Lonesome Land

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER XIX. KENT'S CONFESSION

  Polycarp Jenks came ambling into the coulee, rapped perfunctorily upon thedoor-casing, and entered the kitchen as one who feels perfectly at home,and sure of his welcome; as was not unfitting, considering the fact that hehad "chored around" for Val during the last year, and longer.

  "Anybody to home?" he called, seeing the front door shut tight.

  There was a stir within, and Val, still pale, and with an almost furtiveexpression in her eyes, opened the door and looked out.

  "Oh, it's you, Polycarp," she said lifelessly. "Is there anything--"

  "What's the matter? Sick? You look kinda peaked and frazzled out. I met Manlas' night, and he told me you needed wood; I thought I'd ride over andsee. By granny, you do look bad."

  "Just a headache," Val evaded, shrinking back guiltily. "Just do whateverthere is to do, Polycarp. I think--I don't believe the chickens have hadanything to eat to-day--"

  "Them headaches are sure a fright; they're might' nigh as bad as rheumatiz,when they hit you hard. You jest go back and lay down, and I'll look aroundand see what they is to do. Any idee when Man's comin' back?"

  "No." Val brought the word out with an involuntary sharpness.

  "No, I reckon not. I hear him and Fred De Garmo come might' near havin' afight las' night. Blumenthall was tellin' me this mornin'. Fred's quitthe Double Diamond, I hear. He's got himself appointed dep'ty stockinspector--and how he managed to git the job is more 'n I can figure out.They say he's all swelled up over it--got his headquarters in town, youknow, and seems he got to lordin' it over Man las' night, and I guess ifsomebody hadn't stopped 'em they'd of been a mix-up, all right. Man wasn'tin no shape to fight--he'd been drinkin' pretty--"

  "Yes--well, just do whatever there is to do, Polycarp. The horses are inthe upper pasture, I think--if you want to haul wood." She closed thedoor--gently, but with exceeding firmness, and, Polycarp took the hint.

  "Women is queer," he muttered, as he left the house. "Now, she knows Mandrinks like a fish--and she knows everybody else knows it--but if you somuch as mention sech a thing, why--" He waggled his head disapprovingly andproceeded, in his habitually laborious manner, to take a chew of tobacco."No matter how much they may know a thing is so, if it don't suit 'em youcan't never git 'em to stand right up and face it out--seems like, bygranny, it comes natural to 'em to make believe things is different. Now,she knows might' well she can't fool _me_. I've hearn Man swear at herlike--"

  He reached the corral, and his insatiable curiosity turned his thoughtsinto a different channel. He inspected the four calves gravely, wonderedaudibly where Man had found them, and how the round-up came to miss them,and criticized his application of the brand; in the opinion of Polycarp,Manley either burned too deep or not deep enough.

  "Time that line-backed heifer scabs off, you can't tell what's on her," heasserted, expectorating solemnly before he turned away to his work.

  Prom a window, Val watched him with cold terror. Would he suspect? Or wasthere anything to suspect? "It's silly--it's perfectly idiotic," she toldherself impatiently; "but if he hangs around that corral another minute, Ishall scream!" She watched until she saw him mount his horse and ride offtoward the upper pasture. Then she went out and began apathetically pickingseed pods off her sweet-peas, which the early frosts had spared.

  "Head better?" called Polycarp, half an hour later, when he went rattlingpast the house with the wagon, bound for the river bottom where they gottheir supply of wood.

  "A little," Val answered inattentively, without looking at him.

  It was while Polycarp was after the wood, and while she was sitting uponthe edge of the porch, listlessly arranging and rearranging a handful oflong-stemmed blossoms, that Kent galloped down the hill and up to the gate.She saw him coming and set her teeth hard together. She did not want to seeKent just then; she did not want to see anybody.

  Kent, however, wanted to see her. It seemed to him at least a month sincehe had had a glimpse of her, though it was no more than half that time. Hewatched her covertly while he came up the path. His mind, all the way overfrom the Wishbone, had been very clear and very decided. He had a certainthing to tell her, and a certain thing to do; he had thought it all outduring the nights when he could not sleep and the days when men called himsurly, and there was no going back, no reconsideration of the matter. Hehad been telling himself that, over and over, ever since the house cameinto view and he saw her sitting there on the porch. She would probablywant to argue, and perhaps she would try to persuade him, but it would beabsolutely useless; absolutely.

