CHAPTER XVI
THE DEPARTURE
The gentle hand of sleep, which held Hardy in a grip that was akin todeath, blotting out the past and dispelling all remembrance of hissorrows, failed utterly to abate the fighting spirit of JeffersonCreede or sap the Spartan grimness of his purpose. Worn by thedestroying anger of the previous day, thwarted and apparentlydefeated, he rose up at the first glow of dawn and set about hispreparations with an unemotional directness which augured ill forJasper Swope. Before the sun was an hour high he had the town herd onthe trail for Bender, entrusted to the care of Bill Lightfoot andseveral others of whom he wanted to be rid. The camp was dismantled,the packs were loaded upon the spare horses, and the outfit was readyto start for Carrizo Creek before breakfast was more than finished inthe ranch house. After a final survey to make sure that nothing hadbeen overlooked in the scuffle, the _rodeo_ boss waved his hand to theleaders; then, as the train strung out up the canyon, he rode over tothe house to say good-bye. The last farewell is a formality oftendispensed with in the Far West; but in this case the boss had businessto attend to, and--well, he had something to say to Kitty Bonnair,too.
Very quietly, in order not to awaken his partner--whom he had pickedup like a tired baby and stored away in the darkened bunk-room theevening before--Creede opened the door of the living-room, greeted hislady-love with a cheerful grin, and beckoned Miss Lucy outside by abackward jerk of the head.
"Sorry to disturb you, Miss Ware," he said, "but we're movin' campthis mornin' and before I go I want to tell you about them cattle I'mjust sendin' to town. If I didn't have other business on hand I'd godown with you gladly and sell 'em for you, but when you git to Benderyou go to Chris Johansen, the cattle buyer, and give him this list.You won't savvy what it is but Chris will, and you tell him that if hedon't give you the best market price for them cows he'll haveto--lick--me! This is a dry year and feeders ain't much nohow, but Idon't want to see no friend of mine robbed. Well, so-long, Miss Ware.Hope you have a good trip."
He gripped her hand awkwardly, picked up his bridle lash, and thrustone boot thoughtfully into the stirrup. Then, as if suddenly cognizantof a neglected duty, he snapped his foot out and threw the lash backon the ground.
"I'll say good-bye to the judge," he drawled, "so's to show they ain'tno hard feelin'. Your old man don't exactly fit in these parts," heobserved apologetically, "but he means well, I reckon. You can tell'im some time that I was kind of excited when I quit."
His farewell was a sober and dignified affair, after the courtlyschool of the South--no allusions to the past, no references to thefuture, merely a gentlemanly expression of regret that his guest'svisit should have been so suddenly terminated. But when he turned toMiss Kitty his masterful eyes began to glow and waver and he shiftedhis feet uneasily.
"Kin I speak with you a minute outside?" he said at last; and Kitty,still eager to read the heart of Man, the Unfinished, followed afterhim, laughing as he stooped to pass his high hat through the door.
"Come on out by the corral," he urged, confidently leading the way.When they were concealed by the corner of the fence he stopped anddropped his bridle rein.
"Well, we've had a pretty good time together down here, hain't we?" heobserved, twisting the fringe of his shaps and smiling at her frombeneath his forelock. "I ain't got but a minute--and there's somerough work ahead, I reckon--but I jest wanted to--well, I wanted togive you this." He dove down into his overalls' pocket and brought upa nugget, worn smooth by long milling around between his spare changeand his jackknife.
"That's a chunk of gold I found over by Red Butte one time," he said,handing it over. "Thought you might want to keep it for me, you know.But say--" He crowded his hands into his pockets and canted his headto one side, ogling her roguishly.
Kitty had never observed just such conduct before, and she wascurious.
"Why--what?" she inquired, tossing back her hair tantalizingly.
"Don't I git nothin' to remember you by, little girl?" he demanded,his voice vibrant with passion. "We've been pretty good friends, youknow. In fact--well, say, don't I git jest one kiss?"
He drew her gently into his arms as he spoke, waited a fraction of asecond for her to resist, and then kissed her, suddenly and withmasterful violence.
