CHAPTER IV
A "DIFFERENT GIRL"
Ferguson had no means of knowing how long he was unconscious, but whenhe awoke the sun had gone down and the darkening shadows had stoleninto the clearing near the cabin. He still sat in the chair on theporch. He tried to lift his injured foot and found to his surprisethat some weight seemed to be on it. He struggled to an erectposition, looking down. His foot had been bandaged, and the weightthat he had thought was upon it was not a weight at all, but the handsof a young woman.
She sat on the porch floor, the injured foot in her lap, and she hadjust finished bandaging it. Beside her on the porch floor was a smallblack medicine case, a sponge, some yards of white cloth, and a tinwash basin partly filled with water.
He had a hazy recollection of the young woman; he knew it must havebeen she that he had seen when he had ridden up to the porch. He alsohad a slight remembrance of having spoken to her, but what the wordswere he could not recall. He stretched himself painfully. The footpained frightfully, and his face felt hot and feverish; he was woefullyweak and his nerves were tingling--but he was alive.
The girl looked up at his movement. Her lips opened and she held up awarning hand.
"You are to be very quiet," she admonished.
He smiled weakly and obeyed her, leaning back, his gaze on theslate-blue of the sky. She still worked at the foot, fastening thebandage; he could feel her fingers as they passed lightly over it. Hedid not move, feeling a deep contentment.
Presently she arose, placed the foot gently down, and entered thehouse. With closed eyes he lay in the chair, listening to her step asshe walked about in the house. He lay there a long time, and when heopened his eyes again he knew that he must have been asleep, for thenight had come and a big yellow moon was rising over a rim of distanthills. Turning his head slightly, he saw the interior of one of therooms of the cabin--the kitchen, for he saw a stove and some kettlesand pans hanging on the wall and near the window a table, over whichwas spread a cloth. A small kerosene lamp stood in the center of thetable, its rays glimmering weakly through the window. He raised onehand and passed it over his forehead. There was still some fever, buthe felt decidedly better than when he had awakened the first time.
Presently he heard a light step and became aware of some one standingnear him. He knew it was the girl, even before she spoke, for he hadcaught the rustle of her dress.
"Are you awake," she questioned.
"Why, yes, ma'am," he returned. He turned to look at her, but in thedarkness he could not see her face.
"Do you feel like eating anything?" she asked.
He grinned ruefully in the darkness. "I couldn't say that I'm exactlyyearnin' for grub," he returned, "though I ain't done any eatin' sincemornin'. I reckon a rattler's bite ain't considered to help a man'sappetite any."
He heard her laugh softly. "No," she returned; "I wouldn't recommendit."
He tried again to see her, but could not, and so he relaxed and turnedhis gaze on the sky. But presently he felt her hand on his shoulder,and then her voice, as she spoke firmly.
"You can't lie here all night," she said. "You would be worse in themorning. And it is impossible for you to travel to-night. I am goingto help you to get into the house. You can lean your weight on myshoulder."
He struggled to an erect position and made out her slender figure inthe dim light from the window. He would have been afraid of crushingher could he have been induced to accept her advice. He got to hisuninjured foot and began to hop toward the door, but she was beside himinstantly protesting.
"Stop!" she commanded firmly. "If you do that it will be the worse foryou. Put your hand on my shoulder!"
In the darkness he could see her eyes flash with determination, and sowithout further objection he placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, andin this manner they made their way through the door and into the cabin.Once inside the door he halted, blinking at the light and undecided.But she promptly led him toward another door, into a room containing abed. She led him to the bedside and stood near him after he had sunkdown upon it.
"You are to sleep here to-night," she said. "To-morrow, if you areconsiderably better, I may allow you to travel." She went out,returning immediately with a small bottle containing medicine. "If youfeel worse during the night," she directed, "you must take a spoonfulfrom that bottle. If you think you need anything else, don't hesitateto call. I shall be in the next room."
He started to voice his thanks, but she cut him short with a laugh."Good-night," she said. Then she went out and closed the door afterher.
He awoke several times during the night and each time took a taste ofthe medicine in the bottle. But shortly after midnight he fell into aheavy sleep, from which he did not awaken until the dawn had come. Helay quiet for a long time, until he heard steps in the kitchen, andthen he rose and went to the door, throwing it open and standing on thethreshold.
She was standing near the table, a coffee pot in her hand. Her eyeswidened as she saw him.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "You are very much better!"
