gamblin' withno thought of the serious side of life?'"

  "And what is the serious side of life, Nitschkan?" asked Jose, sippingdelicately his glass of wine as if to taste to the full its ambrosialflavors, like the epicure he was. "I have not yet discovered it."

  "You will soon." There was meaning in the gipsy's tone and in theglance she bestowed upon him. "It's doin' good. I tell you boys when Irealized that I'd probably have to change myself within and without andbe like some of the pious folks I'd seen, it give me a gone feeling inthe pit of my stomach. But you can't keep me down, and after I'd saw Iwas a sinner and repented 'cause I was so bad, I saw that the wholetrouble was this, I'd tried everything else, but I hadn't never trieddoin' good."

  "No, Sadie, you sure hadn't made duty the watch-word of your life,"agreed Mrs. Thomas.

  Mrs. Nitschkan ignored this. "Now doin' good, for I know you don't knowwhat that means, Jose, is seein' the right path and makin' other folkswalk in it whether they're a mind to or not. Well I cert'ny gave thesinners of Zenith a run for their money."

  She smoked a moment or two in silence, sunk in agreeable remembrance.She had been true to her word and, having decided to reform as much ofthe community as in her estimation needed that trial as by fire, she hadplunged into her self-appointed task with lusty e
nthusiasm. As soon asher conversion and the outlet she had chosen for her superabundantenergy were noised abroad, there was an immediate and noticeable changein the entire deportment of the camp. Those long grown careless drewforth their old morals and manners, brushed the moths from them,burnished the rust and wore them with undeniable self-consciousness, butwithout ostentation.

  Upon these lukewarm and conforming souls Mrs. Nitschkan cast a darklingeye. It was the recalcitrant, the defiant, the professing sinner uponwhom she concentrated her energies.

  "So you see, Gallito," rousing herself from pleasant contemplation ofpast triumphs, "it wasn't only a chance to hunt and prospect thatbrought me. I heard from Bob Flick that Jose was still here and I see aduty before me."

  "She could not keep away from me," Jose rolled his eyes sentimentally."You see beneath that rough old jacket of her husband's which she wearsthere beats a heart."

  "I got some'p'n else that can beat and that's a fist." She stretched outher arm and drew it back, gazing with pride at her great, swellingmuscles.

  "But never me, who will tidy your cabin and cook half your meals foryou." He smiled ingratiatingly at Mrs. Thomas, who grew deeply pinkunder his admiring smile. "Why do you not convert Saint Harry?"

  "Harry's all right," she said. "You need convertin', he don't. I got anidea that he's been right through the fiery furnace like them Bible boysin their asbestos coats, he's smelted."

  "Harry got my telegram?" asked Gallito, speaking in a low tone, afterfirst glancing toward Pearl, "and you have made a room ready for her?"

  "Clean as a convent cell," said Jose, with his upcurling, mordant smile."The wind has roared through it all day and swept away every trace oftobacco and my thoughts."

  "That is well," replied Gallito with a sardonic twist of the mouth,"and where do you sleep to-night?"

  "In Saint Harry's cabin."

  "So," Gallito nodded as if content. "That will be best."

  "Best for both," agreed Jose, a flicker of mirth on his face. "Myconstant companionship is good for Harry. It is not well to think youhave shown the Devil the door, kicked him down the hill and forgottenhim; and that he has taken his beating, learned his lesson and goneforever. It is then that the Devil is dangerous. It is better, Gallito,believe me, to remain on good terms with him, to humor him and to passthe time of day. Humility is a great virtue and you should be willing tolearn something even of the Devil, not set yourself up on a high, cold,sharp mountain peak, where you keep his fingers itching from morning tonight to throw you off. I have observed these things through the yearsof my life, and the middle course is ever the safest. Give to thechurch, observe her laws as a true and obedient son, in so far aspossible, and only so far. Let her get her foot on your neck and shewill demand such sacrifices!" He lifted his hands and rolled his eyesupward, "but the Devil is more reasonable; treat him civilly, be a goodcomrade to him and he will let you alone. But Saint Harry does notunderstand that. Saint Harry on his ice peak, and the Devil straddlingaround trying to find a foothold so that he can climb up to Harry andseize him with those itching fingers. Ho, ho!" Jose's laughter rang loudand shrill.

