by Grey, Zane
"I do ask, Phil. I beg of you. Now at the last I confess I'm not so brazen. I'm afraid of scandal. Nothing bad ever has touched my name yet. All this modern stuff about freedom, independence, license is rot. Face to face with the truth, I beg of you--do this thing for me. At any cost."
"Yes--Janey," he gulped, and leaned against the window.
Janey's reserve strength had oozed out in expression. She waited in suspense. She saw his lean jaw quiver and the cords set in his neck. He turned to transfix her with accusing eyes.
"On one condition," he said.
"Condition!--What?" she whispered.
"This, then, is the last time you and I will ever be alone together?" he asked, huskily.
She was past falsehood and could only stare mutely at him.
"Of course it must be. Well, my price for your favor is that you let me... No! I will not bargain... You lovely heartless thing--you'd only refuse. I'll take what will give me strength to do your bidding!"
Janey backed against the wall, her hands against her breast, as if to ward him off. But when like a whirlwind he seized her in his arms he never knew those trembling hands locked round his neck. Mad with grief and unrequited love, he crushed her to his breast and pressed wild unsatisfied kisses upon her closed eyes, her parted lips, her neck. And releasing her as suddenly, he staggered to the door, like a blinded man, and leaned his face against it, sobbing: "Janey! Janey!... Janey!"
He did not turn to see her outstretched arms, her convulsed face. And as Janey could not speak he bolted out in ignorance. Janey closed her eyes, slowly recovering.
"I thought--that was--my finish," she whispered, pantingly. "Poor boy--he never looked at me!... Well, it'll only be--all the sweeter!"
Chapter 13
The sun had set when the car entered the heavy forest of pine that skirted the mountains. Snow was blowing. The wind was bitter cold, and moaned in the trees. How the car hummed on! Night fell, and the forest was black. The headlights cast broad gleams into the forest at the curves of the road, making specters of the dark pines.
Soon, then, the street lamps of Flagerstown terminated that wonderful ride.
In the hotel lobby, Janey, indifferent to loungers there, held frozen ungloved hands to the open fire. She had learned the real good of fire, its dire necessity, as she had begun the learning of many other things.
As Janey turned, she saw a tall stoop-shouldered man, rather lean and scholarly, rise from a chair to accost Randolph.
"How do you do, Mr. Elliot," replied Randolph, constrainedly. "How are you? This is my friend--and patron, I may add--Mr. Endicott, of New York."
"Ah! How do you do, Mr. Endicott," returned Elliot, rather slowly, extending his hand to meet Endicott's. "Patron? Of what, may I ask?"
"Hardly patron, just yet," replied Endicott. "Randolph is a little previous, naturally."
"Yes, he is, indeed," returned the doctor, not without sarcasm. "Overzealous, I may say, in estimating things. Dreamy when he should be scientific. Witness the ridiculous rumor just phoned in from Cameron."
"Rumor? What was it?" asked Randolph, tersely. Janey liked the lift of his head, and grew interested. No doubt this was the museum director who had discharged Phillip.
"Some nonsense about your having discovered Beckyshibeta," replied Elliot, with a dry laugh. "It was telephoned in to the newspaper by a chauffeur. Annoying to me, to say the least."
Randolph glanced at Endicott and said, "We stopped at Cameron for gas."
"Must have been Driver Bill," replied Endicott, sprightly, with a shrewd eye upon Elliot.
"Yes, Dr. Elliot, it was--rather previous," said Randolph in as dry a tone as the director's. But there was fire in his eye.
"Ahem!--I'm waiting here for two of our men due from New Mexico. Expect to put them on the job from which I removed you. I trust Mr. Bennet, the trader, informed you of this move."
"Yes, Bennet told me you had fired me. Mr. Endicott here will corroborate it."
Endicott nodded in reply to the doctor's questioning look, but he did not speak. Janey knew the gleam in her father's eye. He would say something presently.
"Randolph, I was very sorry indeed to remove you," went on Elliot blandly. "There's no need to repeat my reasons. You've been advised often enough."
"Dr. Elliot, you need not distress yourself over doing what you considered your duty," rejoined Randolph. "It certainly doesn't distress me. In fact it was the only lucky thing that ever happened to me since my connection with the museum."
