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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1877-0.txt b/1877-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6872670 --- /dev/null +++ b/1877-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4959 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Mountain Woman and Others, by +(AKA Elia Wilkinson) Elia W. Peattie + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Mountain Woman and Others + +Author: (AKA Elia Wilkinson) Elia W. Peattie + +Posting Date: October 23, 2008 [EBook #1877] +Release Date: September, 1998 +Last Updated: March 10, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MOUNTAIN WOMAN AND OTHERS *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss + + + + + +A MOUNTAIN WOMAN + +By Elia Wilkinson Peattie + + + + To + + My best Friend, and kindest Critic, + + My Husband. + + +Transcriber's Note: I have omitted signature designations and have +closed abbreviations, e.g., “do n't” becoming “don't,” etc. In addition, +I have made the following changes to the text: + + PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 38 19 seem to seemed to + 47 9 beafsteak beefsteak + 56 4 divertisement divertissement + 91 19 divertisement divertissement + 155 17 scarfs. scarves. + 169 20 scarfs, scarves, + + + + +FOREWORD. + + +MOST of the tales in this little book have been printed before. “A +Mountain Woman” appeared in Harper's Weekly, as did “The Three Johns” + and “A Resuscitation.” “Jim Lancy's Waterloo” was printed in the +Cosmopolitan, “A Michigan Man” in Lippincott's, and “Up the Gulch” in +Two Tales. The courtesy of these periodicals in permitting the stories +to be republished is cordially acknowledged. + +E. W. P. + + + + +Contents + + + A MOUNTAIN WOMAN + + JIM LANCY'S WATERLOO + + THE THREE JOHNS + + A RESUSCITATION + + TWO PIONEERS + + UP THE GULCH + + A MICHIGAN MAN + + A LADY OF YESTERDAY + + + + +A Mountain Woman + +IF Leroy Brainard had not had such a respect for literature, he would +have written a book. + +As it was, he played at being an architect--and succeeded in being a +charming fellow. My sister Jessica never lost an opportunity of laughing +at his endeavors as an architect. + +“You can build an enchanting villa, but what would you do with a +cathedral?” + +“I shall never have a chance at a cathedral,” he would reply. “And, +besides, it always seems to me so material and so impertinent to build a +little structure of stone and wood in which to worship God!” + +You see what he was like? He was frivolous, yet one could never tell +when he would become eloquently earnest. + +Brainard went off suddenly Westward one day. I suspected that Jessica +was at the bottom of it, but I asked no questions; and I did not hear +from him for months. Then I got a letter from Colorado. + +“I have married a mountain woman,” he wrote. “None of your puny breed +of modern femininity, but a remnant left over from the heroic ages,--a +primitive woman, grand and vast of spirit, capable of true and steadfast +wifehood. No sophistry about her; no knowledge even that there is +sophistry. Heavens! man, do you remember the rondeaux and triolets I +used to write to those pretty creatures back East? It would take a Saga +man of the old Norseland to write for my mountain woman. If I were an +artist, I would paint her with the north star in her locks and her feet +on purple cloud. I suppose you are at the Pier. I know you usually are +at this season. At any rate, I shall direct this letter thither, and +will follow close after it. I want my wife to see something of life. And +I want her to meet your sister.” + +“Dear me!” cried Jessica, when I read the letter to her; “I don't know +that I care to meet anything quite so gigantic as that mountain woman. +I'm one of the puny breed of modern femininity, you know. I don't think +my nerves can stand the encounter.” + +“Why, Jessica!” I protested. She blushed a little. + +“Don't think bad of me, Victor. But, you see, I've a little scrap-book +of those triolets upstairs.” Then she burst into a peal of irresistible +laughter. “I'm not laughing because I am piqued,” she said frankly. +“Though any one will admit that it is rather irritating to have a man +who left you in a blasted condition recover with such extraordinary +promptness. As a philanthropist, one of course rejoices, but as a woman, +Victor, it must be admitted that one has a right to feel annoyed. But, +honestly, I am not ungenerous, and I am going to do him a favor. I shall +write, and urge him not to bring his wife here. A primitive woman, with +the north star in her hair, would look well down there in the Casino +eating a pineapple ice, wouldn't she? It's all very well to have a soul, +you know; but it won't keep you from looking like a guy among women who +have good dressmakers. I shudder at the thought of what the poor thing +will suffer if he brings her here.” + +Jessica wrote, as she said she would; but, for all that, a fortnight +later she was walking down the wharf with the “mountain woman,” and I +was sauntering beside Leroy. At dinner Jessica gave me no chance to talk +with our friend's wife, and I only caught the quiet contralto tones of +her voice now and then contrasting with Jessica's vivacious soprano. A +drizzling rain came up from the east with nightfall. Little groups of +shivering men and women sat about in the parlors at the card-tables, +and one blond woman sang love songs. The Brainards were tired with their +journey, and left us early. When they were gone, Jessica burst into +eulogy. + +“That is the first woman,” she declared, “I ever met who would make a +fit heroine for a book.” + +“Then you will not feel under obligations to educate her, as you +insinuated the other day?” + +“Educate her! I only hope she will help me to unlearn some of the things +I know. I never saw such simplicity. It is antique!” + +“You're sure it's not mere vacuity?” “Victor! How can you? But you +haven't talked with her. You must to-morrow. Good-night.” She gathered +up her trailing skirts and started down the corridor. Suddenly she +turned back. “For Heaven's sake!” she whispered, in an awed tone, “I +never even noticed what she had on!” + +The next morning early we made up a riding party, and I rode with +Mrs. Brainard. She was as tall as I, and sat in her saddle as if quite +unconscious of her animal. The road stretched hard and inviting under +our horses' feet. The wind smelled salt. The sky was ragged with gray +masses of cloud scudding across the blue. I was beginning to glow with +exhilaration, when suddenly my companion drew in her horse. + +“If you do not mind, we will go back,” she said. + +Her tone was dejected. I thought she was tired. + +“Oh, no!” she protested, when I apologized for my thoughtlessness in +bringing her so far. “I'm not tired. I can ride all day. Where I come +from, we have to ride if we want to go anywhere; but here there seems to +be no particular place to--to reach.” + +“Are you so utilitarian?” I asked, laughingly. “Must you always have +some reason for everything you do? I do so many things just for the mere +pleasure of doing them, I'm afraid you will have a very poor opinion of +me.” + +“That is not what I mean,” she said, flushing, and turning her large +gray eyes on me. “You must not think I have a reason for everything I +do.” She was very earnest, and it was evident that she was unacquainted +with the art of making conversation. “But what I mean,” she went on, +“is that there is no place--no end--to reach.” She looked back over her +shoulder toward the west, where the trees marked the sky line, and an +expression of loss and dissatisfaction came over her face. “You +see,” she said, apologetically, “I'm used to different things--to the +mountains. I have never been where I could not see them before in my +life.” + +“Ah, I see! I suppose it is odd to look up and find them not there.” + +“It's like being lost, this not having anything around you. At least, +I mean,” she continued slowly, as if her thought could not easily put +itself in words,--“I mean it seems as if a part of the world had been +taken down. It makes you feel lonesome, as if you were living after the +world had begun to die.” + +“You'll get used to it in a few days. It seems very beautiful to me +here. And then you will have so much life to divert you.” + +“Life? But there is always that everywhere.” + +“I mean men and women.” + +“Oh! Still, I am not used to them. I think I might be not--not very +happy with them. They might think me queer. I think I would like to show +your sister the mountains.” + +“She has seen them often.” + +“Oh, she told me. But I don't mean those pretty green hills such as we +saw coming here. They are not like my mountains. I like mountains that +go beyond the clouds, with terrible shadows in the hollows, and belts +of snow lying in the gorges where the sun cannot reach, and the snow is +blue in the sunshine, or shining till you think it is silver, and the +mist