by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XXII. A FRIEND IN NEED
"And so," Val finished, rather apathetically, pushing back the fallen lockof hair, "it has come to that. I can't remain here and keep any shred ofself-respect. All my life I've been taught to believe divorce a terriblething--a crime, almost; now I think it is sometimes a crime _not_ to bedivorced. For months I have been coming slowly to a decision, so thisis really not as sudden as it may seem to you. It is humiliating to becompelled to borrow money--but I would much rather ask you than any of myown people. My pride is going to suffer enough when I meet them, as it is;I can't let them know just how miserable and sordid a failure--"
Arline gave an inarticulate snort, bent her scrawny body nearly double,and reached frankly into her stocking. She fumbled there a moment andstraightened triumphantly, grasping a flat, buckskin bag.
"I'd feel like shakin' you if you went to anybody else but me," shedeclared, untying the bag. "I know what men is--Lord knows I see enough of'em and their meanness--and if I can help a woman outa the clutches of one,I'm tickled to death to git the chancet. I ain't sayin' they're all of 'embad--I c'n afford to give the devil his due and still say that men is thelimit. The good ones is so durn scarce it ain't one woman in fifty luckyenough to git one. All I blame you for is stayin' with him as long as youhave. I'd of quit long ago; I was beginnin' to think you never would cometo your senses. But you had to fight that thing out for yourself; everywoman has to.
"I'm glad you've woke up to the fact that Man Fleetwood didn't git a deedto you, body and soul, when he married you; you've been actin' as if youthought he had. And I'm glad you've got sense enough to pull outa the gamewhen you know the best you can expect is the worst of it. There ain't nohope for Man Fleetwood; I seen that when he went back to drinkin' againafter you was burnt out. I did think that would steady him down, but heain't the kind that braces up when trouble hits him--he's the sort thatstays down ruther than go to the trouble of gittin' up. He's hopeless nowas a rotten egg, and has been for the last year. Here; you take the hullworks, and if you need more, I can easy git it for you by sendin' in to thebank."
"Oh, but this is too much!" Val protested when she had counted the money."You're so good--but really and truly, I won't need half--"
Arline pushed away the proffered money impatiently. "How'n time are yougoin' to tell how much you'll need? Lemme tell you, Val Peyson--I ain'tgoin' to call you by his name no more, the dirty cur!--I've been packin'that money in my stockin' for six months, jest so'st to have it handy whenyou wanted it. Divorces cost more'n marriage licenses, as you'll find outwhen you git started. And--"
"You--why, the idea!" Val pursed her lips with something like her oldspirit. "How could _you_ know I'd need to borrow money? I didn't know itmyself, even. I--"
"Well, I c'n see through a wall when there's a knothole in it," paraphrasedArline calmly. "You may not know it, but you've been gittin' your back-Eastnotions knocked outa you pretty fast the last year or so. It was all aquestion of what kinda stuff you was made of underneath. You c'n put apolish on most anything, so I couldn't tell, right at first, what there wasto you. But you're all right--I've seen that a long time back; and so Iknowed durn well you'd be wantin' money to pull loose with. It takes money,though I know it ain't polite to say much about real dollars 'n' cents.You'll likely use every cent of that before you're through with thedeal--and remember, there's a lot more growin' on the same bush, if youneed it. It's only waitin' to be picked."
Val stared, found her eyes blurring so that she could not see, and witha sudden, impulsive movement leaned over and put her arms around Arline,unkempt, scrawny, and wholly unlovely though she was.
"Arline, you're an angel of goodness!" she cried brokenly. "You're the bestfriend I ever had in my life--I've had many who petted me and flatteredme--but you--you _do_ things! I'm ashamed--because I haven't loved youevery minute since I first saw you. I judged you--I mean--oh, you're pure,shining gold inside, instead of--"
"Oh, git out!" Arline was compelled to gulp twice before she could say eventhat much. "I don't shine nowhere--inside er out. I know that well enough.I never had no chancet to shine. It's always been wore off with hardknocks. But I like shiny folks all right--when they're fine clear through,and--"
"Arline--dear, I do love you. I always shall. I--"
Arline loosened her clasp and jumped up precipitately.
