The Last Straw

by Harold Titus

  CHAPTER X

  A MATTER OF DIRECTION

  If Dick Hilton had not been bewildered by passion, jealousy and rage atthwarted desires, he might have known that his horse was not taking thehomeward way, and had the horse not been bred and raised by one ofColonel Hunter's mares he might have carried his rider straight back toUte Crossing.

  But he was a canny little beast, he was cold and drenched, the trip totown was long and the range on which he had spent his happy colthoodwas not far off. Horses know riders before riders know horses so, as hewent through the gate, he slyly tried out this rider and instead ofswinging to the right he bore to the left. He went tentatively throughthe pitch darkness, one ear cocked backward at first but when Hilton,collar up, hat down, bowed before the storm, gave no evidence ofdetecting this plan, the beast picked up his rapid walk and took thetrail for the nearer, more satisfactory place where many times in thepast he had stood out such downpours with no great discomfort under theshelter of a spreading cedar.

  And direction was the last thing in Dick Hilton's mind. For a longinterval his thoughts were incoherent and the conflicting emotions theyprovoked were distressing. Being alone, made physically uncomfortableby the water seeping through his shoulders and breeches, sensing thesteady movement of the animal under him, brought some order to hismental chaos and finally realization began to dawn.

  Yes, he had followed his strongest impulses; there could be no questionabout what he had done, but as for its wisdom: Ah, that was anothermatter, and he cursed himself for a fool, at first mentally, then underhis breath and when the horse began mounting a steep incline,clattering over rocks with his unshod hoofs, Hilton halted him andlooked about in foolish attempt to make out his whereabouts and saidaloud:

  "Off the road. That's twice you've made an ass of yourself tonight!"

  There was nothing for him to do but go on and trust to the horse. Heknew that this was not the highway but consoled himself that it mightbe a short cut to the Crossing. Small consolation and it was dissipatedwhen they commenced a lurching descent with a wall of rockuncomfortably close to his right, so close that at times his kneescrubbed it smartly. He became alarmed for the horse went cautiously,head low, feeling his way over insecure footing. Once his fore feetslipped and he stopped short while loosened stones rolled before themon the trail and Hilton heard one strike far below to his left, andstrike again and again, sounds growing fainter. He peered down into thegloom but could see nothing, hear nothing but the hiss of rain. Anempty ache came into his viscera as he imagined the depths that mightwait to that side.

  After a moment the horse went on, picking his way gingerly.

  Somewhere beyond or below he made out a light. It was a feeble glow andits location became a weird thing for lack of perceptive, but itcheered him. He was decidedly uncomfortable and his state of mind addedto the physical need of warmth and shelter so he urged the horse on.

  Finally they reached a flat and he felt wet brush slapping at his legsas the horse, intent on the light himself, trotted forward.

  Their destination was a cabin. The glow finally resolved itself intocracks of light showing between logs and through a tarpaulin which hungacross the doorway.

  Dick shouted. Movement inside; the curtain was drawn back and he rodeblinking into the light, which he could see came from a fireplace. Awoman stood outlined against the flare.

  "Who's there?" she asked sharply, and Dick stopped his horse.

  "My name is Hilton," he said, "but that won't do you much good. I'm astranger and I'm off my way, I guess."

  The other did not reply as he dismounted and walked toward her.

  "Without a slicker," she said. "Come in."

  The first thing he saw inside was movement: A cartridge belt, swingingfrom a nail. A rifle leaned handily against the door casing.

  The girl who had held the curtain back for him to enter let it drop andturned to face him. Hilton drew his breath sharply. Blue-black hair, ina heavy, orderly mass atop a shapely, high-held head and falling downher straight trim back in one thick plait; brown eyes, ripe red lips, adelicate chin and a throat of exquisite proportions. His gaze traveleddown her figure, the natural grace of which could not be concealed bythe shirt and riding skirt she wore. She was wholly beautiful.

  "Oh, I've seen you before," he said slowly. "You're the girl thatdemanded respect and got it in the Crossing the other day!"

  She eyed him in silence a moment, evidently unaware of the admirationin his tone.

  "I never saw you. I ain't been here long," she said, her expressionstill defiant, as though he had challenged her. She searched his face,his clothing, and back at his face again. "Where was you travelin'tonight?"

  "I was going to the Crossing," he said with a short laugh. "My horsebrought me here."

  Without comment she walked to the fire and threw on another knot. Hewatched her movements, the free rhythmic swing of her walk, the easygrace with which her hands and arms moved, the perfect assurance ineven her smallest gesture. His eyes kindled.

  "Set," she said, indicating a box by the hearth. "You're soaked. Luckyyou struck here or you'd made a night of it."

  Hilton seated himself, holding his hands toward the fire. He lookedabout the one room of the cabin. In two corners were beds on theearthen floor, a table made from a packing box contained dishes, Dutchovens and a frying pan were on the hearth. The roof leaked.

