by Zane Grey
“Do you love this young man?”
“Love him? … Of course I do. I—I should think anyone could have seen that.”
“You have acted sort of queer lately…. Wal, I reckon I ought to withhold my consent.”
“Father!” The deep full-ringing word went through Keven like a blade. Beryl Aard was something to gaze at then.
“Keven is a mighty fine boy,” went on Aard calmly. “How do I know you won’t mistreat him? Lord knows he’s had sorrow enough.”
Enlightenment did not dawn swiftly upon Beryl. She was too deeply moved, and her father’s totally unexpected statement required time to clarify.
“Lass, I might give you to Keven on one condition,” went on Aard. “That you quit fishin’ an’ leave the river to him an’ me.”
Beryl stared bewildered. Then the blood came rushing back to darken her cheeks. “Villains! You put up a job on me. Oh, I went stiff and cold…. Never! Never! I can beat you both—and I always will.”
She ran into his widespread arms. That was rather a beautiful moment for Keven Bell. He swore in his heart that he would die before he would fail this girl and her father.
“Wal, let’s have breakfast,” said Aard, and with an arm around the happy girl he led her to the table. “An’, son, tell me your plans.”
Keven soon told them.
“Wal, I reckon they can be improved on,” replied Aard presently. “You might have the trip to Agness all for nothin’. The preacher comes there only twice a month. Likely you’d miss him. An’ the natives down river are a gossipy lot. Of course, if you’re not in any hurry to be married——”
“We are. At least I am,” replied Keven quickly.
“So am I,” said Beryl quickly. “You see, Dad, I’d better nail Kev before he changes his mind.”
“Haw! Haw! … Wal, I’ve an idea. Suppose you go out by way of West Fork. There’s a good trail that crosses the mountains up here. I’ll go with you. So it won’t look like you’re elopin’. Haw Haw! … You can catch a train goin’ south to the Pass or goin’ north to Portland.”
“We must go to Portland first,” spoke up Keven.
“I’ve gone to Roseburg several times this way, Keven. I think it’s really the best way for us to go out. Long ride, but easy trail. How far is it, Dad?”
“Reckon about thirty-five mile. If we pack an’ saddle up quick we can make it to West Fork by sundown.”
“Fine. Let’s go that way,” acquiesced Keven.
“But there’s one drawback,” interposed Beryl, blushing rosy red. “We can’t be married at West Fork…. It’s only a station. No preacher.”
To Keven that appeared vastly more than a drawback; it was an insurmountable obstacle.
“Beryl! We can’t be married today?” he ejaculated.
“I’m afraid not, Kev,” she replied mournfully.
“Wal, don’t take on so,” interposed Aard. “It’s no great matter whether you get married today or tomorrow, is it? Now see here. Let me engineer this business. We’ll rustle right on the trail. I’ll see you off at West Fork. You’ll get to Portland sometime tomorrow. Five o’clock if you catch the train I go on. Then you can get married—an’ everything will be lovely.”
“I—I g-guess that’ll be all right,” said Beryl dubiously, though her great eyes were wide and bright.
“But, Aard—it isn’t just—the proper thing for me to take Beryl that way,” objected Keven, quite flustered. “Suppose we meet someone on the train. People from Grant’s Pass who know me. Gus Atwell, for instance or—or Rosamond Brandeth. I couldn’t introduce Beryl as my wife.”
“Sure, you could, if you got in a pinch,” declared Aard.
Beryl gazed mutely at Keven and he stared back at her. They were in a quandary.
“Your old friends aren’t goin’ to ask to see your marriage certificate, are they?” inquired Aard.
“It wouldn’t be beyond Rosamond Brandeth,” returned Keven darkly.
“What do we—you—care about her?” asked Beryl, with wonderful eyes on him.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” replied Keven confusedly.
“If Dad says it’s all right I’ll go,” added Beryl.
“Sure, it’s all right,” put in Aard coolly. “You needn’t take a Pullman. There wouldn’t be any berths anyway, that late. I always go in a day coach. Set up an’ sleep some. You can do it.”
“Well, that’s better,” agreed Keven, greatly relieved.