so wonderful all about it, changing each moment and drifting up and +down, that you cannot tell what name to give the colors. These mountains +of yours here in the East are so quiet; mine are shouting all the time, +with the pines and the rivers. The echoes are so loud in the valley that +sometimes, when the wind is rising, we can hardly hear a man talk unless +he raises his voice. There are four cataracts near where I live, and +they all have different voices, just as people do; and one of them +is happy--a little white cataract--and it falls where the sun shines +earliest, and till night it is shining. But the others only get the sun +now and then, and they are more noisy and cruel. One of them is always +in the shadow, and the water looks black. That is partly because the +rocks all underneath it are black. It falls down twenty great ledges in +a gorge with black sides, and a white mist dances all over it at every +leap. I tell father the mist is the ghost of the waters. No man ever +goes there; it is too cold. The chill strikes through one, and makes +your heart feel as if you were dying. But all down the side of the +mountain, toward the south and the west, the sun shines on the granite +and draws long points of light out of it. Father tells me soldiers +marching look that way when the sun strikes on their bayonets. Those are +the kind of mountains I mean, Mr. Grant.” + +She was looking at me with her face transfigured, as if it, like the +mountains she told me of, had been lying in shadow, and waiting for the +dazzling dawn. + +“I had a terrible dream once,” she went on; “the most terrible dream +ever I had. I dreamt that the mountains had all been taken down, and +that I stood on a plain to which there was no end. The sky was burning +up, and the grass scorched brown from the heat, and it was twisting as +if it were in pain. And animals, but no other person save myself, only +wild things, were crouching and looking up at that sky. They could not +run because there was no place to which to go.” + +“You were having a vision of the last man,” I said. “I wonder myself +sometimes whether this old globe of ours is going to collapse suddenly +and take us with her, or whether we will disappear through slow +disastrous ages of fighting and crushing, with hunger and blight to help +us to the end. And then, at the last, perhaps, some luckless fellow, +stronger than the rest, will stand amid the ribs of the rotting earth +and go mad.” + +The woman's eyes were fixed on me, large and luminous. “Yes,” she said; +“he would go mad from the lonesomeness of it. He would be afraid to be +left alone like that with God. No one would want to be taken into God's +secrets.” + +“And our last man,” I went on, “would have to stand there on that +swaying wreck till even the sound of the crumbling earth ceased. And +he would try to find a voice and would fail, because silence would have +come again. And then the light would go out--” + +The shudder that crept over her made me stop, ashamed of myself. + +“You talk like father,” she said, with a long-drawn breath. Then she +looked up suddenly at the sun shining through a rift in those reckless +gray clouds, and put out one hand as if to get it full of the headlong +rollicking breeze. “But the earth is not dying,” she cried. “It is +well and strong, and it likes to go round and round among all the other +worlds. It likes the sun and moon; they are all good friends; and it +likes the people who live on it. Maybe it is they instead of the fire +within who keep it warm; or maybe it is warm just from always going, as +we are when we run. We are young, you and I, Mr. Grant, and Leroy, and +your beautiful sister, and the world is young too!” Then she laughed a +strong splendid laugh, which had never had the joy taken out of it +with drawing-room restrictions; and I laughed too, and felt that we had +become very good companions indeed, and found myself warming to the joy +of companionship as I had not since I was a boy at school. + +That afternoon the four of us sat at a table in the Casino together. The +Casino, as every one knows, is a place to amuse yourself. If you have a +duty, a mission, or an aspiration, you do not take it there with you, +it would be so obviously out of place; if poverty is ahead of you, you +forget it; if you have brains, you hasten to conceal them; they would be +a serious encumbrance. + +There was a bubbling of conversation, a rustle and flutter such as there +always is where there are many women. All the place was gay with flowers +and with gowns as bright as the flowers. I remembered the apprehensions +of my sister, and studied Leroy's wife to see how she fitted into this +highly colored picture. She was the only woman in the room who seemed +to wear draperies. The jaunty slash and cut of fashionable attire were +missing in the long brown folds of cloth that enveloped her figure. I +felt certain that even from Jessica's standpoint she could not be called +a guy. Picturesque she might be, past the point of convention, but she +was not ridiculous. + +“Judith takes all this very seriously,” said Leroy, laughingly. “I +suppose she would take even Paris seriously.” + +His wife smiled over at him. “Leroy says I am melancholy,” she said, +softly; “but I am always telling him that I am happy. He thinks I am +melancholy because I do not laugh. I got out of the way of it by being +so much alone. You only laugh to let some one else know you are pleased. +When you are alone there is no use in laughing. It would be like +explaining something to yourself.” + +“You are a philosopher, Judith. Mr. Max Mueller would like to know +you.” + +“Is he a friend of yours, dear?” + +Leroy blushed, and I saw Jessica curl her lip as she noticed the blush. +She laid her hand on Mrs. Brainard's arm. + +“Have you always been very much alone?” she inquired. + +“I was born on the ranch, you know; and father was not fond of leaving +it. Indeed, now he says he will never again go out of sight of it. But +you can go a long journey without doing that; for it lies on a plateau +in the valley, and it can be seen from three different mountain passes. +Mother died there, and for that reason and others--father has had +a strange life--he never wanted to go away. He brought a lady from +Pennsylvania to teach me. She had wonderful learning, but she didn't +make very much use of it. I thought if I had learning I would not waste +it reading books. I would use it to--to live with. Father had a library, +but I never cared for it. He was forever at books too. Of course,” + she hastened to add, noticing the look of mortification deepen on her +husband's face, “I like books very well if there is nothing better at +hand. But I always said to Mrs. Windsor--it was she who taught me--why +read what other folk have been thinking when you can go out and think +yourself? Of course one prefers one's own thoughts, just as one prefers +one's own ranch, or one's own father.” + +“Then you are sure to like New York when you go there to live,” cried +Jessica; “for there you will find something to make life entertaining +all the time. No one need fall back on books there.” + +“I'm not sure. I'm afraid there must be such dreadful crowds of people. +Of course I should try to feel that they were all like me, with just the +same sort of fears, and that it was ridiculous for us to be afraid of +each other, when at heart we all meant to be kind.” + +Jessica fairly wrung her hands. “Heavens!” she cried. “I said you would +like New York. I am afraid, my dear, that it will break your heart!” + +“Oh,” said Mrs. Brainard, with what was meant to be a gentle jest, “no +one can break my heart except Leroy. I should not care enough about any +one else, you know.” + +The compliment was an exquisite one. I felt the blood creep to my own +brain in a sort of vicarious rapture, and I avoided looking at Leroy +lest he should dislike to have me see the happiness he must feel. The +simplicity of the woman seemed to invigorate me as the cool air of her +mountains might if it blew to me on some bright dawn, when I had come, +fevered and sick of soul, from the city. + +When we were alone, Jessica said to me: “That man has too much vanity, +and he thinks it is sensitiveness. He is going to imagine that his wife +makes him suffer. There's no one so brutally selfish as your sensitive +man. He wants every one to live according to his ideas, or he +immediately begins suffering. That friend of yours hasn't the courage +of his convictions. He is going to be ashamed of the very qualities that +made him love his wife.” + +There was a hop that night at the hotel, quite an unusual affair as to +elegance, given in honor of a woman from New York, who wrote a novel a +month. + +Mrs. Brainard looked so happy that night when she came in the parlor, +after the music had begun, that I felt a moisture gather in my eyes just +because of the beauty of her joy, and the forced vivacity of the women +about me seemed suddenly coarse and