  Pearl, hearing it, turned from the window with a disturbed frown andbegan to walk up and down the far end of the room, and Mrs. Nitschkanfrowned ominously. "That's enough of your talk, Jose," she saidperemptorily. "It sounds like blasphemin' to me, talkin' about the Devilthat light way. Remember one of the reasons I come here. Gallito, you'dbetter lay out the cards and let's get down to our game. What's thelimit?"

  "Does Mrs. Thomas play as high as you?" asked Gallito.

  "I don't care much for a tame game," said Mrs. Thomas modestly, withlowered lids. "They're too many long, sad winters in the mountains whengentl--, I mean friends, can't cross the trails to see you, an' you gotto fill up your heart with cards and religion and things like that."

  Jose had paused to watch, with a keen appreciation, the grace of Pearl'smovements. "Caramba!" he muttered. "How sprang that flower of Spain fromsuch a gnarled old tree as you, Gallito? Dios! But she is salado!"

  Gallito frowned a little, which did not in the least disconcert Jose,and, rising, he moved a small table forward, opened it and then going toa cupboard in the wall drew from it a short, squat bottle, four glassesand a pack of cards. "Your room is just beyond this," he said, turningto Pearl. "Jose says that you will find everything ready for you. Youmust be tired. You had better go to bed."

  Pearl twitched her shoulders impatiently. "I am not sleepy," she saidsullenly. She threw herself in the chair that Gallito had vacated andlay there watching the fire with somber, wild eyes.

  Jose threw another log on the fire and then the two men and two womensat down to their cards. A clock ticked steadily, monotonously, on themantel-piece, but whether an hour or ten minutes passed while she satthere watching the brilliant, soaring flame of the pine logs Pearl couldnot have told, when suddenly the stillness of the night was broken bythe sound of someone whistling along the road. It seemed a long way offat first, but gradually came nearer and nearer, tuneful and clear as thesong of a bobolink.

  "Saint Harry, by all the saints or devils!" cried Jose with a burst ofhis shrill laughter. "Ah, Francisco, the devil is a shrewd fellow; whenhe can't manage a job himself, he always gets a woman to help him." Hisglancing, twinkling eyes sought Pearl, who had barely turned her head asher father rose to open the door for the newcomer, exclaiming with someshow of cordiality:

  "Ah, Seagreave, come in, come in."

  "Thanks," said an agreeable voice. "I got home late and found that Josehad made preparations to lighten my loneliness. Then I saw the light inyour window and thought I would come down. You see I suspected pleasantcompany."

  He advanced into the room and then, seeing Pearl, who had twisted aboutin her chair and was gazing at him with the first show of interest shehad yet exhibited, he paused and looked rather hesitatingly at Gallito.

  "We have a guest," said Jose softly and in Spanish.

  "My daughter has returned with me," said Gallito. "Pearl, this is Mr.Seagreave."

  "Saint Harry," said Jose more softly still.

  Mr. Seagreave bowed, although one who knew him well might have seen thathis astonishment increased rather than abated at the sight of Pearl. Asfor her, she merely nodded and let her lashes lie the more wearily andindifferently upon her cheek.

  "Really, I wouldn't have intruded," said Seagreave in his pleasantEnglish voice. "I had an idea from your telegram, Gallito, that Hughiewas coming with you. Sha'n't I go?"

  For answer Gallito pushed forward a chair and threw another log upon thefire. "My daughter is tired," he said. "She will soon retire; but when aman has been from home for a fortnight, and in the desert!" he raisedhis brows expressively, "Pah! He wishes to hear of everything which hashappened during his absence and particularly, Mr. Seagreave, do I wishto talk to you about that lower drift. Jose tells me that you haveexamined it."

  Thus urged, Seagreave sat down. He was tall and slight and fair, so veryfair that his age was difficult to guess. His hair, with a silvery sheenon it, swept in a wing across his forehead, and he had a habit ofpushing it back from his brow; his eyes were of a vivid blue, peculiarlyluminous, and his features, which were regular, showed a fine finish ofmodeling. His age, as has been said, was a matter of conjecture, butjudging from his appearance he might have been anywhere from twenty toforty.

  "Don't let me interrupt your game," he said. "It is early yet, and ifMiss Gallito isn't too tired, and if she will let me, I will talk to herwhile you play."