"One more," he pleaded insistently. "No? All right then," he said,swinging gracefully up on his horse as she pushed him away. "I'llalways remember that one, anyhow!"
He leaned forward and Bat Wings shot away up the canyon like a chargerthat sniffs the combat, thundering out across the _parada_ grounds,swinging beneath the giant mesquite, and plunging down the bank thatled to the creek. And all the time his rider sat with one hand on thecantle, his white teeth flashing back a wistful smile.
Taken by surprise Kitty Bonnair stood staring blankly after him,rubbing her cheek which burned hot where he had kissed her. She wouldalways remember that kiss too, and all too late she remembered tobecome indignant. But, no one being about, she laughed low to herselfand hurried back to the house, her eyes downcast and pensive. She hadknown many men and lovers in her time, but never a one like JeffCreede.
There was a sound of hasty packing in the Dos S ranch house thatmorning, and the wagon drove noisily up to the door. Rafael carriedout the steamer trunks and luggage, the snake-skins, the smoky opals,the Indian baskets, the braided quirts, and all the scattered plunderthat the cowboys had given Kitty and that she could not bear to leavebehind. He saddled up their horses, clattering recklessly into thebunk-house where Hardy was sleeping in order to get his blankets, andstill, unmindful of noise or preparation, or the friends who must saygood-bye, he lay sprawled on the rough blankets, dead with sleep.
Rafael kicked off the brake and started on his weary journey aroundRed Butte to Moreno's, which would take him the rest of the day; JudgeWare, possessed to get out of the country before he became _particepscriminis_ to some lawless outrage, paced restlessly up and down the_ramada_, waiting for the girls to get ready; and Kitty and Lucy,glancing guiltily at each other, fidgeted around in their roomswaiting for Rufus to wake up.
"I'm ready," said Lucy at last, putting the final touches to the roomwhich he had given up to her. "Are you, Kitty?"
Their eyes met in an uneasy stare, each wishing the other wouldspeak.
"Yes," said Kitty, "but--shall we go without saying good-bye?"
"What in the world are you girls waiting for?" demanded the judge,thrusting his head impatiently in at the door. "I declare, I begin tothink there is something in these jokes about Adam waiting for Eve toget her hat on straight. Now please come at once or we won't get toMoreno's in time for supper."
"But, father," protested Lucy, "Kitty and I do not wish to leavewithout saying good-bye to Rufus. Would you mind--"
"No, no!" exclaimed Judge Ware irritably, "if he chooses to sleep allday--"
"But, father!" burst out Lucy, almost tearfully, "he was so tired--hefell asleep as soon as he sat down, and I never did get him to consentto be my superintendent! Don't you see--"
"Well, write him a note then," directed the judge brusquely, "andleave it on his desk. Now, Lucy dear, really I'm getting so nervousI'm hardly accountable. _Please_ hurry. And, Kitty, please hurry,too!"
Like two souls haled from the world without a word of explanation orconfession, Kitty and Lucy both sat down under duress to pen a lastappeal to the little man who, despite his stern disregard, somehowheld a place in their hearts. Kitty could have wept with vexation atthe thought of not seeing him again--and after she had brought hermind to forgive him, too! She wrote blindly, she knew not what,whether it was accusation or entreaty, and sealed the envelope with abang of her tiny fist--and even then he did not awaken. Lucy wrotecarefully, wrestling to turn the implacable one from his purpose andyet feeling that he would have his will. She sealed her note and putit upon his desk hesitatingly; then, as Kitty turned away, shedropped her handkerchief beside it. It was a time-worn strategy, suchas only the innocent and guileless think of in their hour ofad
versity. When she ran back to recover it Lucy drew a dainty bookfrom her bosom--Mrs. Browning's "Sonnets from the Portuguese"--andplaced it across her note as if to save it from the wind, and betweentwo leaves she slipped the forget-me-nots which he had given her atHidden Water.