  "Well, hello!" he cried, with more than his usual buoyancy ofmanner--because he knew he must hurt her later on. "Hello, Madam Authoress.Why this haughty air? This stuckupiness? Shall I get a ladder and climbup where you can hear me say howdy?" He took off his hat and slapped hergently upon the top of her head with it. "Come out of the fog!"

  "Oh--I wish you wouldn't!" She glanced up at him so briefly that he caughtonly a flicker of her yellow-brown eyes, and went on fumbling her flowers.Kent stood and looked down at her for a moment.

  "Mad?" he inquired cheerfully. "Say, you look awfully savage. On the dead,you do. What do _you_ care if they sent it back? You had all the fun ofwriting it--and you know it's a dandy. Please smile. _Pretty_ please!" hewheedled. It was not the first time he had discovered her in a despondentmood, nor the first time he had bantered and badgered her out of her gloom.Presently it dawned upon him that this was more serious; he had never seenher quite so colorless or so completely without spirit.

  "Sick, pal?" he asked gently, sitting down beside her.

  "No-o--I suppose not." Val bit her lips, as soon as she had spoken, tocheck their quivering.

  "Well, what is it? I wish you'd tell me. I came over here full of somethingI had to tell you--but I can't, now; not while you're like this." Hewatched her yearningly.

  "Oh, I can't tell you. It's nothing." Val jerked a sweet-pea viciously fromits stem, pressed her hand against her mouth, and turned reluctantly towardhim. "What was it you came to tell me?"

  He watched her narrowly. "I'll gamble you're down in the mouth aboutsomething hubby has said or done. You needn't tell me--but I just want toask you if you think it's worth while? You needn't tell me that, either.You know blamed well it ain't. He can't deal you any more misery than youlet him hand out; you want to keep that in mind."

  Another blossom was demolished. "What was it you came to tell me?" sherepeated steadily, though she did not look at him.

  "Oh, nothing much. I'm going to leave the country, is all."

  "Kent!" After a minute she forced another word out. "Why?"

  Kent regarded her somberly. "You better think twice before you ask methat," he warned; "because I ain't much good at beating all around thebush. If you ask me again, I'll tell you--and I'm liable to tell youwithout any frills." He drew a hard breath. "So I'd advise you not to ask,"he finished, half challengingly.

  Val placed a pale lavender blossom against a creamy white one, and held thetwo up for inspection.

  "When are you going?" she asked evenly.

  "I don't know exactly--in a day or so. Saturday, maybe."

  She hesitated over the flowers in her lap, and selected a pink one, whichshe tried with the white and the lavender.

  "And--_why_ are you going?" she asked him deliberately.

  Kent stared at her fixedly. A faint, pink flush was creeping into hercheeks. He watched it deepen, and knew that his silence was filling herwith uneasiness. He wondered how much she guessed of what he was going tosay, and how much it would mean to her.

  "All right--I'll tell you why, fast enough." His tone was grim. "I'm goingto leave the country because I can't stay any longer--not while you're init."

  "Why--Kent!" She seemed inexpressibly shocked.

  "I don't know," he went on relentlessly, "what you think a man's made of,anyhow. And I don't know what _you_ think of this pal business; I know whatI think: It's a mighty good way to drive a man
crazy. I've had about all ofit I can stand, if you want to know."

  "I'm sorry, if you don't--if you can't be friends any longer," she said,and he winced to see how her eyes filled with tears. "But, of course, ifyou can't--if it bores you--"

  Kent seized her arm, a bit roughly, "Have I got to come right out and tellyou, in plain English, that I--that it's because I'm so deep in love withyou I can't. If you only knew what it's cost me this last year--to play thegame and not play it too hard! What do you think a man's made of? Do youthink a man can care for a woman, like I care for you, and--Do you think hewants to be just pals? And stand back and watch some drunken brute abuseher--and never--Here!" His voice grew testier. "Don't do that--don't! Ididn't want to hurt you--God knows I didn't want to hurt you!" He threw hisseem around her shoulders and pulled her toward him.