"Indeed. Excuse me if I fail to see any good fortune in that for you," replied Elliot, stiffly.
"You never could see much about me. Perhaps you will when I tell you that after you removed me I discovered Beckyshibeta."
"What!" exclaimed Elliot, incredulously.
"I discovered Beckyshibeta," repeated Randolph, forcefully, truth clear in his paling face and piercing eye. "Probably the greatest of all pueblo ruins. I have my proof. Mr. Endicott and his daughter can substantiate my claim. Bennet, the cowboys, and a Mrs. Durland with her son were all there."
Speechlessly Dr. Elliot turned to Endicott for corroboration of this astounding assertation.
"Fact," said Endicott, shortly. "I'm about to wire Dr. Bushnell, head of the museum. Also Jackson, a good friend of mine. Want them to know that I stand behind Randolph. It remains to be decided whether we shall let the museum in on the excavation work."
"Dr. Bushnell! Jackson!" ejaculated Elliot, weakly. "May I ask--are you Mr. Elijah Endicott?"
"The same, sir," returned Endicott, bowing, and abruptly left the astounded director to join Janey beside the fire.
"Janey, old girl, did you get that?" he whispered. "I'm simply tickled pink, as you say... Now listen to Phil lay him out cold."
Dr. Elliot seemed to be in the throes of amazement and consternation.
"Ah! Indeed!--So it's true," he began, floundering to retrieve himself. "Most remarkable. Incredible, I may say. But of course, I understand--a fact. You are most fortunate, Randolph, in your discovery and to have gained the interest of Elijah Endicott. I congratulate you... And I--er--ahem--perhaps it is I who is somewhat previous. Pray forget your hasty dismissal. It really was not authentic--going through a third party. Somewhat irregular. We can adjust the matter amicably. In fact I--I'd consider it a favor if you will not mention the matter to our New York office."
"I've accepted my release, Dr. Elliot, thank you, and shall wire the museum to that effect," replied Randolph, with cold dignity, and bowed himself away.
The director looked a dazed, beaten and frightened man.
"Say, Janey, didn't Phil look great?" crowed Endicott, with gleeful pride. "What a coup for him! That will cost Elliot his job. And by gad, I'll see that it's offered to Randolph."
"Daddy, you like Phillip, don't you?" asked Janey, softly.
"Love him, you icicle. And you bet I'll push him for keeps."
"You're kind and good. I'm glad you--you care for him," responded Janey, and turned to gaze into the fire. "It's too bad you--Phillip--I--Oh, words are idle and useless."
"Janey, darling, just then you reminded me of your mother," said her father, with feeling.
"It's a long time since you've done that."
"Mother?... I'm glad, Daddy. Perhaps--after this--this lesson of yours I will grow more like her."
"Janey," whispered Endicott, bending over her, "you mean to go on with this cruel marriage and--"
"Yes," she returned, dropping her eyes. "It will kill Phillip."
"Nonsense. Men don't die of unrequited love."
"If your mother had led me to the altar--and left me--I'm sure I'd never have lived to face it."
"Phil Randolph is made of sterner stuff. Besides he has a brilliant future... I'm tired now, Dad, and very hungry."
The sunshine poured in at Janey's window, telling her that she had slept late, though this was to be the day of days. She lay watching the gold shadows on the curtain, aware of the fresh cool dry air o
n her face. Her active mind took up the development of plans where the night before she had left off. Her father had secured a Pullman drawing room on the Limited. The securing of this, or at least a compartment on the train, was of paramount importance. Only one more detail to arrange--the strongest link in the chain to her climax!
Janey arose, conscious of inward excitation and suspense. After all, she could not be sure of anything until she was Phillip's wife. That would be the consummation of hopes, the allaying of fears. The rest would be like the denouement of a good play.
She looked out of her window. How blue the sky! The mountain peaks stood up like dark spears. Patches of snow shone in the sunlight, running down to the edge of the vast green belt of forest land. She could see into the fields adjacent to town. Horses were romping with manes flying in the wind; red and white cattle were grazing on a grassy hill; the scattered pine trees seemed to call to her to come and ride. Cut-over timberlands led her gaze to distant foothills and these to far-off black bluffs and hazy desert. Arizona! There was no place in the world so full of romance and beauty, and the natural things that stirred the soul.