He smiled. "I'm thankin' you for it, ma'am," he returned. "I cert'nlywouldn't have been feelin' anything if I hadn't met you when I did."
She put the coffee pot down and looked gravely at him.
"You were in very bad shape when you came," she admitted. "There was atime when I thought my remedies would not pull you through. They wouldnot had you come five minutes later."
He had no reply to make to this, and he stood there silent, until shepoured coffee into a cup, arranged some dishes, and then invited him tosit at the table.
He needed no second invitation, for he had been twenty-four hourswithout food. And he had little excuse to complain of the quality ofthe food that was set before him. He ate in silence and when he hadfinished he turned away from the table to see the girl dragging arocking chair out upon the porch. She returned immediately, smiling athim.
"Your chair is ready," she said. "I think you had better not exertyourself very much to-day."
"Why, ma'am," he expostulated, "I'm feelin' right well. I reckon Icould be travelin' now. I ain't used to bein' babied this way."
"I don't think you are being 'babied,'" she returned a trifle coldly."I don't think that I would waste any time with anyone if I thought itwasn't necessary. I am merely telling you to remain for your own good.Of course, if you wish to disregard my advice you may do so."
He smiled with a frank embarrassment and limped toward the door. "Why,ma'am," he said regretfully as he reached the door, "I cert'nly don'twant to do anything which you think ain't right, after what you've donefor me. I don't want to belittle you, an' I think that when I saidthat I might have been gassin' a little. But I thought mebbe I'd beenenough trouble already."
It was not entirely the confession itself, but the self-accusing tonein which it had been uttered that brought a smile to her face.
"All the same," she said, "you are to do as I tell you."
He smiled as he dropped into the chair on the porch. It was an oddexperience for him. Never before in his life had anyone adopted towardhim an air of even partial proprietorship. He had been accustomed tohaving people--always men--meet him upon a basis of equality, and if aman had adopted toward him the tone that she had employed there wouldhave been an instant severing of diplomatic relations and a beginningof hostilities.
But this situation was odd--a woman had ordered him to do a certainthing and he was obeying, realizing that in doing so he was violating aprinciple, though conscious of a strange satisfaction. He knew that hehad promised the Two Diamond manager, and he was convinced that, inspite of the pain in his foot, he was well enough to ride. But he wasnot going to ride; her command had settled that.
For a long time he sat in the chair, looking out over a great stretchof flat country which was rimmed on three sides by a fringe of lowhills, and behind him by the cottonwood. The sun had been up long; itwas swimming above the rim of distant h
ills--a ball of molten silver ina shimmering white blur. The cabin was set squarely in the center of abig clearing, and about an eighth of a mile behind him was a river--theriver that he had been following when he had been bitten by the rattler.
He knew from the location of the cabin that he had not gone very farout of his way; that a ride of an eighth of a mile would bring him tothe Two Diamond trail. And he could not be very far from the TwoDiamond. Yet because of an order, issued by a girl, he was doomed todelay his appearance at the ranch.
He had seen no man about the cabin. Did the girl live here alone? Hewas convinced that no woman could long survive the solitude of thisgreat waste of country--some man--a brother or a husband--must sharethe cabin with her. Several times he caught himself hoping that ifthere was a man here it might be a brother, or even a distant relative.The thought that she might have a husband aroused in him a sensation ofvague disquiet.
He heard her moving about in the cabin, heard the rattle of dishes, theswish of a broom on the rough floor. And then presently she came out,dragging another rocker. Then she re-entered the cabin, returning witha strip of striped cloth and a sewing basket. She seated herself inthe chair, placed the basket in her lap, and with a half smile on herface began to ply the needle. He lay back contentedly and watched her.
Hers was a lithe, vigorous figure in a white apron and a checkereddress of some soft material. She wore no collar; her sleeves wereshoved up above the elbows, revealing a pair of slightly browned handsand white, rounded arms. Her eyes were brown as her hair--the latterin a tumble of graceful disorder. Through half closed eyes he wasappraising her in a riot of admiration that threatened completely tobias his judgment. And yet women had interested him very little.
Perhaps that was because he had never seen a woman like this one. Thewomen that he had known had been those of the plains-town--theunfortunates who through circumstances or inclination had been drawninto the maelstrom of cow-country vice, and who, while they may havefound flattery, were never objects of honest admiration or respect.