  "Don't--pal, I'm a brute, I guess, like all the rest of the male humans. Idon't mean to be--it's the way I'm made. When a woman means so much to methat I can't think of anything else, day or night, and get to countingdays and scheming to see her--why--being friends--like we've been--is likegiving a man a teaspoon of milk and water when he's starving to death, andthinking that oughta do. But I shouldn't have let it hurt you. I triedto stand for it, little woman. These were times when I just had to fightmyself not to take you up in my arms and carry you of and keep you. Youmust admit," he argued, smiling rather wanly, "that, considering how I'vefelt about it, I've done pretty tolerable well up till now. You don't--younever will know how much it's cost. Why, my nerves are getting so raw Ican't stand anything any more. That's why I'm going. I don't want to hangaround till I do something--foolish."

  He took his arm away from her shoulders and moved farther off; he was notsure how far he might trust himself.

  "If I thought you cared--or if there was anything I could do for you," heventured, after a moment, "why, it would be different. But--"

  Val lifted her head and turned to him.

  "There is something--or there was--or--oh, I can't think any more! Isuppose"--doubtfully--"if you feel as you say you do, why--it wouldbe--wicked to stay. But you don't; you must just imagine it."

  "Oh, all right," Kent interpolated ironically.

  "But if you go away--" She got up and stood before him, breathing unevenly,in little gasps. "Oh, you mustn't go away! Please don't go! I--there'ssomething terrible happened--oh, Kent, I need you! I can't tell you whatit is--it's the most horrible thing I ever heard of! You can't imagineanything more horrible, Kent!"

  She twisted her fingers together nervously, and the blossoms dropped, oneby one, on the ground. "If you go," she pleaded, "I won't have a friend inthe country, not a real friend. And--and I never needed a friend as muchas I do now, and you mustn't go. I--I can't let you go!" It was like herhysterical fear of being left alone after the fire.

  Kent eyed her keenly. He knew there must have been something to put herinto this state--something more than his own rebellion. He felt suddenlyashamed of his weakness in giving way--in telling her how it was withhim. The faint, far-off chuckle of a wagon came to his ears. He turnedimpatiently toward the sound. Polycarp was driving up the coulee with aload of wood; already he was nearing the gate which opened into the lowerfield. Kent stood up, reached out, and caught Val by the hand.

  "Come on into the house," he said peremptorily. "Polly's coming, and youdon't want him goggling and listening. And I want you," he added, when hehad led her inside and closed the door, "to tell me what all this is about.There's something, and I want to know what. If it concerns you, then itconcerns me a whole lot, too. And what concerns me I'm going to find outabout--what is it?"

  Val sat down, got up immediately, and crossed the room aimlessly to sit inanother chair. She pressed her palms tightly against both cheeks, drew inher breath as if she were going to speak, and, after all, said nothing. Shelooked out of the window, pushing back the errant strand of hair.

  "I can't--I don't know how to tell you," she began desperately. "It's toohorrible."

  "Maybe it is--I don't know what you'd call too horrible; I kinda think itwouldn't be what I'd tack those words to. Anyway--what is it?" He wentclose, and he spoke insistently.

  She took a long breath.

  "Manley's a thief!" She jerked the words out like as automaton. They werenot, evidently, the Words she had meant to speak, for she seemed frightenedafterward.

  "Oh, that's it!" Kent made a sound which was not far from a snort. "Well,what about it? What's he done? How did you find it out?"

  Val straightened in the chair and gazed up at him. Once more her tawny eyesgave him a certain shock, as if he had never before noticed them.

  "After all our neighbors have done for him," she cried bitterly; "aftergiving him hay, when his was burned and he couldn't buy any; after buildingstables, and corral, and--everything they did--the kindest, best neighborsa man ever had--oh, it's too shameful for utterance! I might forgive it--Imight, only for that. The--the ingratitude! It's too despicable--too--"

  Kent laid a steadying hand upon her arm.

  "Yes--but what is it?" he interrupted.

  Val shook off his hand unconsciously, impatient of any touch.

  "Oh, the bare deed itself--well, it's rather petty, too--and cheap." Hervoice became full of contempt. "It was the calves. He brought home fivelast night--five that hadn't been branded last spring. Where he found them_I_ don't know--I didn't care enough about it to ask. He had been drinking,I think; I can usually tell--and he often carries a bottle in his pocket,as I happen to know.

  "Well, he had me make a fire and heat the iron for him, and he brandedthem--last night; he was very touchy about it when I asked him what was hishurry. I think now it was a stupid thing for him to do. And--well, in thenight, some time, I heard a cow bawling around close, and this morning Iwent out to drive her away; the fence is always down somewhere--I supposeshe found a place to get through. So I went out to drive her away." Hereyes dropped, as if she were making a confession of her own misdeed. Sheclenched her hands tightly in her lap.