  The girl sat eyeing the fire, rather sullenly. He held his gaze on her,watching the play of light over her throat as it threw a velvety sheenon the wind kissed skin. Her shirt was open at the neck and he couldsee the easy rise and fall of her breast as she breathed. He noticedthat her fingers were slender and that her wrists, bronzed by exposure,indicated with all their delicacy, wiry strength. Another thing: Shewas clean.

  Suddenly the girl looked up.

  "Think you'd know me again?" she said bruskly, and rather swaggered asshe moved.

  "I don't think I shall ever forget you," he replied. "I knew I shouldnot the first time I saw you. I shall never forget the way you gavethat fellow what he deserved. It was great!"

  His manner was kindly, showing no resentment at her belligerence andthough her only reply was a sniff he knew that what he had said pleasedher.

  "I wouldn't want you to think I'm staring at you," he went on. "A manshouldn't be blamed for looking at you closely."

  "How's that?"

  "You are very beautiful."

  She poked at the fire with a stick.

  "I reckon that'll be enough of that," she said as she walked backtoward the door.

  The man smiled and followed her with his eyes, which squintedspeculatively.

  "You'd better unsaddle that horse," she said. "He'll roll with your kakif you don't."

  Hilton looked about the room again.

  "Are you alone?" he asked.

  She whirled and looked at him with temper. Her hand, perhapsunconsciously, was pressed against the wall near that rifle.

  "What if I am?"--sharply.

  "Because if you are I shall not unsaddle my horse. I'll have to go on."

  When she put her question she had been rigidly expectant but at hisanswer she relaxed and the fierceness that had been about her yieldedto a curiosity.

  "Go on in the rain? How's that?"--in a voice that was quite different,as though she had encountered something she did not understand.

  He looked at her a lengthy interval before replying.

  "Because I respect you very much. Do you understand that?"

  She moved back to the fireplace, eyeing him questioningly, and he metthat look with an easy smile.

  "No, I don't understand that," she said.

  "You should. I saw you beat a man the other day because he didn'trespect you. No one but that type of man would refuse to respect you.It's wise, perhaps, for you to take down that rifle when strangers comeat night ... but it isn't always necessary. Some men might stay herewith you alone, but I couldn't."

  "You mean, that you'd ride on in the ra
in?"

  "Surely."

  "Well.... You ain't afraid of the gun, are you?"

  He laughed outright.

  "No, it's not that! It's because I'd ride any distance rather than dosomething that might bring you unhappiness. Don't you see?" He leanedforward, elbows on knees, looking up into her serious face. "Don't yousee that if I stayed here with you, alone, and people heard about it,they might not respect you?"

  "It's none of their business!"

  "Neither was it any business of that man to insult you in town theother day. But he did."

  "But it's rainin' and you're cold. I ain't afraid of you."

  It was raining, but he was not cold. The fire was close and, besides,another warmth was seeping through his body as he looked earnestly intothe face of that daughter of the mountains. The ready defiance was gonefrom it and the features, in repose, gave it an expression that waslittle less than wistful.

  "And you are a young girl who deserves the admiration of every man thatwalks. If I stayed here with you, you would know it's all right, and sowould I.... Others might not understand."

  She sat down abruptly, leaned back, clasped one knee with her hands andsmiled for the first time. It was a beautiful smile, in great contrastto her earlier sullen defiance.

  "I like you," she said simply, and Hilton's face grew hot.

  "If you like me, my night's ride hasn't gone to waste," he replied, andlaughed.

  She looked him over again, calculatingly, as closely as she had atfirst, but with a different interest. Her smile faded but the lipsremained slightly parted, showing teeth of calcium whiteness.

  "You're the first man that's ever talked that-a way to me. I've beentravelin' ever since I can remember, first one place, then another.I've always had to look out for men.... I've been able to, too, since Igot big enough to be bothered.

  "This is the first time any man's talked like you're talkin' to me."

  "Bless you," he said very gently, "that's been tough luck. A girl likeyou are doesn't deserve that."

  "Don't she? Well, it ain't what you deserve that counts, it's what youget."

  "What's your name?"

  "Bobby.... Bobby Cole."

  "How old are you?"

  She shook her head.

  "I don't know ... just. About twenty. Alf knows; I ain't thought to askhim for quite a while."

  "Who's Alf?"

  "My father."

  "... And your mother?"

  "I never had none that I recall. She died early; that was back inOklahoma, Alf says."

  "No brothers or sisters?"

  A shake of the head.

  "And since then you've been alone with your father?"

  She nodded. "For weeks an' months, without talkin' to another soul."

  "Have you always lived so far away as that? Always in such remoteplaces that you didn't even see people?"

  "Huh! Usually I've seen 'em, 'most every day.... But there's adifference between seein' folks and talkin' to 'em."

  He was puzzled and said so.

  "Funny!" she repeated after him. "Maybe it's funny ... but I can't seeit that-a way."

  "But surely you've made friends! A girl like you couldn't help makefriends."

  "I've never had a friend in my life ... but Alf," she answered bitterly.

  "Then it must have been because you didn't want to make friends withpeople."

