by Harold Titus
CHAPTER XVII
Great Moments
They were a long way from camp, and night impended.
"We won't go back," Jed decided. "We'll go on over to th' S Bar S an'put up for th' night."
VB said nothing, but of a sudden his heart commenced to hammer away solustily that the pulse in the back of his neck felt like blows frommetal.
It was beyond the middle of April, and he knew that Gail must havereturned from the coast; for days he had been wondering when he wouldsee her again, had been itching to ask questions of every chance passerwho might know of her return. Yet that unaccountable diffidence hadkept him from mentioning it even to Jed. Now, though, that he was to gofor himself, that he was to see her--
He gripped the Captain fiercely with his knees. He told himself, in anattempt to be sane, that this discomfiture was merely because he hadbeen out of the sight of women so long.
They rode into the Thorpe ranch after dark. Lights shone from thewindows, and Jed, knowing the place, declared that they were eating.
"Hello, Bob!" he cried when Thorpe himself threw the door open. "Keep acouple of stoppers to-night?"
"Well, Jed, you're a rough-looking old rascal; but I s'pose we'll haveto take you in. Who else--that young animal-tamer, VB?"
"Right!" laughed Jed.
VB, peering into the lighted room, saw a figure jump up from the tableand hurry toward the door.
As it came between him and the light it seemed to be crowned with ahalo, a radiant, shimmering, golden aura.
Then her voice called in welcome: "Hello, Mr. Avery!" Before Jed couldmake answer she had gone on, as though ignoring him. "Hello, Mr. VB!Aren't you coming in to shake hands?"
VB wanted to laugh, like a boy with a new gun; his spirits bubbled upinto his throat and twisted into laughter any words that might haveformed, but he managed to answer:
"I'll feed the Captain--then I'll be in."
Without a word she turned back.
Long ago--years ago, it seemed--he had drawn away from her to go to theCaptain; then it was the love of the horse that took him. Now, however,it was nothing but confusion that drove him away. Not that he held theCaptain less dear, but he wanted to put off that meeting with Gail, todelay until he could overcome that silly disorganization of his powersof self-control.
Out in the corral he flung his arms about the black's head and laughedhappily into the soft neck.
"VB, you're a fool--a silly fool!" he whispered.
But if it was so, if being a fool made him that happy, he never wantedto regain mental balance.
It was a big evening for VB, perhaps the biggest of his life. BobThorpe and his family ate with the men. Democracy unalloyed was in hissoul. He mingled with them not through condescension, but throughdesire, and his family maintained the same bearing. Not a cow-puncherin the country but who respected Mrs. Thorpe and Gail and would welcomean opportunity to fight for them.
The men had finished their meal before VB and Jed entered. Mrs. Thorpemade excuses and went out, leaving the four alone. While Jed talked toher father, Gail, elbows on the table, chatted with VB, and Young VBcould only stare at his plate and snatch a glance at her occasionallyand wonder why it was that she so disturbed him.
Later Bob took Jed into his office, and when Gail and VB were leftalone the constraint between them became even more painful. Try as hewould, the man could not bring his scattered wits together for coherentspeech. Just being beside that girl after her long absence wasintoxicating, benumbing his mind, stifling in him all thought andaction, creating a thralldom which was at once agony and peace. Anintuitive sensing of this helplessness had made him delay seeing herthat evening; now that he was before her he never wanted to leave; hewanted only to sit and listen to her voice and watch the alertexpressiveness of her face--a mute, humble worshiper.
And this attitude of his forced a reaction on the girl. At first shetalked vivaciously, starting each new subject with an enthusiasm thatseemed bound to draw him out, but when he remained dumb and helpless inspite of her best efforts to keep the conversation going, her flow ofwords lagged. Long, wordless intervals followed, and a flush came intothe girl's cheeks, and she too found herself woefully self-conscious.She sought for the refuge of diversion.
"Since you won't talk to me, Mr. VB," she said with an embarrassedlaugh, "you are going to force me to play for you."
"It isn't that I won't--I _can't_," he stammered. "And please play."
He sat back in his chair, relieved, and watched the fine sway of herbody as she made the big full-toned instrument give up its soul. Music,that--not the tunes that most girls of his acquaintance had played forhim; a St. Saens arrangement, a MacDowell sketch, a bit of Nevin,running from one theme into another, easily, naturally, graceeverywhere, from the phrasing to the movements of her firm littleshoulders. And VB found his self-possession returning, found that hewas thinking evenly, sanely, under the quieting influence of this music.
Then Gail paused, sitting silent before the keyboard, as though toherald a coming climax. She leaned closer over the instrument andstruck into the somber strains of a composition of such grim power andbeauty that it seemed to create for itself an oddly receptive attitudein the man, sensitizing his emotional nature to a point where itsfinest shades were brought out in detail. It went on and on through itsvarious phases to the end, and on the heavy final chord the girl'shands dropped into her lap. For a moment she sat still bent toward thekeyboard before turning to him. When she did face about her flush wasgone. She was again mistress of the situation and said:
"Well, are you ever going to tell me about yourself?"