  "Well--it was a Wishbone cow." After all, she said it very quietly.

  "The devil it was!" Kent had been prepared for something of the sort; but,nevertheless, he started when he heard his own outfit mentioned.

  "Yes. It was a Wishbone cow." Her voice was flat and monotonous. "He hadstolen her calf. He had it in the corral, and he had branded it with hisown brand--with a VP. _With my initials!_" she wailed suddenly, as ifthe thought had just struck her, and was intolerably bitter. "She hadfollowed--had been hunting her calf; it was rather a little calf, smallerthan the others. And it was crowded up against the fence, trying to get toher. There was no mistaking their relationship. I tried to think he hadmade a mistake; but it's of no use--I know he didn't. I know he _stole_that calf. And for all I know, the others, too. Oh, it's perfectly horribleto think of!"

  Kent could easily guess her horror of it, and he was sorry for her. But hismind turned instantly to the practical side of it.

  "Well--maybe it can be fixed up, if you feel so bad about it. DoesPolycarp--did he see the cow hanging around?"

  Val shook her head apathetically. "No--he didn't come till just a littlewhile ago. That was this morning. And I drove her out of the coulee--herand her calf. They went off up over the hill."

  Kent stood looking down at her rather stupidly.

  "You--_what?_ What was it you did?" It seemed to him that something--somevital point of the story--had eluded him.

  "I drove them away. I didn't think they ought to be permitted tohang around here." Her lips quivered again. "I--I didn't want to seehim--get--into any trouble."

  "You drove them away? Both of them?" Kent was frowning at her now.

  Val sprang up and faced him, all a-tremble with indignation. "Certainly,both! _I'm_ not a thief, Kent Burnett! When I knew--when there was nopossible doubt--why, what, in Heaven's name, _could_ I do? It wasn'tManley's calf. I turned it loose to go back where it belonged."

  "With a VP on its ribs!" Kent was staring at her
curiously.

  "Well, I don't care! Fifty VP's couldn't make the calf Manley's. If anybodycame and saw that cow, why--" Val looked at him rafter pityingly, as if shecould not quite understand how he could even question her upon that point."And, after all," she added forlornly, "he's my husband. I couldn't--I hadto do what I could to shield him--just for sake of the past, I suppose.Much as I despise him, I can't forget that--that I cared once. It's becauseI wanted your advice that I--"

  "It's a pity you didn't get it sooner, then! Can't you see what you'vedone? Why, think a minute! A VP calf running with a Wishbone cow--why,it's--you couldn't advertise Man as a rustler any better if you tried. Thefirst fellow that runs onto that cow and calf--well, he won't need to doany guessing--he'll _know_. It's a ticket to Deer Lodge--that VP calf. Nowdo you see?" He turned away to the window and stood looking absently at thebrown hillside, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

  "And there's Fred De Garmo, with his new job, ranging around the countryjust aching to cinch somebody and show his authority. It's a matter of daysalmost. He'd like nothing better than to get a whack at Man, even if theWishbone--"

  Outside, they could hear Polycarp throwing the wood off the wagon; knowinghim as they did, they knew, it would not be long before he found an excusefor coming into the house. He had more than once evinced a good deal ofinterest in Kent's visits there, and shown an unmistakable desire to knowwhat they were talking about. They had never paid much attention to him;but now even Val felt a vague uneasiness lest he overhear. She had beensitting, her face buried in her arms, crushed beneath the knowledge of whatshe had done.

  "Don't worry, little woman." Kent went over and passed his hand lightlyover her hair. "You did what looked to you to be the right thing--thehonest thing. And the chances are he'd get caught before long, anyhow. Idon't reckon this is the first time he's done it."

  "Oh-h--but to think--to think that _I_ should do it--when I wanted to savehim! He--Kent, I despise him--he has killed all the love I ever felt forhim--killed it over and over--but if anybody finds that calf, and--andif they--Kent, I shall go crazy if I have to feel that _I_ senthim--to--prison. To think of him--shut up there--and to know that I didit--I can't bear it!" She caught his arm. She pressed her foreheadagainst it. "Kent, isn't there some way to get it back? If I should findit--and--and shoot it--and pay the Wishbone what it's worth--oh, _any_amount--or shoot the cow--or--" she raised her face imploringly tohis--"tell me, pal--or I shall go stark, raving mad!"

