by Bram Stoker
Esse was beginning to feel that an unconventional attachment was not without its drawbacks. The cure was commencing to work!
Next morning, at breakfast, Peter mentioned that he had had a telegram which would compel him to go at once to New York. It might be, that from New York he might have to go on to London; but this was only a possibility, and in any case, his visit home need be only a short one. He would, he expected, be back in San Francisco in a couple of months at the latest. Mrs Elstree was truly sorry that he had to go so soon, but hoped that he would soon be back, and Esse looked at him with a flush and endorsed her mother’s sentiments. He received many commissions, and went up to dress for his journey. Before he left he said to both ladies:
‘I think I have my commissions all right. Do either of you want to alter anything?’ There was no reply, and off he went.
Esse had a half-feeling that she would like to countermand all that she had asked Peter to do, or had acquiesced in his doing. Womanlike, she began to have misgivings when once the bolt had sped, and, womanlike, she felt personally freer now that she had committed herself to a definite act.
Peter Blyth left the eastward train at Sacramento, and took the Portland train on his way north. He had posted himself thoroughly as to the route, and had telegraphed to the station-master at Edge-wood to have procured for him horses and a guide to Shasta. On his arrival he found all ready for him, and setting out at once, made good way before stopped by the darkness. Early the next day he arrived at the Shoulder of Shasta, and leaving his guide and horses on the plateau, went at once to Dick’s cottage.
All the way up the mountain he had been thinking of the strange job which he had undertaken; and the higher he got, the more the ridiculous side of it came to the front. Here was he, a man of middle age, climbing up an almost desolate snow-clad mountain, to find a hunter who probably couldn’t read or write, and to ask him to marry a particularly refined and cultivated young heiress. He had no clue to the man’s style, or thought, or ideas, and he could only surmise what his reception might be. Like a good many Londoners, his sole knowledge of the actuality of Western life was from ‘Buffalo Bill’ and the ‘Wild West Show,’ and, from the rough-and-ready energy displayed by some of the participants in these Olympic Games up-to-date, he had strange imaginings as to what his welcome might be like in case he should be regarded as a meddlesome fool - a capacity which, to do him justice, he felt that he filled with quite sufficient satisfactoriness. By the time he had arrived at Dick’s cabin he felt not only ridiculous, but in a sort of ‘funk,’ an unusual thing with him. With somewhat of the feelings of a schoolboy, who learns on calling that the dentist is absent, he found that the cabin door was locked. He had, however, a duty to do, and he did not mean to shirk it, be it never so ridiculous or unpleasant; and so went back to his guide to breakfast.
When he returned to the cabin, an hour later, he found the door unlocked; the owner, however, was absent. He went in and seated himself, awaiting his coming. As he sat, all his unpleasant surmises came back to his mind, and he called himself - inwardly - an unmitigated ass, until the image of Esse’s pale face came before him and nerved him. He looked round the cabin, and, as he saw its meagreness and absolute destitution of refinement, he could not bring himself to believe that Esse could really and truly love a man who lived in such a way. The exhilarating air of the mountain, somehow seemed to increase his natural buoyancy of spirits, and he felt that he wanted to laugh, but the gravity of his mission restrained him.
There came a shadow in the doorway and Dick entered, quite unconscious that there was a stranger in his house. When Peter Blyth saw him, the contrast between his appearance and the purpose of his mission was so great that it burst the barriers of his gravity, and the long pent-up laughter broke forth in a flood. He tried to rise, but he was helpless with his paroxysm of cachinnation, and sank back again, and shook whilst Dick looked on in a sequence of emotions. First he was amazed, then somewhat indignant; and, finally, his kindly nature yielded to the humour of the situation, and, throwing back his head, he joined in the laughter till the rafters rang.