VB's brows were drawn, and his eyes closed, but before he opened themto look at her a peculiar smile came over his face.
"That man Chopin, and his five-flat prelude--" he said, and stirredwith a helpless little gesture of one hand as though no words couldconvey the appreciation he felt.
"I wonder if you like that as well as I do?" she asked.
He sat forward in his chair and looked hard at her. The constraint waswholly gone; he was seriously intent, thinking clearing, steadily now.
"I used to hear it many times," he said slowly, "and each time I'veheard it, it has meant more to me. There's something about it, deepdown, covered up by all those big tones, that I never couldunderstand--until now. I guess," he faltered, "I guess I've neverrealized how much a man has to suffer before he can do a big thing likethat. Something about this,"--with a gesture of his one hand,--"thishouse and these hills, and what I've been through out here, and the wayyou play, helps me to understand what an accomplishment like that musthave cost."
She looked at him out of the blue eyes that had become so grave, andsaid:
"I guess we all have to suffer to do big things; but did you ever thinkhow much we have to suffer to appreciate big things?"
And she went on talking in this strain with a low, even voice, talkingfor hours, it seemed, while VB listened and wondered at her breadth ofview, her sympathy and understanding.
She was no longer a little, sunny-haired girl, a bit of pretty downfloating along through life. Before, he had looked on her as such;true, he had known her as sympathetic, balanced, with a keenappreciation of values. But her look, her tone, her insight intosomber, grim truths came out with emphasis in the atmosphere created bythat music, and to Young VB, Gail Thorpe had become a woman.
A silence came, and they sat through it with that ease which comes onlyto those who are in harmony. No constraint now, no flushed faces, noawkward meeting of eyes. The new understanding which had come made evensilence eloquent and satisfying.
Then the talk commenced, slowly at first, gradually quickening. It wasof many things--of her winter, of her days in the East, of her friends.And through it Gail took the lead, talking as few women had ever talkedto him before; talking of personalities, yet deviating from them todeduce a principle here, apply a maxim there, and always showing herhumanness by building the points about individuals and thecircumstances whi
ch surround them.
"Don't you ever get lonely here?" he asked abruptly, thinking that shemust have moments of discontent in these mountains and with thesepeople.
"No. Why should I?"
"Well, you've been used to things of a different sort. It seems to be alittle rough for a girl--like you."
"And why shouldn't a nicer community be too fine for a girl like me?"she countered. "I'm of this country, you know. It's mine."
"I hadn't thought of that. You're different from these people, andyet," he went on, "you're not like most women outside, either. You'veseemed to combine the best of the two extremes. You--"
He looked up to see her gazing at him with a light of triumph in herface. VB never knew, but it was that hour for which she had waitedmonths, ever since the time when she declared to her father, with awelling admiration for the spirit he must have, that he who broke theCaptain was a _man_.
Here he was before her, talking personalities, analyzing her! Fourmonths before he would not even linger to say good-by! Surely the spellof her womanhood was on him.
"Oh!" she cried, bringing her hands together. "So you've been thinkingabout me--what sort of a girl I am, have you?"
Her eyes were aflame with the light of conquest.
Then she said soberly: "Well, it's nice to have people taking youseriously, anyhow."
"That's all any of us want," he answered her; "to be taken seriously,and to be worthy of commanding such an attitude from the people aboutus. Sometimes we don't realize it until we've thrown away our bestchances and then--well, maybe it's too late."
On the words he felt a sudden misgiving, a sudden waning of faith. And,bringing confusion to his ears, was the low voice of this girl-womansaying: "I understand, VB, I understand. And it's never too late tomend!"
Her hand lay in her lap, and almost unconsciously he reached out forit. It came to meet his, frankly, quickly, and his frame was racked bya great, dry sob which came from the depths of his soul.
"Oh, do you understand, Gail?" he whispered doubtfully. "Canyou--without knowing?"
He had her hands in both his and strained forward, his face close tohers. The small, firm fingers clutched his hardened ones almostdesperately and the blue eyes, so wide now, looking at him soearnestly, were filmed with tears.
"I think I've understood all along," she said, keeping her voice evenat the cost of great effort. "I don't know it all--the detail, I mean.I don't need to. I know you've been fighting, VB, nobly, bravely. Iknow--"
He rose to his feet and drew her up with him, pulling her close to him,closer and closer. One arm slipped down over her shoulders,uncertainly, almost timidly. His face bent toward hers, slowly,tenderly, and she lifted her lips to meet it. It was the great momentof his life. Words were out of place; they would have been puerile,disturbing sounds, a mockery instead of an agency to convey an idea ofthe strength of his emotions. He could feel her breath on his cheek,and for an instant he hung above her, delaying the kiss, trembling withthe tremendous passion within him.