“I’ll go out an’ saddle up,” said Aard, rising. “Lucky I have some horses in. Don’t waste any more time, children.”
Keven had almost finished his breakfast when Beryl transfixed him with eyes beautiful and penetrating.
“Kev, you looked and spoke sort of funny,” she said.
“How so?”
“Was that Brandeth girl in love with you?” asked Beryl tragically.
“Oh, Lord, no!” exclaimed Keven.
“Are you ashamed to have her see you with me?”
“No, darling. On the contrary I would burst with pride.”
She was reassured and the shadow faded. Keven was worried lest she might ask next if he had ever been in love with Rosamond Brandeth. What a fool not to have told her long ago!
“Honey, I had a queer burn deep inside me,” exclaimed Beryl, with her hand over her heart. “I believe it was jealousy.”
“Nonsense. It’s indigestion. You’ve bolted your breakfast—what little you ate…. Come now.”
“Wait, Kev. Let me give you the money before I forget. We’d be in a pickle without that…. And I must fix some sandwiches. But I’ll be ready before you are.”
“Say, Beryl, wouldn’t it be funny if we didn’t have time to change our riding togs for something respectable?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” she replied, and ran to her room.
In less than an hour they were riding north on the river trail. When the sun broke through the mist they had reached the lower end of Mule Creek Canyon. Keven felt himself in a state of transport. By nine o’clock they were climbing the slope above Winkle Bar. The higher they mounted the more glorious seemed the golden forest and the blue river. When Keven turned a last time from the summit the sweet singing voice of running water called to him to come back soon. Then he plunged after the others into the many-hued maze of the wooded ridgetop. From that time the hours and miles were exceedingly and marvelously too short. At Nine Mile they halted for lunch, with Aard making sly jokes, Beryl gay, and Keven trying to realize why he should have been so crowned by the gods. From Nine Mile the trail led downhill. For long they rode in the fragrant shade of giant firs, zigzagging the slope of an ever-widening canyon where the blaze of autumn leaves dazzled Keven’s dreamy sight. When the early mountain sunset fell they rode down into West Fork.
A store, a station, and railroad track, set down between high dense slopes, where two streams met, constituted this place, West Fork, that had seemed such a goal.
How quiet and lonely! Even the iron rails and the telegraph wires made little difference. Beryl babbled like a running brook. Aard returned to where he had left them waiting with the information that they had ample time to change their clothes and have supper before their train time. Their difficulties seemed to dissolve into thin air.
Then, before Keven realized it, they were at the station. Aard was saying: “I reckon I better leave the horses here. No need of my comin’ in for you. I’ll expect you along in about two weeks.”
A deep low, hollow whistle came from round the narrow turn.
“Thar she comes.”
Keven felt Beryl squeeze his arm. Then she was kissing her father. The train rolled in with tremendous roar and clatter and halted with engine far beyond the station.
“Wal, son, it comes to every man once in his life,” Aard said, gripping Keven. “Be good to her…. Lass, I ’most forgot somethin’. Here. A weddin’ present for you an’ Kev…. Good-by. Come back soon. Solitude will be waitin’.”
Then they w
ere on the platform waving. The train jerked. Faces passed out of sight. Keven thought it no less than miraculous when, a moment later, he saw Beryl sitting by the train window, gazing out with wet and softened eyes. He sat down beside her. The train gathered headway along the glancing yellow-bordered stream.
Dusk fell all too soon. The brakeman lit the car lights, which rudely tore Keven and Beryl from their dreaming oblivion. They let go of each other’s hands and sat up to try to appear natural. Presently to Keven’s amaze he discovered that none of the other passengers were paying any attention to them. It was a relief, but Keven could not understand it. He said as much to Beryl. She gave him a bewildering smile. They talked then of everything except the tremendous adventure upon which they were embarked.
The train thundered on. At length it passed out of the mountainous country. The flickering lamps of hamlets flashed by. At Roseburg a stop of several minutes was made. Beryl peeped out of the window at the throng on the platform, and it was plain to Keven she was thrilled. After Roseburg the brakeman turned off the lights, except one at each end. Passengers settled back in their seats in anticipation of the long night.