"Git out!" she repeated bashfully. "If you git me to cryin', Val Peyson,I'll wish you was in Halifax. You go to bed, 'n' go to sleep, er I'll--"She almost ran from the room. Outside, she stopped in a darkened cornerof the hallway and stood for some minutes with her checked gingham apronpressed tightly over her face, and several times she sniffed audibly. Whenshe finally returned to the kitchen her nose was pink, her eyelids werepink, and she was extremely petulant when she caught Minnie eying hercuriously.
Val had refused to eat any supper, and, beyond telling Arline that she haddecided to leave Manley and return to her mother in Fern Hill, she had notexplained anything very clearly--her colorless face, for instance, nor hertightly swathed throat, nor the very noticeable bruise upon her temple.
Arline had not asked a single question. Now, however, she spent some timefixing a tray with the daintiest food she knew and could procure, and tookit upstairs with a certain diffidence in her manner and a rare tendernessin her faded, worldly-wise eyes.
"You got to eat, you know," she reminded Val gently. "You're bucking upag'inst the hardest part of the trail, and grub's a necessity. Take it likeyou would medicine--unless your throat's too sore. I see you got it alltied up."
Val raised her hands in a swift alarm and clasped her throat as if shefeared Arline would remove the bandages.
"Oh, it's not sore--that is, it is sore--I mean not very much," shestammered betrayingly.
Arline set down the tray upon the dresser and faced Val grimly.
"I never asked you any questions, did I?" she demanded. "But you act forall the world as if--do you want me to give a guess about that tied-upneck, and that black'n'blue lump on your forehead? I never asked anyquestions--I didn't need to. Man Fleetwood's been maulin' you abound. I waskinda afraid he'd git to that point some day when he got mad enough; he'sjust the brand to beat up a woman. But if it took a beatin' to bring youto the quitting point, I'm glad he done it. _Only_," she added darkly, "hebetter keep outa my reach; I'm jest in the humor to claw him up some if Ishould git close enough. And if I happened to forget I'm a lady, I'd surebawl him out, and the bigger crowd heard me the better. Now, you eatthis--and don't get the idee you can cover up any meanness of ManFleetwood's; not from me, anyhow. I know men better'n you do; you couldn'ttell me nothing about 'em that would su'prise me the least bit. I'm onlythankful he didn't murder you in cold blood. Are you going to eat?"
"Not if you keep on reminding me of such h-horrid things," wailed Val,and sobbed into her pillow. "It's bad enough to--to have him ch-choke mewithout having you t-talk about it all the time!"
"Now, honey, don't you waste no tears on a brute like him--he ain't w-worthit!" Arline was on her bony knees beside the bed, crying with sympathy andself-reproach.
So, in truly feminine fashion, the two wept their way back to the solidground of everyday living. Before they reached that desirable state ofcomposure, however, Val told her everything--within certain limits set notby caution, but rather by her woman's instinct. She did not, for instance,say much about Kent, though she regretted openly that Polycarp knew so muchabout it.
"Hope never needed no newspaper so long as Polycarp lives here," Arlinegrumbled when Val was sitting up again and trying to eat Arline's toast,and jelly made of buffalo berries, and sipping the tea which had gonecold. "But if I can round him up in time, I'll try and git him to keep hismouth shet. I'll scare the liver outa him some way. But if he caught ontothat calf deal--" She shook her head doubtfully. "The worst of it is,Fred's in town, and he's always pumpin' Polycarp dry, jest to find out allthat's goin' on. You go to bed, and I'll see if I can find out whetherthey're together.
If they are--but you needn't to worry none. I reckon I'ma match for the both of 'em. Why, I'd dope their coffee and send 'em bothto sleep till Man got outa the country, if I had to!"
She stood with her hands upon her angular hips and glared at Val.