He had known this young woman only a few hours, and yet he knew thatwith her he could not adopt the easy, matter-of-fact intimacy that hadanswered with the other women he had known. In fact, the desire tolook upon her in this light never entered his mind. Instead, he wasfilled with a deep admiration for her--an admiration in which there wasa profound respect.
"I expect you must know your business, ma'am," he said, after watchingher for a few minutes. "An' I'm mighty glad that you do. Most womenwould have been pretty nearly flustered over a snake bite."
"Why," she returned, without looking up, but exhibiting a littleembarrassment, which betrayed itself in a slight flush, "I really thinkthat I was a little excited--especially when you came riding up to theporch." She thought of his words, when, looking at her accusingly, hehad told her that she was "a hell of a snake," and the flush grew,suffusing her face. This of course he had not known and never wouldknow, but the words had caused her many smiles during the night.
"You didn't show it much," he observed. "You must have took righta-hold. Some women would have gone clean off the handle. Theywouldn't have been able to do anything."
Her lips twitched, but she still gave her attention to her sewing,treating his talk with a mild interest.
"There is nothing about a snake bite to become excited over. That is,if treatment is applied in time. In your case the tourniquet kept thepoison from getting very far into your system. If you hadn't thoughtof that it might have gone very hard with you."
"That rope around my leg wouldn't have done me a bit of good though,ma'am, if I hadn't stumbled onto your cabin. I don't know when seein'a woman has pleased me more."
She smiled enigmatically, her eyelashes flickering slightly. But shedid not answer.
Until noon she sewed, and he lay lazily back in the chair, watching hersometimes, sometimes looking at the country around him. They talkedvery little. Once, when he had been looking at her for a long time,she suddenly raised her eyes and they met his fairly. Both smiled, buthe saw a blush mantle her cheeks.
At noon she rose and entered the cabin. A little later she called tohim, telling him that dinner was ready. He washed from the tin basinthat stood on the bench just outside the door, and entering sat at thetable and ate heartily.
After dinner he did not see her again for a time, and becoming weariedof the chair he set out on a short excursion to the river. When hereturned she was seated on the porch and looked up at him with a demuresmile.
"You will be quite active by to-morrow," she said.
"I ain't feelin' exactly lazy now," he returned, showing a surprisingagility in reaching his chair.
When the sun began to swim low over the hills, he looked at her with acuriously grim smile.
"I reckon that rattler was fooled last night," he said. "But iffoolin' him had been left to me I expect I'd have made a bad job of it.But I'm thinkin' that he done his little old dyin' when the sun wentdown last night. An' I'm still here. An' I'll keep right on, usin'his brothers an' sisters for targets--when I think that I'm needin'practice."
"Then you killed the snake?"
"Why sure, ma'am. I wasn't figgerin' to let that rattler go a-fannin'right on to hook someone else. That'd be encouragin' his trade."
She laughed, evidently pleased over his earnestness. "Oh, I see," shesaid. "Then you were not angry merely because he bit you? You killedhim to keep him from attacking other persons?"
He smiled. "I sure was some angry," he returned. "An' I reckon thatjust at the time I wasn't thinkin' much about other people. I washavin' plenty to keep me busy."
"But you killed him. How?"
"Why I shot him, ma'am. Was you thinkin' that I beat him to death withsomethin'?"
Her lips twitched again, the corners turning suggestively inward. Butnow he caught her looking at his guns. She looked from them to hisface. "All cowboys do not carry two guns," she said suddenly.
He looked gravely at her. "Well, no, ma'am, they don't. There's somethat claim carryin' two guns is clumsy. But there's been times when Ifound them right convenient."
She fell silent now, regarding her sewing. A quizzical smile hadreached his face. This exchange of talk had developed the fact thatshe was a stranger to the country. No Western girl would have made herremark about the guns.
He did not know whether or not he was pleased over the discovery.Certain subtle signs about her had warned him in the beginning that shewas different from the other women of his acquaintance, but he had notthought of her being a stranger here, of her coming here from someother section of the country--the East, for instance.
Her being from the East would account for many things. First, it wouldmake plain to him why she had smiled several times during their talks,over things in which he had been able to see no humor. Then it wouldanswer the question that had formed in his mind concerning the fluencyof her speech. Western girls that he had met had not attained thatease and poise which he saw was hers so naturally. Yet in spite ofthis accomplishment she was none the less a woman--demure eyed, readyto blush and become confused as easily as a Western woman. Assured ofthis, he dropped the slight constraint which up till now had been plainin his voice, and an inward humor seemed to draw the corners of hismouth slightly downward.