insincere. Some wonderful red +stones, brilliant as rubies, glittered in among the diaphanous black +driftings of her dress. She asked me if the stones were not very pretty, +and said she gathered them in one of her mountain river-beds. + +“But the gown?” I said. “Surely, you do not gather gowns like that in +river-beds, or pick them off mountain-pines?” + +“But you can get them in Denver. Father always sent to Denver for my +finery. He was very particular about how I looked. You see, I was all he +had--” She broke off, her voice faltering. + +“Come over by the window,” I said, to change her thought. “I have +something to repeat to you. It is a song of Sydney Lanier's. I think he +was the greatest poet that ever lived in America, though not many agree +with me. But he is my dear friend anyway, though he is dead, and I never +saw him; and I want you to hear some of his words.” + +I led her across to an open window. The dancers were whirling by us. +The waltz was one of those melancholy ones which speak the spirit of the +dance more eloquently than any merry melody can. The sound of the sea +booming beyond in the darkness came to us, and long paths of light, now +red, now green, stretched toward the distant light-house. These were the +lines I repeated:-- + + “What heartache--ne'er a hill! + Inexorable, vapid, vague, and chill + The drear sand levels drain my spirit low. + With one poor word they tell me all they know; + Whereat their stupid tongues, to tease my pain, + Do drawl it o'er and o'er again. + They hurt my heart with griefs I cannot name; + Always the same--the same.” + + +But I got no further. I felt myself moved with a sort of passion which +did not seem to come from within, but to be communicated to me from her. +A certain unfamiliar happiness pricked through with pain thrilled me, +and I heard her whispering,-- + +“Do not go on, do not go on! I cannot stand it to-night!” + +“Hush,” I whispered back; “come out for a moment!” We stole into the +dusk without, and stood there trembling. I swayed with her emotion. +There was a long silence. Then she said: “Father may be walking alone +now by the black cataract. That is where he goes when he is sad. I can +see how lonely he looks among those little twisted pines that grow from +the rock. And he will be remembering all the evenings we walked there +together, and all the things we said.” I did not answer. Her eyes were +still on the sea. + +“What was the name of the man who wrote that verse you just said to me?” + +I told her. + +“And he is dead? Did they bury him in the mountains? No? I wish I could +have put him where he could have heard those four voices calling down +the canyon.” + +“Come back in the house,” I said; “you must come, indeed,” I said, as +she shrank from re-entering. + +Jessica was dancing like a fairy with Leroy. They both saw us and smiled +as we came in, and a moment later they joined us. I made my excuses +and left my friends to Jessica's care. She was a sort of social +tyrant wherever she was, and I knew one word from her would insure the +popularity of our friends--not that they needed the intervention of any +one. Leroy had been a sort of drawing-room pet since before he stopped +wearing knickerbockers. + +“He is at his best in a drawing-room,” said Jessica, “because there +he deals with theory and not with action. And he has such beautiful +theories that the women, who are all idealists, adore him.” + +The next morning I awoke with a conviction that I had been idling too +long. I went back to the city and brushed the dust from my desk. Then +each morning, I, as Jessica put it, “formed public opinion” to the +extent of one column a day in the columns of a certain enterprising +morning journal. + +Brainard said I had treated him shabbily to leave upon the heels of his +coming. But a man who works for his bread and butter must put a limit to +his holiday. It is different when you only work to add to your general +picturesqueness. That is what I wrote Leroy, and it was the unkindest +thing I ever said to him; and why I did it I do not know to this day. I +was glad, though, when he failed to answer the letter. It gave me a more +reasonable excuse for feeling out of patience with him. + +The days that followed were very dull. It was hard to get back into the +way of working. I was glad when Jessica came home to set up our little +establishment and to join in the autumn gayeties. Brainard brought his +wife to the city soon after, and went to housekeeping in an odd sort of +a way. + +“I couldn't see anything in the place save curios,” Jessica reported, +after her first call on them. “I suppose there is a cookingstove +somewhere, and maybe even a pantry with pots in it. But all I saw was +Alaska totems and Navajo blankets. They have as many skins around on +the floor and couches as would have satisfied an ancient Briton. And +everybody was calling there. You know Mr. Brainard runs to curios in +selecting his friends as well as his furniture. The parlors were full +this afternoon of abnormal people, that is to say, with folks one reads +about. I was the only one there who hadn't done something. I guess it's +because I am too healthy.” + +“How did Mrs. Brainard like such a motley crew?” + +“She was wonderful--perfectly wonderful! Those insulting creatures were +all studying her, and she knew it. But her dignity was perfect, and she +looked as proud as a Sioux chief. She listened to every one, and they +all thought her so bright.” + +“Brainard must have been tremendously proud of her.” + +“Oh, he was--of her and his Chilcat portieres.” + +Jessica was there often, but--well, I was busy. At length, however, I +was forced to go. Jessica refused to make any further excuses for me. +The rooms were filled with small celebrities. + +“We are the only nonentities,” whispered Jessica, as she looked around; +“it will make us quite distinguished.” + +We went to speak to our hostess. She stood beside her husband, looking +taller than ever; and her face was white. Her long red gown of clinging +silk was so peculiar as to give one the impression that she was dressed +in character. It was easy to tell that it was one of Leroy's fancies. I +hardly heard what she said, but I know she reproached me gently for not +having been to see them. I had no further word with her till some one +led her to the piano, and she paused to say,-- + +“That poet you spoke of to me--the one you said was a friend of +yours--he is my friend now too, and I have learned to sing some of his +songs. I am going to sing one now.” She seemed to have no timidity at +all, but stood quietly, with a half smile, while a young man with a +Russian name played a strange minor prelude. Then she sang, her voice +a wonderful contralto, cold at times, and again lit up with gleams of +passion. The music itself was fitful, now full of joy, now tender, and +now sad: + + “Look off, dear love, across the sallow sands, + And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea, + How long they kiss in sight of all the lands, + Ah! longer, longer we.” + +“She has a genius for feeling, hasn't she?” Leroy whispered to me. + +“A genius for feeling!” I repeated, angrily. “Man, she has a heart and a +soul and a brain, if that is what you mean! I shouldn't think you would +be able to look at her from the standpoint of a critic.” + +Leroy shrugged his shoulders and went off. For a moment I almost hated +him for not feeling more resentful. I felt as if he owed it to his wife +to take offence at my foolish speech. + +It was evident that the “mountain woman” had become the fashion. I +read reports in the papers about her unique receptions. I saw her name +printed conspicuously among the list of those who attended all sorts +of dinners and musicales and evenings among the set that affected +intellectual pursuits. She joined a number of women's clubs of an +exclusive kind. + +“She is doing whatever her husband tells her to,” said Jessica. “Why, +the other day I heard her ruining her voice on 'Siegfried'!” + +But from day to day I noticed a difference in her. She developed a +terrible activity. She took personal charge of the affairs of her house; +she united with Leroy in keeping the house filled with guests; she got +on the board of a hospital for little children, and spent a part of +every day among the cots where the sufferers lay. Now and then when we +spent a quiet evening alone with her and Leroy, she sewed continually on +little white night-gowns for these poor babies. She used her carriage to +take the most extraordinary persons riding. + +“In the cause of health,” Leroy used to say, “I ought to have the +carriage fumigated after every ride Judith takes, for she is always +accompanied by some one who looks as if he or she should go into +quarantine.” + +One night, when he was chaffing her in this way, she flung her sewing +suddenly from her and sprang to her feet, as if she were going to give +way to a burst of girlish temper. Instead of that, a stream of tears +poured from her eyes, and she held out her trembling hands toward +Jessica. + +“He does not know,” she sobbed. “He cannot understand.” + +One memorable day Leroy hastened over to us while we were still at +breakfast to say that Judith was ill,--strangely ill. All night long +she had been muttering to herself as if in a delirium. Yet she answered +lucidly all questions that were put to her. + +“She begs for Miss Grant. She says over and over that she 'knows,' +whatever that may mean.” + +When Jessica came home she told me she did not know. She only felt that +a tumult of impatience was stirring in her friend. + +“There is something majestic about her,-something epic. I feel as if +she were making me live a part in some great drama, the end of which I +cannot tell. She is suffering, but I cannot tell why she suffers.” + +Weeks went on without an abatement in this strange illness. She did not +keep her bed. Indeed, she neglected few of her usual occupations. But +her hands were burning, and her eyes grew bright with that wild sort of +lustre one sees in the eyes of those who give themselves up to strange +drugs or manias. She grew whimsical, and formed capricious friendships, +only to drop them. + +And then one day she closed her house to all acquaintances, and sat +alone continually in her room, with her hands clasped in her lap, and +her eyes swimming with the emotions that never found their way to her +tongue. + +Brainard came to the office to talk with me about her one day. “I am a +very miserable man, Grant,” he said. “I am afraid I have lost my wife's +regard. Oh, don't tell me it is partly my fault. I know it well enough. +And I know you haven't had a very good opinion of me lately. But I am +remorseful enough now, God knows. And I would give my life to see her +as she was when I found her first among the mountains. Why, she used to +climb them like a strong man, and she was forever shouting and singing. +And she had peopled every spot with strange modern mythological +creatures. Her father is an old dreamer, and she got the trick from +him. They had a little telescope on a great knoll in the centre of the +valley, just where it commanded a long path of stars, and they used to +spend nights out there when the frost literally fell in flakes. When I +think how hardy and gay she was, how full of courage and life, and look +at her now, so feverish and broken, I feel as if I should go mad. You +know I never meant to do her any harm. Tell me that much, Grant.” + +“I think you were very egotistical for a while, Brainard, and that is a +fact. And you didn't appreciate how much her nature demanded. But I +do not think you are responsible for your wife's present condition. If +there is any comfort in that statement, you are welcome to it.” + +“But you don't mean--” he got no further. + +“I mean that your wife may have her reservations, just as we all have, +and I am paying her high praise when I say it. You are not so narrow, +Leroy, as to suppose for a moment that the only sort of passion a woman +is capable of is that which she entertains for a man. How do I know +what is going on in your wife's soul? But it is nothing which even an +idealist of women, such as I am, old fellow, need regret.” + +How glad I was afterward that I spoke those words. They exercised a +little restraint, perhaps, on Leroy when the day of his terrible trial +came. They made him wrestle with the demon of suspicion that strove to +possess him. I was sitting in my office, lagging dispiritedly over my +work one day, when the door burst open and Brainard stood beside me. +Brainard, I say, and yet in no sense the man I had known,--not a hint +in this pale creature, whose breath struggled through chattering teeth, +and whose hands worked in uncontrollable spasms, of the nonchalant +elegant I had known. Not a glimpse to be seen in those angry and +determined eyes of the gayly selfish spirit of my holiday friend. + +“She's gone!” he gasped. “Since yesterday. And I'm here to ask you what +you think now? And what you know.” + +A panorama of all shameful possibilities for one black moment floated +before me. I remember this gave place to a wave, cold as death, that +swept from head to foot; then Brainard's hands fell heavily on my +shoulders. + +“Thank God at least for this much,” he said, hoarsely; “I didn't know at +first but I had lost both friend and wife. But I see you know nothing. +And indeed in my heart I knew all the time that you did not. Yet I had +to come to you with my anger. And I remembered how you defended her. +What explanation can you offer now?” + +I got him to sit down after a while and tell me what little there was +to tell. He had been away for a day's shooting, and when he returned he +found only the perplexed servants at home. A note was left for him. He +showed it to me. + +“There are times,” it ran, “when we must do as we must, not as we would. +I am going to do something I have been driven to do since I left my +home. I do not leave any message of love for you, because you would not +care for it from a woman so weak as I. But it is so easy for you to be +happy that I hope in a little while you will forget the wife who yielded +to an influence past resisting. It may be madness, but I am not great +enough to give it up. I tried to make the sacrifice, but I could not. +I tried to be as gay as you, and to live your sort of life; but I could +not do it. Do not make the effort to forgive me. You will be happier if +you simply hold me in the contempt I deserve.” + +I read the letter over and over. I do not know that I believe that the +spirit of inanimate things can permeate to the intelligence of man. I +am sure I always laughed at such ideas. Yet holding that note with its +shameful seeming words, I felt a consciousness that it was written in +purity and love. And then before my eyes there came a scene so +vivid that for a moment the office with its familiar furniture was +obliterated. What I saw was a long firm road, green with midsummer +luxuriance. The leisurely thudding of my horse's feet sounded in my +ears. Beside me was a tall, black-robed figure. I saw her look back with +that expression of deprivation at the sky line. “It's like living after +the world has begun to die,” said the pensive minor voice. “It seems as +if part of the world had been taken down.” + +“Brainard,” I yelled, “come here! I have it. Here's your explanation. I +can show you a new meaning for every line of this letter. Man, she has +gone to the mountains. She has gone to worship her own gods!” + +Two weeks later I got a letter from Brainard, dated from Colorado. + +“Old man,” it said, “you're right. She is here. I found my mountain +woman here where the four voices of her cataracts had been calling to +her. I saw her the moment our mules rounded the road that commands the +valley. We had been riding all night and were drenched with cold dew, +hungry to desperation, and my spirits were of lead. Suddenly we got out +from behind the granite wall, and there she was, standing, where I had +seen her so often, beside the little waterfall that she calls the happy +one. She was looking straight up at the billowing mist that dipped down +the mountain, mammoth saffron rolls of it, plunging so madly from the +impetus of the wind that one marvelled how it could be noiseless. Ah, +you do not know Judith! That strange, unsophisticated, sometimes awkward +woman you saw bore no more resemblance to my mountain woman than I to +Hercules. How strong and beautiful she looked standing there wrapped in +an ecstasy! It was my primitive woman back in her primeval world. How +the blood leaped in me! All my old romance, so different from the common +love-histories of most men, was there again within my reach! All the +mystery, the poignant happiness were mine again. Do not hold me in +contempt because I show you my heart. You saw my misery. Why should +I grudge you a glimpse of my happiness? She saw me when I touched her +hand, not before, so wrapped was she. But she did not seem surprised. +Only in her splendid eyes there came a large content. She pointed to the +dancing little white fall. 