But it was not going to be long for Keven. He felt too excited for sleep, though he was tired from the unaccustomed ride on horseback. Beryl’s presence was a continual delight. In the shadow she gradually nestled close to him, and then—wonder of wonders!—she went to sleep with her hand clasped in his and her head on his shoulder. After that, time seemed annihilated. Somewhere late in the night the train slowed abruptly with roar and jerk. It awakened Beryl, who, like a child, asked where she was. Keven kissed her, to her consternation and embarrassment.
On through the night rushed the train. Keven drowsily thought that at this rate he and Beryl would be married very soon indeed. Then all faded away. He awoke in the gray of dawn, to find that he had gone to sleep on Beryl’s shoulder. Daylight came. Beryl presently told Keven that the train was running along a very pretty trout stream.
They had breakfast in the diner—a new experience for Beryl. She was all eyes, and so were a number of men who caught sight of her. No one appeared to notice Keven. In his Illahe suit, his plain flannel shirt, and with the black shield over his eye, he was not too prepossessing, he thought. But Beryl was too handsome, too flushed and radiant to escape close observation. On the way back to their car a hawk-eyed young man got between Keven and Beryl. He was very polite about opening doors. At the third platform Keven heard him accost Beryl. She replied promptly enough, but Keven could not distinguish what she said. At last they reached their seats in the day coach.
“Did you see that man?” she asked, with flashing eyes. “The fool!”
“What’d he say, Beryl?”
“He said, ‘Dearie, haven’t I seen you before?’”
“Ahuh. And what’d you answer to that?” replied Keven, with a grin.
“I said, ‘You might have. I visited an insane asylum recently.’”
“I knew it—soon as we got out of the woods—men would run after you.”
“Nonsense. Why should they?” rejoined Beryl, with heat in her cheeks.
“Beryl, you’re so all-fired good-looking. Lord, but I’m proud of you! And jealous—whew! I’ll bet I’ll have ten fights on this trip.”
And so they talked and gazed out of the window at the inspiring Oregon landscape, while the train flew on and the hours flew by. Then Portland, before they realized they were halfway there!
At precisely five-ten the taxi driver Keven had engaged halted before a pretentious hotel. Keven hesitated. “Driver, I said a quiet, modest hotel.”
“Boss, dis is modestest hotel in Portland. Shore, it’s quiet, an’ respectable, too.”
Keven bade Beryl wait a moment. He went in with the baggage, checked it, and got a couple of addresses from the clerk. Then he ran back to Beryl. They drove off. At five-twenty they walked down the steps of a municipal building with a marriage license in their possession. And before six o’clock Beryl had a shiny circlet of gold round the third finger of her left hand.
The beautiful big city, the hurrying crowds, the canyonlike walls of the streets dazed Beryl. As for Keven, the climax of that journey had dazed him. They walked on. Glittering entrance to a restaurant caught Keven’s eye. Strains of music floated out.
“Beryl, are you hungry?” he asked eagerly.
“Come to think of it, I believe I am.”
“Can you dance?”
“I never tried with boys, but I’ve danced with girls.”
Keven halted almost in the act of entering the place. “Gosh, I can’t take you in there, I look like a hick.”
That would not have mattered to Beryl. They wandered on and eventually found a modest little place to dine, where they sat in a stall, hidden on three sides. Beryl was opposite him, turning the ring on her finger. Her eyes were dark stars.
“How easy it was!” she murmured.
“What?” he queried.
“Getting married. I hope everything was all right…. Did I look queer?”
“You looked like an angel bestowing heaven upon a poor beggar. And that’s just what happened…. Help me pick out something to eat.”
“Is there any smoked steelhead?” asked Beryl merrily.
“See here, backwoods lady. You’ve got to eat lobster salad, caviar, mushrooms, and——”
“But they won’t have that—that stuff here,” interrupted Beryl, taking the menu. Sure enough, no sign of such fashionable dishes was there. They compromised on beefsteak and potatoes, bread and butter, ice cream and cake.
Night had fallen when they went out, but the streets were brilliant with colored lights. It seemed like fairyland.