"I reckon that folks where you come from don't wear guns at all,ma'am," he said slowly.
She looked up quickly, surprised into meeting his gaze fairly. Hiseyes did not waver. She rocked vigorously, showing some embarrassmentand giving undue attention to her sewing.
"How do you know that?" she questioned, raising her head and looking athim with suddenly defiant eyes. "I am not aware that I told you that Iwas a stranger here! Don't you think you are guessing now?"
His eyes narrowed cunningly. "I don't think I need to do any guessin',ma'am," he returned. "When a man sees a different girl, he don't haveto guess none."
The "different" girl was regarding
him with furtive glances, plainlyembarrassed under his direct words. But there was much defiance in hereyes, as though she was aware of the trend of his words and wasdetermined to outwit him.
"I think you must be a remarkable man," she said, with the faintesttrace of mockery in her voice, "to be able to discover such a thing soquickly. Or perhaps it is the atmosphere--it is marvelous."
"I expect it ain't exactly marvelous," he returned, laboring with thelast word. "When a girl acts different, a man is pretty apt to knowit." He leaned forward a little, speaking earnestly. "I know that I'mtalkin' pretty plain to you, ma'am," he went on. "But when a man hasbeen bit by a rattler an' has sort of give up hope an' has had his lifesaved by a girl, he's to be excused if he feels that he's someacquainted with the girl. An' then when he finds that she's somedifferent from the girls he's been used to seein', I don't see why hehadn't ought to take a lot of interest in her."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, her eyes drooping. And then, her eyes dancing asthey shot a swift glance at him--"I should call that a pretty speech."
He reddened with embarrassment. "I expect you are laughin' at me now,ma'am," he said. "But I wasn't thinkin' to make any pretty speeches.I was tellin' you the truth."
She soberly plied her needle, and he sat back, watching her.
"I expect you are a stranger around here yourself," she said presently,her eyes covered with drooping lashes. "How do you know that you haveany right to sit there and tell me that you take an interest in me?How do you know that I am not married?"
He was not disconcerted. He drawled slightly over his words when heanswered.
"You wouldn't listen at me at all, ma'am; you cert'nly wouldn't stayan' listen to any speeches that you thought was pretty, if you wasmarried," he said. Plainly, he had not lost faith in the virtue ofwoman.
"But if I did listen?" she questioned, her face crimson, though hereyes were still defiant.
He regarded her with pleased eyes. "I've been lookin' for a weddin'ring," he said.
She gave it up in confusion. "I don't know why I am talking this wayto you," she said. "I expect it is because there isn't anything elseto do. But you really are entertaining!" she declared, for a partingshot.
Once Ferguson had seen a band of traveling minstrels in Cimarron.Their jokes (of an ancient vintage) had taken well with the audience,for the latter had laughed. Ferguson remembered that a stranger hadsaid that the minstrels were "entertaining." And now he wasentertaining her. A shadow passed over his face; he looked down at hisfoot, with its white bandage so much in evidence. Then straight ather, his eyes grave and steady.
"I'm glad to have amused you, ma'am," he said. "An' now I reckon I'llbe gettin' over to the Two Diamond. It can't be very far now."
"Five miles," she said shortly. She had dropped her sewing into herlap and sat motionless, regarding him with level eyes.
"Are you working for the Two Diamond?" she questioned.
"Lookin' for a job," he returned.
"Oh!" The exclamation struck him as rather expressionless. He lookedat her.
"Do you know the Two Diamond folks?"
"Of course."
"Of course," he repeated, aware of the constraint in her voice. "Iought to have known. They're neighbors of your'n."
"They are not!" she suddenly flashed back at him.
"Well, now," he returned slowly, puzzled, but knowing that somehow hewas getting things wrong, "I reckon there's a lot that I don't know."
"If you are going to work over at the Two Diamond," she said coldly,"you will know more than you do now. My----"
Evidently she was about to say something more, but a sound caught herear and she rose, dropping her sewing to the chair. "My brother iscoming," she said quietly. Standing near the door she caughtFerguson's swift glance.
"Then it ain't a husband after all," he said, pretending surprise.
The Two-Gun Man Page 4