'I thought something wonderful was going to +happen,' she whispered, 'for it has been laughing so.' + +“I shall not return to New York. I am going to stay here with my +mountain woman, and I think perhaps I shall find out what life means +here sooner than I would back there with you. I shall learn to see large +things large and small things small. Judith says to tell you and Miss +Grant that the four voices are calling for you every day in the valley. + +“Yours in fullest friendship, + +“LEROY BRAINARD.” + + + +Jim Lancy's Waterloo + + +“WE must get married before time to put in crops,” he wrote. “We must +make a success of the farm the first year, for luck. Could you manage +to be ready to come out West by the last of February? After March opens +there will be no let-up, and I do not see how I could get away. Make it +February, Annie dear. A few weeks more or less can make no difference to +you, but they make a good deal of difference to me.” + +The woman to whom this was written read it with something like anger. “I +don't believe he's so impatient for me!” she said to herself. “What he +wants is to get the crops in on time.” But she changed the date of their +wedding, and made it February. + +Their wedding journey was only from the Illinois village where she lived +to their Nebraska farm. They had never been much together, and they had +much to say to each other. + +“Farming won't come hard to you,” Jim assured her. “All one needs to +farm with is brains.” + +“What a success you'll make of it!” she cried saucily. + +“I wish I had my farm clear,” Jim went on; “but that's more than any one +has around me. I'm no worse off than the rest. We've got to pay off the +mortgage, Annie.” + +“Of course we must. We'll just do without till we get the mortgage +lifted. Hard work will do anything, I guess. And I'm not afraid to work, +Jim, though I've never had much experience.” + +Jim looked out of the window a long time, at the gentle undulations of +the brown Iowa prairie. His eyes seemed to pierce beneath the sod, +to the swelling buds of the yet invisible grass. He noticed how +disdainfully the rains of the new year beat down the grasses of the +year that was gone. It opened to his mind a vision of the season's +possibilities. For a moment, even amid the smoke of the car, he seemed +to scent clover, and hear the stiff swishing of the corn and the dull +burring of the bees. + +“I wish sometimes,” he said, leaning forward to look at his bride, “that +I had been born something else than a farmer. But I can no more help +farming, Annie, than a bird can help singing, or a bee making honey. I +didn't take to farming. I was simply born with a hoe in my hand.” + +“I don't know a blessed thing about it,” Annie confessed. “But I made up +my mind that a farm with you was better than a town without you. That's +all there is to it, as far as I am concerned.” + +Jim Lancy slid his arm softly about her waist, unseen by the other +passengers. Annie looked up apprehensively, to see if any one was +noticing. But they were eating their lunches. It was a common coach on +which they were riding. There was a Pullman attached to the train, and +Annie had secretly thought that, as it was their wedding journey, it +might be more becoming to take it. But Jim had made no suggestion about +it. What he said later explained the reason. + +“I would have liked to have brought you a fine present,” he said. “It +seemed shabby to come with nothing but that little ring. But I put +everything I had on our home, you know. And yet, I'm sure you'll think +it poor enough after what you've been used to. You'll forgive me for +only bringing the ring, my dear?” + +“But you brought me something better,” Annie whispered. She was a +foolish little girl. “You brought me love, you know.” Then they rode +in silence for a long time. Both of them were new to the phraseology of +love. Their simple compliments to each other were almost ludicrous. But +any one who might have chanced to overhear them would have been charmed, +for they betrayed an innocence as beautiful as an unclouded dawn. + +Annie tried hard not to be depressed by the treeless stretches of the +Nebraska plains. + +“This is different from Illinois,” she ventured once, gently; “it is +even different from Iowa.” + +“Yes, yes,” cried Jim, enthusiastically, “it is different! It is the +finest country in the world! You never feel shut in. You can always see +off. I feel at home after I get in Nebraska. I'd choke back where you +live, with all those little gullies and the trees everywhere. It's a +mystery to me how farmers have patience to work there.” + +Annie opened her eyes. There was evidently more than one way of looking +at a question. The farm-houses seemed very low and mean to her, as she +looked at them from the window. There were no fences, excepting now +and then the inhospitable barbed wire. The door-yards were bleak to her +eyes, without the ornamental shrubbery which every farmer in her part +of the country was used to tending. The cattle stood unshedded in their +corrals. The reapers and binders stood rusting in the dull drizzle. + +“How shiftless!” cried Annie, indignantly. “What do these men mean by +letting their machinery lie out that way? I should think one winter of +lying out would hurt it more than three summers of using.” + +“It does. But sheds are not easily had. Lumber is dear.” + +“But I should think it would be economy even then.” + +“Yes,” he said, “perhaps. But we all do that way out here. It takes +some money for a man to be economical with. Some of us haven't even that +much.” + +There was a six-mile ride from the station. The horses were waiting, +hitched up to a serviceable light wagon, and driven by the “help.” He +was a thin young man, with red hair, and he blushed vicariously for Jim +and Annie, who were really too entertained with each other, and at the +idea of the new life opening up before them, to think anything about +blushing. At the station, a number of men insisted on shaking hands +with Jim, and being introduced to his wife. They were all bearded, as +if shaving were an unnecessary labor, and their trousers were tucked in +dusty top-boots, none of which had ever seen blacking. Annie had a sense +of these men seeming unwashed, or as if they had slept in their clothes. +But they had kind voices, and their eyes were very friendly. So she +shook hands with them all with heartiness, and asked them to drive out +and bring their womenkind. + +“I am going to make up my mind not to be lonesome,” she declared; “but, +all the same, I shall want to see some women.” + +Annie had got safe on the high seat of the wagon, and was balancing her +little feet on the inclined foot-rest, when a woman came running across +the street, calling aloud,-- + +“Mr. Lancy! Mr. Lancy! You're not going to drive away without +introducing me to your wife!” + +She was a thin little woman, with movements as nervous and as graceless +as those of a grasshopper. Her dun-colored garments seemed to have all +the hue bleached out of them with wind and weather. Her face was brown +and wrinkled, and her bright eyes flashed restlessly, deep in their +sockets. Two front teeth were conspicuously missing; and her faded hair +was blown in wisps about her face. Jim performed the introduction, and +Annie held out her hand. It was a pretty hand, delicately gloved in dove +color. The woman took it in her own, and after she had shaken it, held +it for a silent moment, looking at it. Then she almost threw it from +her. The eyes which she lifted to scan the bright young face above +her had something like agony in them. Annie blushed under this fierce +scrutiny, and the woman, suddenly conscious of her demeanor, forced a +smile to her lips. + +“I'll come out an' see yeh,” she said, in cordial tones. “May be, as a +new housekeeper, you'll like a little advice. You've a nice place, an' I +wish yeh luck.” + +“Thank you. I'm sure I'll need advice,” cried Annie, as they drove off. +Then she said to Jim, “Who is that old woman?” + +“Old woman? Why, she ain't a day over thirty, Mis' Dundy ain't.” + +Annie looked at her husband blankly. But he was already talking of +something else, and she asked no more about the woman, though all the +way along the road the face seemed to follow her. It might have been +this that caused the tightening about her heart. For some way her +vivacity had gone; and the rest of the ride she asked no questions, but +sat looking straight before her at the northward stretching road, with +eyes that felt rather than saw the brown, bare undulations, rising +every now and then clean to the sky; at the side, little famished-looking +houses, unacquainted with paint, disorderly yards, and endless reaches +of furrowed ground, where in summer the corn had waved. + +The horses needed no indication of the line to make them turn up a +smooth bit of road that curved away neatly 'mid the ragged grasses. +At the end of it, in a clump of puny scrub oaks, stood a square little +house, in uncorniced simplicity, with blank, uncurtained windows staring +out at Annie, and for a moment her eyes, blurred with the cold, seemed +to see in one of them the despairing face of the woman with the wisps of +faded hair blowing about her face. + +“Well, what do you think of it?” Jim cried, heartily, swinging her down +from her high seat, and kissing her as he did so. “This is your home, +my girl, and you are as welcome to it as you would be to a palace, if I +could give it to you.” + +Annie put up her hands to hide the trembling of her lips; and she let +Jim see there were tears in her eyes as an apology for not replying. The +young man with the red hair took away the horses, and Jim, with his arm +around his wife's waist, ran toward the house and threw open the door +for her to enter. The intense heat of two great stoves struck in +their