And then he backed away from her--awkwardly, threatening to fall, alimp hand raised toward the girl as though to warn her off.
"Oh, Gail, forgive me!" he moaned. "Not yet! Great God, Gail, I'm notworthy!"
His hoarse voice mounted and he stood backed against the far wall,fists clenched and stiff arms upraised. She took a faltering steptoward him.
"Don't!" she begged. "You are--you--"
But he was gone into the night, banging the door behind him, while thegirl leaned against her piano and let the tears come.
He was not worthy! He loved; she knew he loved; she had come to meetthat great binding, enveloping emotion willingly, frank with the joy ofit, as became her fine nature. Then he had run from her, and for herown sake! All the ordeals he had been through in those last months wereas brief, passing showers compared with the tempest that raged in himas he rode through the night; and it continued through the hours oflight and of darkness for many days. Young VB was a man who feared hisown love, and beyond that there can be no greater horror.
He sought solace in the Captain, in driving himself toward the highmark he had set out to attain, but the ideal exemplified in the nobleanimal seemed more unattainable than ever and he wondered at times ifthe victory he sought were not humanly impossible. The knowledge thatonly by conquering himself could he keep his love for Gail Thorpeunsullied never left him, and beside it a companion haunter stalkedthrough and through his consciousness--the fact that they had declaredthemselves to each other. He was carrying not alone the responsibilityof reclaiming his own life; he must also answer for the happiness of awoman!
In those days came intervals when he wondered if this thing were reallylove. Might it not be something else--a passing hysteria, a reactionfrom the inner battle? But he knew it was a love stronger than hiswill, stronger than his great tempter, stronger than the prompting tothink of the future when he saw the Thorpe automobile coming up theroad that spring day on the first trip the girl had made to the ranchthat year. And under the immense truth of the realization he becamebodily weak.
Doubt of his strength, too, became more real, more insistent than ithad ever been; its hateful power mingled with the thirst, and his heartwas rent. What if that love should prove stronger than this discretionwhich he had retained at such fearful cost, and drag him to her withthe stigma he still bore and wreck her!
Gail saw the constraint in him the instant she left the car, and thoughtheir handclasp was firm and long and understanding, it sobered hersmile.
She tried to start him talking on many things as they sat alone in thelog house, but it was useless. He did not respond. So, turning to thesubject that had always roused him, that she knew to be so close to hisheart, she asked for the Captain.
"In the corral," said VB, almost listlessly. "We'll go out."
So they went together and looked through the gate at the great animal.The Captain stepped close and stretched his nose for Gail to rub,pushing gently against her hand in response.
"Oh, you noble thing!" she whispered to him. "When you die, is all thatstrength of yours to be wasted? Can't it be given to some one else?"
She looked full on VB, then down at the ground, and said: "You've nevertold me how you broke the Captain. No one in the country knows. Theyknow that he almost killed you; that you fought him a whole week. Butno one knows how. Won't--won't you tell me? I want to know, because itwas a real achievement--and _yours_."
He met her gaze when it turned upward, and for many heartbeats theystood so, looking at each other. Then VB's eyes wavered and he moved astep, leaning on the bars and staring moodily at the stallion.
"It hurts to think about it," he said. "I don't like to remember. Thatis why I have never told any one. It hurt him and it hurt me."
She waited through the silence that followed for him to go on.
"I've worked and rubbed it and curried it, and nursed the hair to growover the place. It looks just like a cinch mark now--like the mark ofservice. No one would ever notice. But it isn't a mark of labor. _I_marked the Captain--I had to do it--had to make him understand me. Itlaid his side open, and all the nursing, all the care I could givewouldn't make up for it. It's there. The Captain knows it; so do I."
She followed his gaze to the little rough spot far down on the sleekside.
"All wild things have to be broken," she said. "None of them everbecome tame of their own volition. And in the breaking a mark isinvariably left. The memory hurts, but the mark means nothing ofitself, once it is healed. Don't you realize that?
"We all bear marks. The marks of our environment, the marks of ourfriends, the marks of those we--we love. Some of them hurt for a time,but in the end it is all good. Don't you believe that? We see those whoare very dear to us suffer, and it marks us; sometimes just lovingleaves its mark. But--those are the greatest things in the world.They're sacred.
"The marks on a woman who goes through fire for a man, say; the marksof a--a mother. They hurt, but in the end they make the
bond tighter,more holy."
She waited. Then asked again: "Don't you believe that?"
After a long pause VB answered in a peculiarly bitter voice: "I wish Iknew what I believe--if I do believe!"