Janey went into the little open parlor of the hotel, where her father sat before a cozy fire, reading a newspaper.
"What a lazy bride-to-be!" he said good-humoredly. "We had breakfast long ago."
"Mawnin', Dad," drawled Janey. "Reckon I'll have a cup of coffee and some toast up heah."
"You look very sweet and lovely for a prospective murderess," he said. "Janey, old dear, I give up forever trying to figure women."
"Fine! Now you will be the best of fathers. Where's Phil?"
"He was here a moment ago with the marriage license. Lord, but he's funny. Like a sleepwalker! I have made a ten o'clock appointment with a minister--Dr. Cardwell. Nice old chap. He's from Connecticut. Came here years ago with lung trouble. His life had been despaired of in the East. But he's hale and hearty now. I tell you, Janey, this Arizonie, as Bennet calls it, is a wonderful country."
"Arizona. Mellow, golden, sustaining, beautiful, clean with desert wind," murmured Janey, gazing down into the fire. "Presently I shall tell you what it has done for me."
"I'll fetch your coffee and toast," returned Endicott, with alacrity.
The moments passed with Janey musing. Presently her father entered, carrying a small tray. Randolph also came in. He wore a dark suit that showed his stalwart form to advantage. Janey admired again the clean-shaven tanned face, lean and strong.
"Good morning, Miss Endicott," he said, with courtesy, but his steady gaze made Janey almost feel a little uneasy in spite of herself. She gazed at him over her cup of coffee.
"Howdy, Phil. Are the horses ready?"
"No," he flashed. "But the taxi is."
Janey laughed, her composure restored. How eager Randolph was to get this awful business settled!
"Dad, you said our train left at seven something, didn't you?"
"Seven-ten. It's the Limited and always on time," he replied.
"So long to wait. I wish for Mr. Randolph's sake it left hours earlier."
"Don't worry about Phillip, my dear," returned Endicott. "We've got a lot to talk over and won't bother you."
"Thank you... I'll get my things on and be back pronto," said Janey, and hurried away to her room.
Randolph showed that the strain was wearing upon him. Janey thought it would be wise for her to see as little as possible of him after the wedding up until nearly train time. She felt nervous and tense herself. It wanted but a few minutes to ten o'clock. She put on her coat and hat, and a veil, which she carefully arranged. How white her face and big her eyes! Then she hurried back to join the gentlemen, who rose at her entrance.
"I'm ready," she said, rather tremulously. "Is--everything arranged?"
"Why, I'm sure it is, Janey," returned her father, turning to Randolph. "There's not so much. Minister, license, taxi. What else?"
"Mr. Randolph, did you purchase a wedding ring?"
"No," he replied, with the strangest of glances at her.
"Then you must do so at once. I'll go with you. Surely there's a jeweler here."
"I have a wedding ring. It was my mother's. It hardly matters whether it fits or not."
"Doesn't it?--That's all you know," said Janey. Her hands were trembling while she tried it on. "Oh, it's a perfect fit... What a pretty ring! I like old-fashioned wedding rings best."
"Old-fashioned weddings, too," added her father. "Lord, Janey, I always dreaded one of those swell weddings for you. Might have saved myself a lot of worry. Come on. We'll have this over in a jiffy."
He led her downstairs, through the lobby, and out to a waiting taxi. Randolph had evidently stopped behind for something. Presently he came out, and squeezing into the taxi he laid something on Janey's knee without a word. She tucked aside a corner of her veil and opened the loose paper package on her lap. Flowers of some kind! Then she thrilled. The tiny bouquet was composed of bits of cedar and juniper foliage, with their green and lavender berries, several wild roses, and a sprig of sage with the exquisite rare purple blossoms. Janey was so deeply touched that she could not speak, and she quickly dropped the corner of veil, lest Phil should see the havoc wrought by these sweet symbols from the desert.
The short ride, the simple brief ceremony, and the return to the hotel were like changing moments of a trance to Janey. She would not have exchanged the simplicity of her marriage for all the pomp of royalty.
Once more safe in her room she laid aside the bouquet, flung her gloves, tore off the veil, and threw aside hat and coat. And she did not recognize the face in the mirror. Janey had never raved about her looks, but she gloried in them now.