As the thud of horses' hoofs died away silence settled down upon theDos S ranch house, the sombre silence of the desert, unbroken by themurmur of women's voices or the echo of merry laughter, and thesleeping man stirred uneasily on his bed. An hour passed, and thenfrom the _ramada_ there came a sound of wailing. Hardy rose up on hisbed suddenly, startled. The memory of the past came to him vaguely,like fragments of an eerie dream; then the world came right and hefound himself in the bunk-house, alone--and Tommy outside, crying asif for the dead. Leaping up from his blankets Hardy opened the doorand called him in--hoarse, black, distorted, yet overflowing with loveand affection. Poor little Tommy! He took him in his arms to comforthim, and bedded him down on the pillow. But when he stepped outside hefound that his world too was vacant--the house deserted, the corralsempty, the _rodeo_ camp a smouldering fireplace, surrounded by awilderness of tin cans.
As the slow grief of the forsaken came upon him he turned and went tohis room, where the atmosphere of womankind still lingered to suggestthe dear hands that were gone, and suddenly his eyes leaped to theletters left upon the table. It was Kitty's which he opened first,perhaps because it was nearest; but the torrent of inconsequentialwords confused him by their unreason and he turned to Lucy's, readingit over thoughtfully.
"DEAR RUFUS:
"We have waited a long time for you to wake up, and now father says we must go. You were so tired last night that I doubt if you heard a word I said, although I thought I was making a great impression in my new role as a business woman. I asked father to give me the ranch, not because I wanted to own it but to save you from your madness. The cattle are all mine now and I leave them in your care. Whatever you do I will consent to, if you will leave your guns at home. Is that too much for a friend to ask? I know that Mr. Creede is your friend too, and I admire your devotion to his cause, but I think you can do just as much for him and more by not risking your life in a battle against the sheep. They are so many, Rufus, and they have their rights, too. Father is confident that the Forest Reserve will be declared next Winter and then the sheep will be debarred forever. Can't you give over the fight for my sake? And I will pay you any price--I will do anything you ask; but if you should be killed or kill some other man, I could never be happy again, though I gained the whole world. Dear Rufus, please--but I leave it for you to decide--"
The note ended abruptly, it was not even signed, and Hardy couldimagine the agitation in which it was written. Dear little Lucy,always thinking of others, always considerate, always honest andreasonable. If only Kitty--But no--in her own right as Queen of Loveand of his heart, she was above all criticism and blame. It was amadness, deeper than his anger against the sheep, mightier than hisfiercest resentment--he could not help it; he loved her. Changeable,capricious, untamed, she held him by her faults where virtues wouldhardly have sufficed in another. He had tried, and failed; so long asshe was in the world he must love her. But what a life! He cast theletter from him and his heart turned to Jeff and the big fight, thebattle that they had planned to wage together. In the rush andstruggle of that combat he could forget the pangs which tortured him;he could have his revenge on life, which had treated him so shabbily!And yet--and yet--could he desert a friend like Lucy--Lucy who wouldgive her life to make him happier, who had always by every act triedto make him forget his sorrows?
For a long time he sat with his head bowed, thinking. Then he rose upand took down his long-barrelled Colt's, fingered it lovingly, andthrust it, scabbard and all, into the depths of his war bag.
As he rode down the hill into the camp that afternoon Creede came outto meet him, and when his eyes fell upon the empty belt, he smiledknowingly.
"Well, you woke up, did you?" he inquired, laying one hand carelesslyon the bulge in Hardy's right shap, where modest cowboys sometimessecrete their guns. "Um-huh!" he grunted, slapping the left shap tomake sure. "I suspected as much. Well, I congratulate you, supe--if mygirl had asked me I reckon I'd've give up my gun too. But she gimme akiss, anyway," he added, tossing his head triumphantly.
"Who did?" demanded Hardy, coming suddenly out of his dream.
"Why, Kitty, sure," returned Creede artlessly; and then, noting thelook of incredulity on his partner's face, he slapped him on the legand laughed consumedly.
"Oh, you're not the only pebble on the beach," he cried. "Ump-um--thereare others! Say, it's hell to be in love, ain't it?"
He looked up at Hardy, the laughter still in his cheeks, but for oncethere was no answering smile. The large gray eyes were far away anddistant, fixed vacantly upon the dust cloud where the sheep gatheredin the east. Then, as if dismissing some haunting vision from hismind, the little man shook himself and drew away.
"That's right," he said solemnly, "it is."
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