There certainly was ground for Peter’s laughter when one took in calmly Dick’s appearance as the proposer of marriage on the part of a young lady. He had just come back from a hunt of several days’ duration, and bore all the signs of hardship and turmoil. Manifestly, he had not washed, even his hands, for several days; his hair was matted and wild looking - unkempt would have been an inadequate word to describe its condition. His clothes were creased with sleeping in them, and were encrusted in places with mud, wherein had stuck bits of twig, dead leaves and pine needles; and from head to foot he was smothered with grease and blood. Killing and skinning big game is not an aesthetic occupation, and is apt to leave just the same traces on the operator as on the artist who wields the knife in a Chicago packing house. In sober truth, he looked like a large, rough, peculiarly dirty, and slovenly butcher on leaving his work. Across his shoulders he carried the skinned carcase of a deer, from which dripped on the floor drops of blood, till they formed a little glittering pool.
Dick, with a hitch of his mighty shoulder, dropped the carcase on the floor, and stood looking admiringly at Peter Blyth, whilst joining in his laugh; then he sat down opposite him on a rough stool, which he drew towards him by crooking a toe round its leg, and went on with his laugh in greater comfort. Presently Peter began to realise that he was in a more amazingly ridiculous position than that which he had feared, and, with a certain feeling of shamefacedness, felt his laughter die away as he began to gasp out apologies. Dick leaned over, and, lifting a mighty hand, smote the other’s thigh as he roared out:
‘Durn me, stranger, but ye’re welcome. I hain’t seen a man laugh so hearty in all my born days, an’ I hain’t had such a laugh myself since I seen the Two Macs split one another’s heads open at the Empire Saloon in Sacramento.’ My! but I’m glad to see ye, though who the hell ye are, or why ye’re here, is more’n I know yet. But we’ll know in time. Have ye breakfasted? I’m nearly famished myself; but I’ve brought in a roast,’ he designated it by a kick, ‘and we’ll soon have a blaze and get fixed right up!’ Before Peter could say anything he had strode to the fireplace, and stirring up the embers with his foot, had thrown on them an armful of dried twigs. In a few seconds a fierce blaze was roaring up the rude chimney, and very shortly a chunk of the buck, hung on an iron hook, was already beginning to splutter in the heat. Peter offered to help, but the other waved him back:
‘No, sir! This is my shanty, an’ ye’re my guest! Ye’re as welcome in it as the flowers of May. Jest ye sit down and try to get ready another laugh for after breakfast, while I get the fixin’s ready. I hope ye can eat saleratus bread; it’s all we get up here this time o’ year.’ As he spoke he was making tea, and setting out his rude table with workmanlike dexterity. Peter could not but admire him as he moved, for notwithstanding his big bulk he was always in perfect poise, and in everything he did he seemed perfect master of it; and he soon lost sight, or at least consciousness, of his dirt and blood, and saw only the splendid specimen of natural manhood, so magnificently equipped for his wild mountain life and so nobly unconscious of his surroundings.
Peter Blyth felt his feelings mingled; half being of shame that he had so underestimated his host, the other of anxiety as to the future. Matters did not seem of such simple solution as he had imagined. He could not but feel that there was a basis for Esse’s unsettlement rather wider than he had thought possible.
When breakfast was ready he sat at table with enjoyment, and, despite want of tablecloth, napkin, or any of the luxuries to which he was accustomed, made a hearty meal. As for Dick he ate to such an extent that Peter had serious misgivings as to whether he might not do himself an injury. When hunger was satisfied Dick took two pipes and handed one of them to Peter with the tobacco canister, and drawing up a rude armchair to one side of the fireplace motioned Peter into it; he took his own seat in a similar one on the other side. The
n he commenced the conversation:
‘Now, stranger! Wire in, and tell me all about it!’ Peter Blyth saw that the difficult part of his task was at hand, and went straight at it: ‘I am a friend of Mrs Elstree and of Esse!’ Dick rose up and held out a large hand.
‘Wall, ye were welcome before, but ef that’s yer racket, there ain’t no welcome under this ar roof big enough or good enough for ye. Shake!’ Then Peter experienced the force of Dick’s pump-handle act of friendship; and, like Esse and her mother, felt that Nature might easily have been forgiven if she had gifted her child with a lesser measure of manual power. One good thing, however, was accomplished, the two men were en rapport, and Peter’s task became more possible. He went on:
‘My name is Blyth - Peter Blyth; but no one ever calls me anything but Peter! I hope you will be like the rest!’ ‘All right, Peter!’ said Dick cheerfully. ‘Drive along!’ ‘I saw both the ladies two days ago. Mrs Elstree did not know I was coming here or she would, I am sure, have sent you her very warm greeting. Esse, however, knew that I was coming, and sent her love.’