"I sure would do that, very thing--for _you_," she reiterated solemnly, "Idon't purtend I'd do it for Man--but I would for you. But it's likely Kenthas fixed things up so they can't git nothing on Man if they try. He wouldif he said he would; that there's _one_ feller that's on the square. You goto bed now, whilst I go on a still hunt of my own. I'll come and tell youif there's anything to tell."
It was easy enough to make the promise, but keeping it was so difficultthat she yielded to the temptation of going to bed and letting Val sleep inpeace; which she could not have done if she had known that Polycarp Jenksand Fred De Garmo left town on horseback within an hour after Polycarp hadentered it, and that they told no man their errand.
Over behind Brinberg's store, Polycarp had told Fred all he knew, all hesuspected, and all he believed would come to pass. "Strictly on the quiet,"of course--he reminded Fred of that, over and over, because he had promisedMrs. Fleetwood that he would not mention it.
"But, by granny," he apologized, "I didn't like the idee of keepin' _a_thing like that from _you_; it would kinda look as if I was standin' in onthe deal, which I ain't. Nobody can't accuse me of rustlin', no matter whatelse I might do; you know that, Fred."
"Sure, I know you're honest, anyway," Fred responded quite sincerely.
"Well, I considered it my duty to tell you. I've kinda had my suspicionsall fall, that there was somethin' scaly goin' on at Cold Spring. Looked tome like Man had too blamed many calves missed by spring round-up--for thesize of his herd. I dunno, of course, jest where he gits 'em--you'll haveto find that out. But he's brung twelve er fourteen to the ranch, two erthree at a time. And what she said when she first come to--told me rightout, by granny, 'at Man choked her because she called 'im a thief, andsomethin' about a cow comin' an' claimin' her calf, and her turnin' it out.That oughta be might' nigh all the evidence you need, Fred, if you find it.She don't know she said it, but she wouldn't of told it, by granny, if itwasn't so--now would she?"
"And you say all this happened to-day?" Fred pondered for a minute. "That'squeer, because I almost caught a fellow last night doing some funny workon a calf. A Wishbone cow it was, and her calf fresh burned--a barred-outbrand, by thunder! If it was to-day, I'd, say Man found it and blotched thebrand. I wish now I'd hazed them over to the Double Diamond and corralled'em, like I had a mind to. But we can find them, easy enough. But thatwas last night, and you say this big setting came off to-day; you _sure_,Polly?"
"'Course I'm sure." Polycarp waggled his head solemnly. He was enjoyinghimself to the limit. He was the man on the inside, giving out informationof the greatest importance, and an officer of the law was hanging anxiouslyupon his words. He spoke slowly, giving weight to every word. "I rode up tothe house--Man's house--somewhere close to noon, an' there she was, layin'on the kitchen floor. Didn't know nothin', an' had the marks of somebody'sfingers on 'er throat; the rest of her neck's so white they showed up, bygranny, like--like--" Polycarp never could think of a simile. He alwaysexpectorated in such an emergency, and left his sentence unfinished. He didso now, and Fred cut in unfeelingly.
"Never mind that--you've gone over it half a dozen times. You say it wasto-day, at noon, or thereabouts. Man must have done it when he found outshe'd turned the calf loose--he wouldn't unless he was pretty mad, andscared. He isn't cold-blooded enough to wait till he'd barred out thebrand, and then go home and choke his wife. He didn't know about the calftill to-day, that's a cinch." He studied the matter with an air of graveimportance.
"Polycarp," he said abruptly, "I'm going to need you. We've got to findthat bunch of cattle--it ought to be easy enough, and haze 'em down intoMan's field where his bunch of calves are--see? Any calf that's been weanedin the last three weeks will be pretty likely to claim its mother; and ifhe's got any calves branded that claim cows with some other brand--well--"He threw out his hands in a comprehensive gesture. "That's the quickest wayI know to get him," he said. "I want a witness along, and some help. Andyou," he eyed Polycarp keenly, "ain't safe running around town loose. Allyour brains seem to leak out your mouth. So you come along with me."