  Jose smiled to himself and picked up the cards. The game went on.Seagreave, receiving no encouragement from Pearl, made no attempt atconversation, until at last, stirred by some impulse of curiosity, shelifted her eyes. It was this question of age she wished to decide. Inthat first, quick glance of hers she had taken it for granted that hewas twenty, but in a second stolen look she had noted certain linesabout the mouth and eyes which added years to his blonde youthfulness.Then her quick ear had caught Jose's "Sain
t Harry," and to her, who knewmany men, those lines about mouth and eyes did not suggest a past ofsaintship.

  Her surreptitious glance encountered that of Seagreave, for he, too, hadwithdrawn his eyes from the fire for a moment to let his puzzled gazerest upon her. He had known vaguely that Gallito had a daughter, and heremembered in the same indefinite way that some one had told him thatshe was an actress, but, even so, he could not reconcile this--his mindsought a simile to express her--this exotic, with Gallito, these twomountain women, a mountain cabin, and an equally unpretentious home inthe desert. She lay listlessly in her chair, a long and slender shape ina dull black gown which fell about her in those statuesque folds whichall drapery assumed immediately she donned it; beneath it showed herfeet in black satin slippers and the gleam of the satin seemed repeatedin her blue-black hair. Her cheek was unwontedly pale. A monotone sheappeared, half-within and half-without the zone of the firelight; butthe individuality of her could not be thus subdued. It found expressionin the concentration of light and color focused in the splendid ringswhich sparkled on the long, brown fingers of both her hands.

  Her narrow eyes met his sombrously. On either side it was a glance ofcuriosity, of scrutiny. She, as usual, made no effort to begin aconversation, and he, searching for a polite commonplace, saidpresently:

  "Have you ever been in Colina before?"

  "Often, but not in the last two years," she answered tonelessly, "notsince you've been here, I guess. I hate the mountains."

  "I have been here nearly two years," he vouchsafed, "and I feel as if Iwould never go away. But you live in the desert, don't you?"

  "Sometimes, that is, when I'm not out on the road. The desert is theplace. You can breathe there, you can live there," there was apassionate vibration in her voice, "but these old, cold mountains makeyou feel all the time as if they were going to fall on you and crushyou."

  "Do they make you feel that way?" He pulled his chair nearer to her sothat his back was turned to the two men, and Jose, who saw everything,smiled faintly, mordaciously. "How strange!" It was not a conventionalexpression, he seemed really to find it strange, unbelievably so.

  "And you, how do they make you feel?" she asked wearily, a touch ofscorn in her glance.

  A light seemed to glow over his face. "Ah, I do not know that I can tellyou," he said, and she was conscious of some immediate change in him,which she apprehended but could never have defined. It was as if he hadwithdrawn mentally to incalculable distances.

  Pearl did not notice his evasion; she was not interested in his view ofthe mountains. What she instinctively resented, even in her dulledstate, was his impersonal attitude toward herself. She was not used toit from any man. She did not understand it. She wondered, without anyparticular interest in the matter, but still following her instinctiveand customary mode of thought, if he had not noticed that she wasbeautiful. Was he so stupid that he did not think her so? But there wasno hint in his manner or look in his eyes of an intention on his part ofplaying the inevitable game, even a remembrance of it seemed as lackingas desire. The game of challenge and elusion on her part, of perpetualand ever more ardent advance on his. He was interested, she knew that,but, as she felt with a surge of surprise, not in the way she had alwaysencountered and had learned to expect.

  "Isn't it strange," she realized that he was speaking again, "that Ihaven't been drawn to the desert, because so many have had to turn toit? I have only seen it from traveling across it, and then it repelledme, perhaps it frightened me." He seemed to consider this.

  For the moment Pearl forgot the inevitable game. "Frightened you!" shecried. "It is the mountains that frighten me; but the desert is alwaysdifferent. It--" she struggled for expression, "it is always you."

  Something in this seemed to strike him. "Perhaps I have that to learn."Again he meditated a few moments, then looked up with a smile. "You musttell me all that you find in the desert and I will tell you all that Ifind in the mountains. It will be jolly to talk to a woman again." Hespoke with a satisfaction thoroughly genuine.