“I’ve never been to a motion picture,” announced Beryl, breathlessly. “Would you take me to see one, Keven?”
“Would I? Ha! Watch me.”
The many street lights centered in a white-and-red sign which read Their Wedding Night in gorgeous letters.
“Oh,” gasped Beryl, “I—I couldn’t go in—here.” She said that even before she saw any of the glaring posters of a sinuous siren wrapping herself round a lovesick swain.
Keven laughingly dragged her in, where amazement was added to shock. “I didn’t know it’d be all dark. I—I like it…. Oh, Kev, look!”
Holding onto her, Keven found two empty seats, and when they were settled in them, he still possessed her hand. The picture was one of those fantastic and atrocious counterfeits of life which the producers foist upon twenty million lovers every night. But Beryl was mystified, affronted, enchanted. She laughed and she cried. Once after a climax, she whispered in Keven’s ear: “It’s perfectly terrible!” Keven whispered back in her ear. “But you’re a married woman now!”
After the performance, and when they had walked at least a block, Keven asked:
“Did you like it, Beryl?”
“Oh, it was wonderful…. Crazy, and—and—Kev, if it hadn’t been pitch dark in that place I’d have died…. Yes, I’m afraid I liked it.”
“My word, it’s going to be great to take you places!” ejaculated Keven, squeezing her arm. “Say, what was the name of that hotel?”
“What hotel?”
“Where we went first, and I left the baggage.”
“I don’t know—I didn’t see any name.”
“Gosh, I never looked!”
“What’ll we do now?” asked Beryl, aghast.
“We sure are from Solitude…. Here’s a cop. I’ll describe the place. He can tell us.”
Eventually they reached their hotel, tired and happy, with Beryl lagging a little, dragging at his arm, mute now where for long she had babbled like one of her mountain brooks.
Next morning they went out together, into a roseate world.
Beryl went to the oculist with Keven and waited in the outer room. Keven found himself well remembered. He sat in a darkened room, facing strange instruments, through which the oculist cast a pinpoint of white light upon his injured eye. He had
to try to read letters of difficult sizes. He sat with his head in a brace and looked through bits of glass slid in a frame before him. And magically the moment arrived when he could see as well with his defective eye as with the other. That was a happy moment.
“Your general physical tone has greatly improved,” said the doctor. “Likewise your eyesight. I will give you glasses for reading and close work. The right glass will be bifocal and quite strong. The left glass will have no power. I’ll have them ready for you in a few days.”
The oculist charged Keven sixteen dollars for the glasses, but refused anything for his services. Keven thanked him and rejoined Beryl. “Come. Ho, for that dentist! While my luck lasts!”
They found Dr. Ames in the same building. “Hello, Bell, how’re the steelhead running?” was the genial doctor’s greeting. And he certainly had two admiring and curious eyes for Beryl.
“Fine, Doctor. Twelve-pounders thick lately…. This—this is my—my wife, Beryl.”
“I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs. Bell,” said the doctor. “I didn’t know my Rogue River informant had a wife. I fancy it’s not been for long.”
“About one day,” replied Beryl shyly, and the ever-ready, telltale red spotted her velvety cheeks.
“You don’t say! Well! My hearty congratulations! … Bell, there’s a reason for you looking so greatly improved. I’m glad…. Take a seat and wait a little. I’ll get after you quick.”
Keven had nerved himself for an ordeal, and when once in the operating chair he prepared for it.
After an examination, the dentist said: “Your mouth is in pretty fair condition. Ulcers gone. Very little stomatitis. We can go to work at once. And that’s fine. I’ll take a plaster impression first, before the tissue and bone become irritated. Then I’ll have to burn and scrape. It’ll hurt like hell.”
“Go to it, Doctor. I can stand anything.”
The doctor mixed plaster of Paris with water in a bowl. When it resembled whipped cream he poured it out into a metal cup, which he inverted and inserted in Keven’s mouth, pressing it down hard. This did not hurt so much, but presently, as the plaster began to harden, Keven felt he would strangle. The doctor warned him not to swallow or cough or breathe through his mouth. When the plaster set it took considerable force to remove the cup, which came forth just in the nick of time for Keven.