faces; and Annie saw the big burner, erected in all its black +hideousness in the middle of the front room, like a sort of household +hoodoo, to be constantly propitiated, like the gods of Greece; and in +the kitchen, the new range, with a distracted tea-kettle leaping on it, +as if it would like to loose its fetters and race away over the prairie +after its cousin, the locomotive. + +It was a house of four rooms, and a glance revealed the fact that it had +been provided with the necessaries. + +“I think we can be very comfortable here,” said Jim, rather doubtfully. + +Annie saw she must make some response. “I am sure we can be more than +comfortable, Jim,” she replied. “We can be happy. Show me, if you +please, where my room is. I must hang my cloak up in the right place so +that I shall feel as if I were getting settled.” + +It was enough. Jim had no longer any doubts. He felt sure they were +going to be happy ever afterward. + +It was Annie who got the first meal; she insisted on it, though both the +men wanted her to rest. And Jim hadn't the heart to tell her that, as +a general thing, it would not do to put two eggs in the corn-cake, and +that the beefsteak was a great luxury. When he saw her about to break an +egg for the coffee, however, he interfered. + +“The shells of the ones you used for the cake will settle the coffee +just as well,” he said. “You see we have to be very careful of eggs out +here at this season.” + +“Oh! Will the shells really settle it? This is what you must call +prairie lore. I suppose out here we find out what the real relations of +invention and necessity are--eh?” + +Jim laughed disproportionately. He thought her wonderfully witty. And +he and the help ate so much that Annie opened her eyes. She had thought +there would be enough left for supper. But there was nothing left. + +For the next two weeks Jim was able to be much with her; and they amused +themselves by decorating the house with the bright curtainings that +Annie had brought, and putting up shelves for a few pieces of china. She +had two or three pictures, also, which had come from her room in her old +home, and some of those useless dainty things with which some women like +to litter the room. + +“Most folks,” Jim explained, “have to be content with one fire, and sit +in the kitchen; but I thought, as this was our honeymoon, we would put +on some lugs.” + +Annie said nothing then; but a day or two after she ventured,-- + +“Perhaps it would be as well now, dear, if we kept in the kitchen. I'll +keep it as bright and pleasant as I can. And, anyway, you can be more +about with me when I'm working then. We'll lay a fire in the front-room +stove, so that we can light it if anybody comes. We can just as well +save that much.” + +Jim looked up brightly. “All right,” he said. “You're a sensible little +woman. You see, every cent makes a difference. And I want to be able to +pay off five hundred dollars of that mortgage this year.” + +So, after that, they sat in the kitchen; and the fire was laid in the +front room, against the coming of company. But no one came, and it +remained unlighted. + +Then the season began to show signs of opening,--bleak signs, hardly +recognizable to Annie; and after that Jim was not much in the house. +The weeks wore on, and spring came at last, dancing over the hills. The +ground-birds began building, and at four each morning awoke Annie with +their sylvan opera. The creek that ran just at the north of the house +worked itself into a fury and blustered along with much noise toward +the great Platte which, miles away, wallowed in its vast sandy bed. The +hills flushed from brown to yellow, and from mottled green to intensest +emerald, and in the superb air all the winds of heaven seemed to meet +and frolic with laughter and song. + +Sometimes the mornings were so beautiful that, the men being afield and +Annie all alone, she gave herself up to an ecstasy and kneeled by the +little wooden bench outside the door, to say, “Father, I thank Thee,” + and then went about her work with all the poem of nature rhyming itself +over and over in her heart. + +It was on such a day as this that Mrs. Dundy kept her promise and came +over to see if the young housekeeper needed any of the advice she +had promised her. She had walked, because none of the horses could be +spared. It had got so warm now that the fire in the kitchen heated +the whole house sufficiently, and Annie had the rooms clean to +exquisiteness. Mrs. Dundy looked about with envious eyes. + +“How lovely!” she said. + +“Do you think so?” cried Annie, in surprise. “I like it, of course, +because it is home, but I don't see how you could call anything here +lovely.” + +“Oh, you don't understand,” her visitor went on. “It's lovely because it +looks so happy. Some of us have--well, kind o' lost our grip.” + +“It's easy to do that if you don't feel well,” Annie remarked +sympathetically. “I haven't felt as well as usual myself, lately. And +I do get lonesome and wonder what good it does to fix up every day when +there is no one to see. But that is all nonsense, and I put it out of my +head.” + +She smoothed out the clean lawn apron with delicate touch. Mrs. Dundy +followed the movement with her eyes. + +“Oh, my dear,” she cried, “you don't know nothin' about it yet! But you +will know! You will!” and those restless, hot eyes of hers seemed to +grow more restless and more hot as they looked with infinite pity at the +young woman before her. + +Annie thought of these words often as the summer came on, and the heat +grew. Jim was seldom to be seen now. He was up at four each morning, +and the last chore was not completed till nine at night. Then he threw +himself in bed and lay there log-like till dawn. He was too weary to +talk much, and Annie, with her heart aching for his fatigue, forbore to +speak to him. She cooked the most strengthening things she could, and +tried always to look fresh and pleasant when he came in. But she often +thought her pains were in vain, for he hardly rested his sunburned +eyes on her. His skin got so brown that his face was strangely changed, +especially as he no longer had time to shave, and had let a rough beard +straggle over his cheeks and chin. On Sundays Annie would have liked to +go to church, but the horses were too tired to be taken out, and she did +not feel well enough to walk far; besides, Jim got no particular good +out of walking over the hills unless he had a plough in his hand. + +Harvest came at length, and the crop was good. There were any way from +three to twenty men at the house then, and Annie cooked for all of them. +Jim had tried to get some one to help her, but he had not succeeded. +Annie strove to be brave, remembering that farm-women all over the +country were working in similar fashion. But in spite of all she could +do, the days got to seem like nightmares, and sleep between was but a +brief pause in which she was always dreaming of water, and thinking that +she was stooping to put fevered lips to a running brook. Some of these +men were very disgusting to Annie. Their manners were as bad as they +could well be, and a coarse word came naturally to their lips. + +“To be master of the soil, that is one thing,” said she to herself in +sickness of spirit; “but to be the slave of it is another. These men +seem to have got their souls all covered with muck.” She noticed that +they had no idea of amusement. They had never played anything. They did +not even care for base-ball. Their idea of happiness appeared to be to +do nothing; and there was a good part of the year in which they were +happy,--for these were not for the most part men owning farms; they +were men who hired out to help the farmer. A good many of them had been +farmers at one time and another, but they had failed. They all talked +politics a great deal,--politics and railroads. Annie had not much +patience with it all. She had great confidence in the course of things. +She believed that in this country all men have a fair chance. So when it +came about that the corn and the wheat, which had been raised with such +incessant toil, brought them no money, but only a loss, Annie stood +aghast. + +“I said the rates were ruinous,” Jim said to her one night, after it was +all over, and he had found out that the year's slavish work had brought +him a loss of three hundred dollars; “it's been a conspiracy from the +first. The price of corn is all right. But by the time we set it down in +Chicago we are out eighteen cents a bushel. It means ruin. What are we +going to do? Here we had the best crop we've had for years--but what's +the use of talking! They have us in their grip.” + +“I don't see how it is,” Annie protested. “I should think it would be +for the interest of the roads to help the people to be as prosperous as +possible.” + +“Oh, we can't get out! And we're bound to stay and raise grain. And +they're bound to cart it. And that's all there is to it. They force +us to stand every loss, even