  She glanced at him suspiciously. She was uncertain how to meet thisfrank acceptance of comradeship, free yet from the intrusion of sex."Maybe," she acquiesced a little doubtfully. Then she drew her browstogether. "I don't want to learn anything about the mountains," shecried, all the heaviness and the dumb revolt of her spirit finding avoice. "And I don't want ever to go back to the desert again; and Idon't even want to dance," looking at him in a sort of wild wonder as ifthis were unbelievable, "not even to dance."

  He realized that she was suffering from some grief against which shestruggled, and which she refused to accept. "You will not feel soalways," he said. "It is because you are unhappy now."

  There was consolation in his sincerity, in his sympathy, in his entirebelief in what he was saying, and it was with difficulty that sherepressed an outburst of her sullen sorrow. "Yes," her mouth worked, "Iam unhappy, and I won't be, I won't be. I never was before. It is all inhere, like a dead weight, a drag, a cold hand clutching me." She pressedboth hands to her heart. Then she drew back as if furious at having sofar revealed herself.

  "That heals." He leaned forward to speak. "I am telling you the truth!That heals and is forgotten. I know that that is so."

  "I know who you are," she said suddenly. "I have been trying to thinkever since I heard him," she nodded toward Jose, bent over his cards,"say 'Saint Harry.' I remember now. I have heard Hughie often speak ofyou. They say that you are good, that if any one is sick you nurse him,and that if any one is broke you help him. They all come to you."

  "Yes, 'Saint Harry'!" he laughed. "Oh, it's funny, but let them call meany name they please as long as it amuses them. What difference does itmake? I am glad Hughie is coming up, I want some music. He puts themountains into music for me."

  "And for me." She smiled and then sighed bitterly, gazing drearily intothe fire, now a bed of glowing embers. Then latent and femininecuriosity stirred in her thoughts and voiced itself. "Why are you here?"she said. "Why does a man like you stay here?"

  His elbow rested on the arm of his chair, his chin in his hand, his gazetoo upon the fading embers. "I don't know," he said in a low voice, "Ihad to come."

  "Where from?" she still followed her instinct of curiosity.

  "From the husks"--he turned his head and smiled at her--"from a farcountry where I had wasted my substance in riotous living."

  She frowned a little. She was not used to this type of man, nor had shemet any one who used hyperbole in conversation. At first she fanciedthat he might be chaffing her, but she was too intelligent to harborthat idea, so convincing was his innate sincerity; but nevertheless, shemeant to go cautiously.

  Again she questioned him: "From what far country?"

  He had fallen to musing again, and it is doubtful if he heard her. Hesaw before him immense, primeval forests, black, shadowy; vast, sluggishrivers, above which hung a thick and fever-laden air; trees from whosetopmost branches swung gorgeous, ephemeral flowers; and then longstretches of yellow beach, where a brazen ocean tumbled and hissed. Thenmany cities, squalid and splendid, colorful and fantastic as theerection of a dream, and through all these he saw himself ever passing,appearing and reappearing, and ever scattering his substance, not thesubstance of money alone; that was still left him; but the substance ofyouth, of early promise, of illusion and hopes.

  Pearl waited a long time, it seemed to her, for him to speak. At lastshe broke the silence. "And then?" she said.

  He roused from his preoccupations and brushed back the wing of hair fromhis brow. "I realized that I was living, had always lived on husks, andthat was what caused the restless fever in my blood, my heart wasalways restless; and then I began to dream down there in the tropics,really dream at night of these mountains just as you see them here, andin the day time I thought of them and longed for them, as a man whosethroat is dry with thirst longs for cool water. Then, presently, I beganto have brief, fleeting visions of them by day. And gradually thelonging for the hills bec
ame so intense that I started out in search ofthem. I traveled about a good bit, and then drifted here. The placesuited me, so I stayed."

  She looked at him puzzled and half-fearfully, wondering if he was quitesane. "And will you stay here always?" she asked.

  "Oh, as to that, I can't say. Perhaps. I hope so. Life is full here."

  "Full!" she interrupted him. "And life! You call this life?" She laughedin harsh scorn.

  "Don't you?" He looked at her with those blue, clear eyes that seemed tosee through her and around her and beyond her.