  "Didn't want to!" she echoed almost angrily. "What else does anybodywant but friends ... an' things like that? Oh, I wanted to all right,but folks don't make friends with ... with trash like we are. We ain'tgot enough to have friends; ain't got enough even to have peace."

  Hilton studied her face carefully. It was a queer blending of appealingwant and virulence.

  "They won't even let you have peace?" he asked deliberately to urge herin further revelation.

  "Folks that have things don't want other folks to have 'em. In thiscountry when poor folks try to get ahead all they get is trouble."

  "Is that always so?"

  She shrugged and said, "It's always been so with us. Big cattle outfitshave drove us out time after time. They're always sayin' Alf steals;they're always makin' us trouble. I hate 'em!

  "I could get along all right. I can fight but Alf can't. He's had somuch bad luck that it's took th' heart out of him.... If it wasn't forme he couldn't get along at all. He's discouraged."

  "You must think a lot of your father."

  She shook her head as if to infer that measuring such devotion was animpossibility.

  "Think a lot of him? God, yes! He's all I got. He's all I ever had.He's the only one that hasn't chased me out ... or chased after me.We've been on the move ever since I can recollect, stayin' a few monthsor a year or two, then hittin' the trail again. Move, move, move!Always chased out by big outfits, always made fun of, an' he's beengood to me through it all. I'd crawl through fire for Alf."

  "A devotion like that is a very fine and noble thing."

  "Is it? It comes sort of natural to me. I never thought aboutit,"--with a weary sigh.

  "How did you happen to come here?" he asked.

  She looked at him and a flicker as of suspicion crossed her face.

  "Just come," she replied, rather evasively, he thought.

  For a time they did not speak. The fire crackled dully. Steam rose inwisps from Hilton's soaked clothing and a cunning crept into hisexpression. The rain pattered on the roof and dripped through inseveral places, forming dark spots on the hard floor; the horse stampedin the mud outside.

  The man saw the regular leap of the pulse in her throat and caressedhis thumb with finger tips as delicately as though they stroked thatsmooth skin.

  Her lips were parted ... and _such_ lips! He told himself that shewas more beautiful than he had first thought and as filled withcontrasts as the heavens themselves. Shortly before she had beendefiant, ready for trouble, prepared to defend herself with a rifle ifnecessary; now she was a child; that, and no more ... and she wasdistinctive ... quite so.

  "You better stay," she said rather shyly after a time. "Alf'll be backsome time before mornin'. Nobody'll know."

  He shook his head.

  "You and I would know, and after I've told you what I think about it,maybe you wouldn't like me if I did stay ... you've said you did likeme."

  He rose, smiling.

  "Sure enough goin'?"

  "Sure enough going."

  "But you're soaked and cold."

  "No man could do less for a girl like you."

  He bowed playfully low and when he lifted his eyes to her again theyread her simple pleasure. He had touched her greatest love, the desireto be treated by men with respect.

  "I'll just ask you to show me the way."

  "You come by the way, I guess. Just start back that trail and yourcayuse'll take you to the road--

  "But Alf'll be back. We've never turned anybody out in the rain before."

  "Then this is something new. Don't ask me again, please. When you ask aman it makes it very hard to refuse and I must ... for your sake.

  "After I strike the road, then what?"

  "Follow right past the HC ranch to town. You know where that is?"

  A wave of rage swept through him.

  "I ought to!" he said bitterly. "I was sent away from there tonight."

  "Sent away? In the _rain_?"

  "In the rain."

  "Why did they do that?"

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "Because there are things which some people do not value as highly asyou do. Generosity, thoughtfulness for the desires of others,hospitality."

  He licked his lips almost greedily as he watched her.

  "Did _she_ know?"

  "Who do you mean?"

  "That greenhorn gal."

  "Yes, she knew," he answered grimly, and buttoned his coat.

  He put out his hand and she took it, rather awed.

  "Some time I may come back and thank you for what you've wanted to do."

  "Oh, you'll co
me back?"

  "Do you want me to?"

  "Yes,"--eagerly.

  "Then it is impossible for me to stay away for long!"

  She stood watching, as, touching his hat, he rode into the night. Shelet the curtain drop and returned to the fire, standing there a moment.Then she sat down, rather weakly, and stretched her slim legs acrossthe hearth.

  "I'll be damned!" she said, rather reverently.

  Hilton did not ride far. His horse was reluctant to go at first andthen stopped and stood with head in the air, nickering softly and wouldnot go on when his rider spurred him. After a moment Hilton sat stilland listened. He heard the steady _plunk-plunk-plunk_ of atrotting horse and, soon, the swish of brush; then a call, rather lowand cautious.

  The canvas before the doorway was drawn back.

  "You decided to stay?" Then, in surprise, "Who's there?"--sharply.

  One word in answer and Hilton remembered it:

  "Hepburn."

  The rider dismounted and entered.

  Dick rode on up the trail. When he reached Ute Crossing his clothingwas dried by the early sun. He ate breakfast and crawled into his bed,angered one moment, puzzled the next and, finally, thrilled as hedropped asleep with a vision of firelight playing over a deliciouslyslender throat.