‘Lor’ bless her! Little Missy, I hope she’s keepin’ peart an’ clipper? She kem up here as white as a lily; but me an’ Shasta soon set her up, an’ she went away like a rose!’ Here Peter saw an opportunity of arousing Dick’s pity, and at once took advantage of it.
‘Poor little girl!’ he said, ‘I fear she is not at all so well as she should be. She looked pretty pale when I saw her.’
‘Do tell! The poor purty Little Missy. I wouldn’t see her sick for all the world.’
‘I’m sure of that, old fellow! And it would gladden her heart to hear you say that!’
Well, I should smile! Why, I don’t suppose that by this time she remembers there’s such a man as me!’
‘No, no, Dick - you mustn’t think that! Esse thinks more of you than you imagine. Indeed, that’s why I’m here now!’
‘Why you’re here? Say, stranger, you’re talking conundrums!’ Peter felt the drops gather on his forehead; he was in the thick of it now, and spoke out boldly.
‘Look here, Dick, I’ve come up here on purpose to speak with you! May I speak frankly, as man to man?’
‘You bet!’
‘And you promise that you will never repeat what I say?’ Again the horny hand was held out:
‘Shake!’ The promise was recorded.
‘Dick, that poor little girl is fretting her heart out to see you again!’
‘No!’ the wonderment ended in a short laugh. ‘Go on! What’s yer game? Oh, ye’re a funny one, ye are!’ and he gave his guest a playful push that almost sent him headlong into the fire, whilst his laughter seemed to Peter to hum and buzz amongst the rafters. peter went on seriously:
‘Honest Indian, Dick! I give you my word of honour that the little girl has been thinking of you till she has nearly broken her heart for want of seeing you. She is as pale as a ghost, and her poor mother has been fretting her life out about her. Now, won’t you do something for her?’
‘Do somethin’! Why look here! ye may take the full of her purty little body of blood out of my veins for her, if that will do her any good!’ This time it was Peter Blyth who held out his hand, and said: ‘Shake!’ Then he went on:
‘You know, Dick - or perhaps you don’t know, living up here all alone - that young girls have strange fancies, and their affections don’t always go where their elders would like to see them. Esse has been a good deal with you, they tell me, all last summer; and after all, you’re a man! By George, you are all that! And she’s a woman! And it seems to me - you understand, old man! Why need I go on!’ A blush, a distinct and veritable blush, as pronounced as might be found in any ladies’ seminary in San Francisco suffused Dick’s face, and he turned away with a little simper that would not have disgraced a schoolgirl. Why, ye don’t mean to say,’ he went on sheepishly, ‘that that purty thing wants me for her bo?’ His bashfulness kept him silent, and Peter Blyth looked on in fresh wonderment to see such awkward modesty so manifesdy displayed in the person of such a blood-stained ruffian as he looked. Dick’s embarrassment, however, was only momentary, and ended, as did most of his emotions, in a peal of laughter. Peter looked on with qualified amusement; it would have been all pure fun to him only for the memory of Esse’s pale face in the background. Dick suddenly stopped and said: What do ye want me to do?’
That’s right, old chap! I want you to find your way down to San Francisco, and let Esse get a glimpse of you. It will bring back to her all this beautiful mountain, and she’ll feel the wind from the snow peak blowing once more on her, if I know her!’
‘Good, I’ll come! It can’t be for a few weeks yet, for I have undertaken a contract that I must get through with; but I’ll come. That’s cert! Where does she live in ‘Frisco?’
‘In California Street, No 437, the big house with the stone seals on the steps. Dick, you’re a brick! Old man, you’ll be very tender with her, will you not? Remember it was a great struggle to her to let me gather even so much of her wishes as I did. She’s only a young girl; and you must make things easy for her! Won’t you? Don’t shame her by making any overture come from her?’
‘Say, what’s that? Over what?’
‘Overture! It means, old man, that you mustn’t leave it to her to do the love-making, if there’s any to be done.’