  "I!" Her glance was full of resentful passion; tightly she closed herlips; but there was something about him which seemed to force her toreveal herself and, presently, she began again. "I am like a coyote witha broken paw. It goes off by itself and hides until it can limp around.But life, real life, is all out there." She threw out her hands asindicating the world beyond the mountains. "If you call this life,you've never lived."

  He ignored this, smiling faintly.

  "What is real life to you?" he asked.

  So compelling was his manner, for no one could shock Seagreave and noone could force him to condemn, that she almost said, "To love and beloved." But she resisted her impulse to voice this. "Until a littlewhile before I came here, life meant to dance. I know, though, what itis to get tired of the very things you think you love the most. AfterI've stayed a while in the desert, I've just got to see the lights ofthe city streets, to smell the stage, and to dance to the big audiences;but after a bit, the buildings and the people begin to crowd on me andpush me and I feel as if I couldn't breathe, then I've just got to getback to the desert again."

  "Dancing is your expression," he said. "All of life is love andexpression." And now there was a falling note in his voice which her earwas quick to catch. Almost she cried:

  "Love! And yet you live here alone!"

  "Yes," he went on, "we must have both. They are as necessary to us asbreath. Without them--" he stopped, evidently embarrassed, as ifsuddenly aware that he had been talking more to himself than to her andthat in thus forgetting her, he had been more self-revealing than hewould have wished.

  She shook her head, plainly puzzled. "But you are young," she said, andstole another glance at him, adding a little shyly, "at least not veryold, and I feel, I am sure that you too have a broken paw, but when thatis well you will go back to your own country, to cities again. Youcouldn't stand it here always."

  He looked at her, an enigmatic smile on his lips. "Couldn't I?" hesaid. Glancing again at her as he rose, he saw that she seemed weary,her lashes lay long on her pale cheek. "Oh," with a touch of compunctionin his tone, "I have, as usual, talked far too much. You are tired andwe must go. Jose," lifting his voice, "as soon as you finish that game."

  "The Devil is indeed at your elbow," cried Jose, flinging down hiscards, "and prompts all you say. We have just this moment finished agame and Gallito is the winner."

  Gallito smiled with bleak geniality. "Has Jose been wise?" he asked,rising and replenishing the dying fire.

  "Fairly so," Seagreave smiled, "as far as he knows how to be. He hasbeen up to some of his antics, though. They are beginning to say thatthis hillside is haunted."

  While Gallito talked to Seagreave and Mrs. Nitschkan and Jose arguedover certain rules of the game they had been playing, Mrs. Thomas sidledup to Pearl and stood looking at her with the absorbed unconsciousnessof an admiring child.

  "I s'pose," she began, swaying back and forth bashfully and touching thepink bow at her throat, "that it does look kind of queer to any onethat's so up on the styles as you are to see me wearing a pink bow at myneck and a crepe veil down my back?"

  Pearl looked up in wearied surprise. "It does seem queer," she saidindifferently.

  "'Course I know it ain't just citified," Mrs. Thomas hastened toaffirm; "but the veil and the bow together's got a meaning that I thinkis real sweet." She waited a moment, almost pathetically anxious forPearl to see the symbolism of her two incongruous adornments, but herlistener was too genuinely bored and also too self-absorbed to make theattempt. "It's this," said Mrs. Thomas, determined to explain. "The pinkbow kind o' shows that I'm in the world again and," bridlingcoquettishly, "open to offers, while this crepe veil shows that I ain'tforgot poor Seth in his grave and can afford to mourn for him right."

  But Pearl had not waited to hear all of these explanations. Without aword to the rest of the parting guests, and with a mere inclination ofthe head toward Seagreave, she had slipped away.

  Alone in her small, bare room, undressing by the light of a singlecandle, the brief interest and curiosity which Seagreave had aroused inher faded from her mind. For hours she lay sleepless upon her bed,listening to the rushing mountain stream not far from the cabin, itsarrowy plunge and dash over the rocks softened by distance to a low,perpetual purr, and hearing the mountain wind sigh through the pinesabout the cabin: but not always did her great, dark eyes stare into theblackness; sometimes she buried her head in the pillow and moaned, andat last she wept, permitting herself the flood of tears that she hadheld in check all day. "Rudolf, Rudolf," was the name upon her lips.