"It's over. I'm his wife," she whispered, kissing the slim band of gold on her finger. "Now! Now I'm safe--and oh, so unutterably happy!... How can I wait to tell him? Suppose he ran off to his desert before I could!... Oh, my bursting heart!"
Janey wept in the exaltation of that hour. It was long before composure returned, and then it was such composure as she had never known. No one would have guessed that she had cried like an overjoyous girl.
Her father knocked at her door and called: "Janey, we've arranged a lunch over here at a restaurant. Will you come?"
"Indeed I will. Just a minute, Dad, and I'll join you." She dispensed with the veil this time. Let them be mystified at the glow on her face and the light in her eyes! They were only men who knew nothing of the wondrous strength and generosity of a woman's heart. Then she went out.
"My word, Janey, but you look great!" exclaimed Endicott, with conscious pride.
Randolph stared at her as if she were an impenetrable stone image hiding the truth of woman. Nevertheless, once seated at table, the constraint eased, and they enjoyed a capital luncheon.
"Well, that was fine," said Endicott, with satisfaction. "Now, Janey, we'll take you back to the hotel, where Phil and I must go into an important conference over plans for work at Beckyshibeta."
"I shall not be lonely. I'll visit the stores--and look out for cowboys," replied Janey, gaily.
"You'll find cowboys on every corner," warned Endicott. "Be careful, Janey," he grimaced.
"Wait, Dad, please," replied Janey, catching his sleeve. "I've something to tell you and--my husband."
Randolph winced at the first use of that word between them. Endicott dropped back in his chair, sure of catastrophe.
Janey transfixed them with a glance in which long-past resentment and pain blended now with some emotion they could not name.
"Gentlemen, do you recall one late afternoon at Bennet's trading post when you planned to kidnap me?"
Randolph looked stricken and Endicott gulped: "No. Can't say I do."
"Tax your memory, Dad," went on Janey, dryly. "It never was good. But this was a special occasion."
Randolph coughed uneasily. "I remember, Miss Endicott."
"I am no longer Miss Endicott," corrected Janey.
"Pardon, Mrs. Randolph," he corrected h
imself mockingly.
"Dad, I was lying out in the hammock beside the open window when you made your infamous offer to Phil Randolph," said Janey.
"My God, no!" cried her father, thunder-struck. "I don't believe you."
"Listen. You'll believe your very own words," replied Janey, and went on to repeat many things that had been burned indelibly on her memory.
"That's enough," suddenly interrupted her father, very red in the face. "I can see you were there."
"All the time you knew!" exclaimed Randolph, wide-eyed and ashamed.
"All the time," replied Janey, smiling at them.
"Lord save me from another daughter," burst out Endicott, helplessly.
"I'll run along now," added Janey, rising. "Thanks for the luncheon. I'll remember it... Dad, we will wait for dinner on the train... Mr. Randolph, you will go to the train with us to say good-by? Please. It will look better. Must I remind you--"
"No, you needn't remind me of anything," interrupted Randolph, almost violently, dark and passionate pain and reproach in his eyes. "I'll be at the train to bid--good-by--to my wife--forever."
"Ah--Thank you. Then all is well," replied Janey, averting her eyes. "Adios--till then."
As she glided away from them, out into the main restaurant, she heard her father say: "Phil, my God I need a drink." Randolph's reply followed with a sudden scrape of a chair on the floor.
"Eli, you old villain, I'll need two," he said, weakly. "And we'll drink to all that's left to me--Beckyshibeta."
Janey went out tingling, blushing, glowing. It was even more fun, more satisfaction than she had anticipated. How flabbergasted her father had been! And she had dared only one fleeting look at the stricken Randolph. "All the time you knew!" he had cried. Janey reflected that when he had returned to sanity he would recall many things that might embarrass her. But she would take good care he never recovered his sanity. Then she went about the last few tasks needed to insure this blissful future for Randolph.
First she engaged the hotel porter to fetch Randolph's bag to the train with hers and her father's. She made it clear to the bright-eyed colored lad--as well as remunerative--that Randolph was not to see this removal of baggage. Next she set out to look for some cowboys.