  Polycarp came into the kitchen, and, from the sound, he was trying to enteras unobtrusively as possible, even to the extent of walking on his toes.

  "Go see what that darned old sneak wants," Kent commanded in an undertone."Act as if nothing happened--if you can." He watched anxiously, while shedrew a long breath, pressed her hands hard against her cheeks, closed herlips tightly, and then, with something like composure, went quietly to thedoor and threw it open. Polycarp was standing very close to it, on theother side. He drew back a step.

  "I wondered if I better git another load, now I've got the team hookedup," he began in his rasping, nasal voice, his slitlike eyes peeringinquisitively into the room. "Hello, Kenneth--I _thought_ that was yourhorse standin' outside. Or would you rather I cut up a pile? I dunno butwhat I'll have to go t'town t'-morrerr or next day--mebby I better cut yousome wood, hey? If Man ain't likely to be home, mebby--"

  "I think, Polycarp, well have a storm soon. So it would be good policy tohaul another load, don't you think? I can manage very well with what thereis cut until Manley returns; and there are always small branches that I canbreak easily with the axe. I really think it would be safer to have anotherload hauled now while we can. Don't you think so?" Val even managed tosmile at him. "If my head wasn't so bad," she added deceitfully, "I shouldbe tempted to go along, just for a dose sight of the river. Mr. Burnett isgoing directly--perhaps I may walk down later on. But you had better notwait--I shouldn't want to keep you working till dark."

  Polycarp, eying her and Kent, and the room in all its details, forced hishand into his trousers pocket, brought up his battered plug of tobacco andpried off a piece, which he rolled into his left cheek with his tongue.

  "Jest as you say," he surrendered, though it was perfectly plain that hewould much prefer to cut wood and so be able to see all that went on, eventhough he was denied the gratification of hearing what they said. He waiteda moment, but Val turned away, and even had the audacity to close thedoor upon his unfinished reply. He listened for a moment, his head cranedforward.

  "Purty kinda goings-on!" he mumbled. "Time Man had a flea put in 'is ear,by granny, if he don't want to lose that yeller-eyed wife of hisn." ToPolycarp, a closed door--when a man and woman were alone upon the otherside--could mean nothing but surreptitious kisses and the like. Hewent stumbling out and drove away down the coulee, his head turningautomatically so that his eyes were constantly upon the house; fromhis attitude, as Kent saw him through the window Polycarp expected anexplosion, at the very least. His outraged virtue vested itself in one moresentence; "Purty blamed nervy, by granny--to go 'n' shut the door right inm' face!"

  Inside the room, Val stood for a minute with her back against the door, asif she half feared Polycarp would break in and drag her secret from her.When she heard him leave the kitchen she drew a long breath, eloquent initself: when the rattle of the wagon came to them there, she left thedoor and went slowly across the room until she stood close to Kent. Theinterruption had steadied them both. Her voice was a constrained calm whenshe spoke.

  To draw the red hot spur across the fresh VP did not takelong]

  "Well--is there anything I can do? Because I suppose every minute isdangerous."

  Kent kept his eyes upon the departing Polycarp.

  "There's nothing you can do, no. Maybe I can do something; soon as thatgranny gossip is outa sight, I'll go and round up that cow and calf--ifsomebody hasn't beaten me to it."

  Val looked at him with a certain timid helplessness.

  "Oh! Will you--won't it be against the law if you--if you kill it?" Shegrew slightly excited again. "Kent, you shall not get into any troublefor--for his sake! If it comes to a choice, why--let him suffer for hiscrime. You shall not!"

  Kent turned his head slowly and gazed down at her. "Don't run away with theidea I'm doing it for him," he told her distinctly. "I love Man Fleetwoodlike I love a wolf. But if that VP calf catches him up, you'd fight yourhead over it, God only knows how long. I know you! You'd think so muchabout the part you played that you'd wind up by forgetting everything else.You'd get to thinking of him as a martyr, maybe! No--it's for you. I kindagot you into this, you recollect? If I'd let you see Man drank, that day,you'd never have married him; I know that now. So I'm going to get you outof it. My side of the question can wait."

  She stared up at him with a grave understanding.

  "But you know what I said--you won't do anything that can make youtrouble--won't you tell me, Kent, what you're going to do?"

  He had already started to the door, but he stopped and smiled reassuringly.

  "Nothing so fierce. If I can find 'em, I aim to bar out that VP. Sabe?"