"Well--any time after to-morrer," hedged Polycarp, offended by theimplication that he talked too much. "I've got to drive the team home forMis' Fleetwood to-morrer, I tol' her I would--"
"Well, you won't. You're going to hit the trail with me just as soon as Ican find a horse for you to ride. We'll sleep at the Double Diamond, andstart from there in the morning. And if I catch you letting a word outa youabout this deal, I'll just about have to arrest you for--" He did notquite know what, but the very vagueness of the threat had its effect uponPolycarp.
He went without further argument, though first he went to the HawleyHotel--with Fred close beside him as a precaution against imprudentgossip--and left word in the office that he would not be able to drive Mrs.Fleetwood home, the next morning, but would be back to take her out the dayafter that, if she did not mind staying in town. It was that message whichArline deliberately held back from Val until morning.
"You better stay here," she advised then. "Polycarp an' Fred's up to somedevilment, that's a cinch; but whatever it is, you're better off right herewith me. S'posen you should drive out there and run into Man--what then?"
Val shivered. "I--that's the only thing I can't bear," she admitted, as ifthe time for proud dignity and reserve had gone by. "If I could be sure Iwouldn't need to meet him, I'd rather go alone; really and truly, I would.You know the horses are perfectly safe--I've driven them to town fiftytimes if I have once. I had to, out there alone so much of the time. I'drather not have Polycarp spying around. I've got to pack up--there are somany things of no value to--to _him_, things I brought out here with me.And there are all my manuscripts; I can't leave them lying around, even ifthey aren't worth anything; especially since they aren't worth anything."She pushed back her hair with a weary movement. "If I could only besure--if I knew where _he_ is," she sighed.
"I'll lend you my gun," Arline offered in good faith. "If he comes aroundyou and starts any funny business again, you can stand him off, even if yougot some delicate feelin's about blowin' his brains out."
"Oh, I couldn't. I'm deadly afraid of guns." Val shuddered.
"Well, then you can't go atone. I'd go with you, if you could git packedup so as to come back to-day. I guess Min could make out to git two mealsalone."
"Oh, no. Really and truly, Arline, I'd just as soon go alone. I wouldrather, dear."
Arline was not accustomed to being called "dear." She surrendered with someconfusion and a blush.
"Well, you better wait," she admonished temporizingly. "Something may turnup."
Presently something did turn up. She rushed breathlessly into Val's roomand caught her by the arm.
"Now's your chancet, Val," she hissed in a loud whisper. "Man jest now rodeinto town; he's over in Pop's place--I seen him go in. He's good for theday, sure. I'll have Hank hitch right up, an' you can go down to the stableand start from there, so'st he won't see you. An' I'll keep an eye out, 'n'if he leaves town I won't be fur behind, lemme tell you. He won't, though;there ain't one chancet in a hundred he'll leave that saloon till he'sfull--an' if he tries t' go then, I'll have somebody lock 'im up in the icehouse till you git back. You want to hurry up that packin', an' git in herequick's you can."
She went to the stable with Val, her apron thrown over her head for wantof a hat. "When Val was settling herself in the seat, Arline caught at thewheel.
"Say! How'n time you goin' to git your trunks loaded into the wagon?" shecried. "You can't do it alone." Val parsed her lips; she had not thought ofthat.
"But Polycarp will come, by the time I am ready," she decided. "Youcouldn't keep him away, Arline; he would be afraid he might miss something,because I suppose ours is the o
nly ranch in the country where the wheelsaren't turning smoothly. Polycarp and I can manage."
Hank, grinning under his ragged, brown mustache, handed her the lines."I've got my orders," he told her briefly. "I'll watch out the trail's keptclear."
"Oh, thank you. I've so many good friends," Val answered, giving him asmile to stir his sluggish blood. "Good-bye, Arline. Don't worry about me,there's a dear. I shall not be back before to-morrow night, probably."
Both Arline and Hank stood where they were and watched her out of sightbefore they turned back to the sordid tasks which made up their lives.
"She'll make it--she's the proper stuff," Hank remarked, and lighted hispipe. Arline, for a wonder, sighed and said nothing.