to the shortage that is made in +transportation. The railroad companies own the elevators, and they have +the cinch on us. Our grain is at their mercy. God knows how I'm going to +raise that interest. As for the five hundred we were going to pay on the +mortgage this year, Annie, we're not in it.” + +Autumn was well set in by this time, and the brilliant cold sky hung +over the prairies as young and fresh as if the world were not old and +tired. Annie no longer could look as trim as when she first came to the +little house. Her pretty wedding garments were beginning to be worn and +there was no money for more. Jim would not play chess now of evenings. +He was forever writing articles for the weekly paper in the adjoining +town. They talked of running him for the state legislature, and he was +anxious for the nomination. + +“I think I might be able to stand it if I could fight 'em!” he declared; +“but to sit here idle, knowing that I have been cheated out of my year's +work, just as much as if I had been knocked down on the road and +the money taken from me, is enough to send me to the asylum with a +strait-jacket on!” + +Life grew to take on tragic aspects. Annie used to find herself +wondering if anywhere in the world there were people with light +hearts. For her there was no longer anticipation of joy, or present +companionship, or any divertissement in the whole world. Jim read books +which she did not understand, and with a few of his friends, who dropped +in now and then evenings or Sundays, talked about these books in an +excited manner. + +She would go to her room to rest, and lying there in the darkness on the +bed, would hear them speaking together, sometimes all at once, in those +sternly vindictive tones men use when there is revolt in their souls. + +“It is the government which is helping to impoverish us,” she would hear +Jim saying. “Work is money. That is to say, it is the active form of +money. The wealth of a country is estimated by its power of production. +And its power of production means work. It means there are so many men +with so much capacity. Now the government owes it to these men to have +money enough to pay them for their work; and if there is not enough +money in circulation to pay to each man for his honest and necessary +work, then I say that government is in league with crime. It is trying +to make defaulters of us. It has a hundred ways of cheating us. When I +bought this farm and put the mortgage on it, a day's work would bring +twice the results it will now. That is to say, the total at the end of +the year showed my profits to be twice what they would be now, even if +the railway did not stand in the way to rob us of more than we earn. +So that it will take just twice as many days' work now to pay off this +mortgage as it would have done at the time it was contracted. It's a +conspiracy, I tell you! Those Eastern capitalists make a science of +ruining us.” + +He got more eloquent as time went on, and Annie, who had known him +first as rather a careless talker, was astonished at the boldness of his +language. But conversation was a lost art with him. He no longer talked. +He harangued. + +In the early spring Annie's baby was born,--a little girl with a nervous +cry, who never slept long at a time, and who seemed to wail merely from +distaste at living. It was Mrs. Dundy who came over to look after the +house till Annie got able to do so. Her eyes had that fever in them, +as ever. She talked but little, but her touch on Annie's head was more +eloquent than words. One day Annie asked for the glass, and Mrs. Dundy +gave it to her. She looked in it a long time. The color was gone from +her cheeks, and about her mouth there was an ugly tightening. But her +eyes flashed and shone with that same--no, no, it could not be that in +her face also was coming the look of half-madness! She motioned Mrs. +Dundy to come to her. + +“You knew it was coming,” she said, brokenly, pointing to the reflection +in the glass. “That first day, you knew how it would be.” + +Mrs. Dundy took the glass away with a gentle hand. + +“How could I help knowing?” she said simply. She went into the next +room, and when she returned Annie noticed that the handkerchief stuck in +her belt was wet, as if it had been wept on. + +A woman cannot stay long away from her home on a farm at planting time, +even if it is a case of life and death. Mrs. Dundy had to go home, and +Annie crept about her work with the wailing baby in her arms. The house +was often disorderly now; but it could not be helped. The baby had to +be cared for. It fretted so much that Jim slept apart in the mow of +the barn, that his sleep might not be disturbed. It was a pleasant, dim +place, full of sweet scents, and he liked to be there alone. Though he +had always been an unusual worker, he worked now more like a man who was +fighting off fate, than a mere toiler for bread. + +The corn came up beautifully, and far as the eye could reach around +their home it tossed its broad green leaves with an oceanlike swelling +of sibilant sound. Jim loved it with a sort of passion. Annie loved +it, too. Sometimes, at night, when her fatigue was unbearable, and her +irritation wearing out both body and soul, she took her little one in +her arms and walked among the corn, letting its rustling soothe the baby +to sleep. + +The heat of the summer was terrible. The sun came up in that blue sky +like a curse, and hung there till night came to comfort the blistering +earth. And one morning a terrible thing happened. Annie was standing +out of doors in the shade of those miserable little oaks, ironing, when +suddenly a blast of air struck her in the face, which made her look up +startled. For a moment she thought, perhaps, there was a fire near in +the grass. But there was none. Another blast came, hotter this time, and +fifteen minutes later that wind was sweeping straight across the plain, +burning and blasting. Annie went in the house to finish her ironing, and +was working there, when she heard Jim's footstep on the door-sill. He +could not pale because of the tan, but there was a look of agony and of +anger-almost brutish anger--in his eyes. Then he looked, for a moment, +at Annie standing there working patiently, and rocking the little crib +with one foot, and he sat down on the door-step and buried his face in +his brown arms. + +The wind blew for three days. At the end of that time every ear was +withered in the stalk. The corn crop was ruined. + +But there were the other crops which must be attended to, and Jim +watched those with the alertness of a despairing man; and so harvest +came again, and again the house was filled with men who talked their +careless talk, and who were not ashamed to gorge while this one woman +cooked for them. The baby lay on a quilt on the floor in the coolest +part of the kitchen. Annie fed it irregularly. Sometimes she almost +forgot it. As for its wailing, she had grown so used to it that she +hardly heard it, any more than she did the ticking of the clock. And +yet, tighter than anything else in life, was the hold that little thing +had on her heart-strings. At night, after the interminable work had been +finished--though in slovenly fashion--she would take it up and caress it +with fierceness, and worn as she was, would bathe it and soothe it, and +give it warm milk from the big tin pail. + +“Lay the child down,” Jim would say impatiently, while the men would +tell how their wives always put the babies on the bed and let them cry +if they wanted to. Annie said nothing, but she hushed the little one +with tender songs. + +One day, as usual, it lay on its quilt while Annie worked. It was a +terribly busy morning. She had risen at four to get the washing out of +the way before the men got on hand, and there were a dozen loaves of +bread to bake, and the meals to get, and the milk to attend to, and the +chickens and pigs to feed. So occupied was she that she never was able +to tell how long she was gone from the baby. She only knew that the heat +of her own body was so great that the blood seemed to be pounding at her +ears, and she staggered as she crossed the yard. But when she went at +last with a cup of milk to feed the little one, it lay with clenched +fists and fixed eyes, and as she lifted it, a last convulsion laid it +back breathless, and its heart had ceased to beat. + +Annie ran with it to her room, and tried such remedies as she had. +But nothing could keep the chill from creeping over the wasted little +form,--not even the heat of the day, not even the mother's agonized +embrace. Then, suddenly, Annie looked at the clock. It was time to get +the dinner. She laid the piteous tiny shape straight on the bed, threw a +sheet over it, and went back to the weltering kitchen to cook for those +men, who came at noon and who must be fed--who must be fed. + +When they were all seated at the table, Jim among them, and she had +served them, she said, standing at the head of the table, with