‘Hold hard there, pard! Easy up the hill! I ain’t much of a feller I know, an’ my breedin’ has been pretty rough; but I ain’t such a fool as to leave no girl to do the courtin’ when I’m on the racket! Ye make yer mind easy! - Say, must ye go?’ for Peter had risen.
‘Yes, Dick, I’m bound to be in New York without a day’s delay. I’ve important business awaiting me there; and say, Dick, if things don’t turn out as I think, and as you may think too, when you see her, you’ll make it easy for her, won’t you?’ Dick looked a perfect giant as he stood in the doorway following out his guest, for all the manhood of him seemed to swell within him, and to glorify him till the blood and dirt on him seemed as if Viking adjuncts to his mighty personality. His words came deep and resonant as from one who meant them:
‘Look you here, pard! That dear little lady is the truest and bravest comrade that ever a man had! She stayed by me in the forest, when it was good time for her to go, with the biggest grizzly on the California slope comin’ up express. She fou’t him, for me, an’ killed him. An’ then she wouldn’t leave me, even to get help; but she carried me alone, although she was wounded herself, more’n a mile up the mountain side! She took me outen the grave and hell and the devil, an’ I ain’t goin’ to go back on her, so help me God! I don’t want to be no trouble to her, nor no sorrow, an’ I think it’s a mistake of her choosin’ such a man as me - but I tell ye this: She’ll do with me what she likes, an’ how she likes, an’ when she likes, an’ whar she likes! The wind doesn’t blow that’s a-goin’ to blow between her and me, if she wants me by her side!’
CHAPTER 8
When Esse found that there was a possibility of her again seeing Dick she began to become reconciled to the existing condition of things. It was true that as yet she had only a glimmer of hope, for Peter Blyth had not been explicit as to his intentions. In the first place he might not be able to find Dick, for his journey to New York, and possibly to Europe, might eventuate in complications which would forbid his returning to California at all; in any event for a long time. Then again, Dick might not see his way to come to live in cities, and Esse had already begun to appreciate the refinements of life sufficiently well to make it impossible for her to even contemplate an isolated life in the woods or on the mountains. Picnicing, and especially in a honeymoon form, might be delightful, fascinating, of unspeakable joy; but such life, without relief, would never suit her as an unvarying constancy. From the glimpses which she had had into Dick’s shanty she knew well enough that the measure of his refinement would not reach her own minimum standard, and she had doubts from her experience of his improvement in small matters if he would
readily lend himself - if he could lend himself, even if he so desired - to a loftier social condition. These were certainly arguments which tended to damp the zeal begotten of absence, and the stimulating effect of pleasant memory working upon a morbid but fervid imagination. When in the anaemic condition Esse’s imagination was apt to run away with her, though when her system was well furnished with red blood her fancies and desires were healthy and under control. Now that the strain of her self-imposed secrecy had been relieved, her health began to mend, and the improvement was manifest in the ready manner in which she yielded herself to her surroundings, and began to make the most of them; thus mental and physical health began to act and react on each other, and Mrs Elstree’s heart rejoiced as she saw the improvement in her daughter. Soon Esse began to show something of the same robustness which she had achieved on Shasta. Her chalky pallor yielded to a delicate rose colour which, tingeing her brown skin, made a charming union of health and refinement. Her figure began to fill out, and within a few weeks from the time of Peter Blyth’s departure she looked quite a different being from the pallid, meagre, green-sick girl whom he had left. Peter had telegraphed from New York that he had to go to London, but that he looked to return in about two months. He had said nothing of Dick, thinking it wiser to be silent until he knew for certain whether he would turn up in San Francisco. Mrs Elstree did her best to keep Esse up to the mark of health and energy at which she had arrived; and she so laid herself out to this end that her house became the very centre of the most pleasant circle in San Francisco. Every stranger who arrived was of course introduced to her, and not a few found an excuse for prolonging their stay in order to share again her charming hospitality and the companionship of Esse. There was a constant succession of luncheons, dinners, balls, picnics, and all those harmless gatherings which have no definite name, but which have a charm of their own in their freedom and the relaxing of the bonds of conventionality.