her hands +on her hips:-- + +“I don't suppose any of you have time to do anything about it; but I +thought you might like to know that the baby is dead. I wouldn't think +of asking you to spare the horses, for I know they have to rest. But I +thought, if you could make out on a cold supper, that I would go to the +town for a coffin.” + +There was satire in the voice that stung even through the dull +perceptions of these men, and Jim arose with a cry and went to the room +where his dead baby lay. + +About two months after this Annie insisted that she must go home to +Illinois. Jim protested in a way. + +“You know, I'd like to send you,” he said; “but I don't see where the +money is to come from. And since I've got this nomination, I want to run +as well as I can. My friends expect me to do my best for them. It's a +duty, you know, and nothing less, for a few men, like me, to get in the +legislature. We're going to get a railroad bill through this session +that will straighten out a good many things. Be patient a little longer, +Annie.” + +“I want to go home,” was the only reply he got. “You must get the money, +some way, for me to go home with.” + +“I haven't paid a cent of interest yet,” he cried angrily. “I don't see +what you mean by being so unreasonable!” + +“You must get the money, some way,” she reiterated. + +He did not speak to her for a week, except when he was obliged to. But +she did not seem to mind; and he gave her the money. He took her to the +train in the little wagon that had met her when she first came. At the +station, some women were gossiping excitedly, and Annie asked what they +were saying. + +“It's Mis' Dundy,” they said. “She's been sent to th' insane asylum at +Lincoln. She's gone stark mad. All she said on the way out was, +'Th' butter won't come! Th' butter won't come!'” Then they laughed a +little--a strange laugh; and Annie thought of a drinking-song she had +once heard, “Here's to the next who dies.” + +Ten days after this Jim got a letter from her. “I am never coming back, +Jim,” it said. “It is hopeless. I don't think I would mind standing +still to be shot down if there was any good in it. But I'm not going +back there to work harder than any slave for those money-loaners and the +railroads. I guess they can all get along without me. And I am sure I +can get along without them. I do not think this will make you feel very +bad. You haven't seemed to notice me very much lately when I've been +around, and I do not think you will notice very much when I am gone. I +know what this means. I know I am breaking my word when I leave you. But +remember, it is not you I leave, but the soil, Jim! I will not be its +slave any longer. If you care to come for me here, and live another +life--but no, there would be no use. Our love, like our toil, has been +eaten up by those rapacious acres. Let us say goodby.” + +Jim sat all night with this letter in his hand. Sometimes he dozed +heavily in his chair. But he did not go to bed; and the next morning he +hitched up his horses and rode to town. He went to the bank which held +his notes. + +“I'll confess judgment as soon as you like,” he said. “It's all up with +me.” + +It was done as quickly as the law would allow. And the things in the +house were sold by auction. All the farmers were there with their wives. +It made quite an outing for them. Jim moved around impassively, and +chatted, now and then, with some of the men about what the horses ought +to bring. + +The auctioneer was a clever fellow. Between the putting up of the +articles, he sang comic songs, and the funnier the song, the livelier +the bidding that followed. The horses brought a decent price, and the +machinery a disappointing one; and then, after a delicious snatch about +Nell who rode the sway-backed mare at the county fair, he got down to +the furniture,--the furniture which Jim had bought when he was expecting +Annie. + +Jim was walking around with his hands in his pockets, looking +unconcerned, and, as the furniture began to go off, he came and sat down +in the midst of it. Every one noticed his indifference. Some of them +said that after all he couldn't have been very ambitious. He didn't seem +to take his failure much to heart. Every one was concentrating attention +on the cookingstove, when Jim leaned forward, quickly, over a little +wicker work-stand. + +There was a bit of unfinished sewing there, and it fell out as he lifted +the cover. It was a baby's linen shirt. Jim let it lie, and then lifted +from its receptacle a silver thimble. He put it in his vest-pocket. + +The campaign came on shortly after this, and Jim Lancy was defeated. +“I'm going to Omaha,” said he to the station-master, “and I've got just +enough to buy a ticket with. There's a kind of satisfaction in giving +the last cent I have to the railroads.” + +Two months later, a “plain drunk” was registered at the station in +Nebraska's metropolis. When they searched him they found nothing in +his pockets but a silver thimble, and Joe Benson, the policeman who had +brought in the “drunk,” gave it to the matron, with his compliments. But +she, when no one noticed, went softly to where the man was sleeping, and +slipped it back into his pocket, with a sigh. For she knew somehow--as +women do know things--that he had not stolen that thimble. + + + +THE equinoctial line itself is not more imaginary than the line which +divided the estates of the three Johns. The herds of the three Johns +roamed at will, and nibbled the short grass far and near without let or +hindrance; and the three Johns themselves were utterly indifferent as to +boundary lines. Each of them had filed his application at the office +of the government land-agent; each was engaged in the tedious task of +“proving up;” and each owned one-third of the L-shaped cabin which stood +at the point where the three ranches touched. The hundred and sixty +acres which would have completed this quadrangle had not yet been “taken +up.” + +The three Johns were not anxious to have a neighbor. Indeed, they had +made up their minds that if one appeared on that adjoining “hun'erd an' +sixty,” it would go hard with him. For they did not deal in justice very +much--the three Johns. They considered it effete. It belonged in the +East along with other outgrown superstitions. And they had given it +out widely that it would be healthier for land applicants to give them +elbow-room. It took a good many miles of sunburnt prairie to afford +elbow-room for the three Johns. + +They met by accident in Hamilton at the land-office. John Henderson, +fresh from Cincinnati, manifestly unused to the ways of the country, +looked at John Gillispie with a lurking smile. Gillispie wore a +sombrero, fresh, white, and expansive. His boots had high heels, and +were of elegant leather and finely arched at the instep. His corduroys +disappeared in them half-way up the thigh. About his waist a sash of +blue held a laced shirt of the same color in place. Henderson puffed at +his cigarette, and continued to look a trifle quizzical. + +Suddenly Gillispie walked up to him and said, in a voice of complete +suavity, “Damn yeh, smoke a pipe!” + +“Eh?” said Henderson, stupidly. + +“Smoke a pipe,” said the other. “That thing you have is bad for your +complexion.” + +“I can take care of my complexion,” said Henderson, firmly. + +The two looked each other straight in the eye. + +“You don't go on smoking that thing till you have apologized for that +grin you had on your phiz a moment ago.” + +“I laugh when I please, and I smoke what I please,” said Henderson, +hotly, his face flaming as he realized that he was in for his first +“row.” + +That was how it began. How it would have ended is not known--probably +there would have been only one John--if it had not been for the almost +miraculous appearance at this moment of the third John. For just then +the two belligerents found themselves prostrate, their pistols only +half-cocked, and between them stood a man all gnarled and squat, like +one of those wind-torn oaks which grow on the arid heights. He was no +older than the others, but the lines in his face were deep, and his +large mouth twitched as he said:-- + +“Hold on here, yeh fools! There's too much blood in you to spill. You'll +spile th' floor, and waste good stuff. We need blood out here!” + +Gillispie bounced to his feet. Henderson arose suspiciously, keeping his +eyes on his assailants. + +“Oh, get up!” cried the intercessor. “We don't shoot men hereabouts till +they git on their feet in fightin' trim.” + +“What do you know about what we do here?” interrupted Gillispie. “This +is the first time I ever saw you around.” + +“That's so,” the other admitted. “I'm just down from Montana. Came to +take up a quarter section. Where I come from we give men a show, an' I +thought perhaps yeh did th' same here.” + +“Why, yes,” admitted Gillispie, “we do. But I don't want folks to laugh +too much--not when I'm around--unless they tell me what the joke is. I +was just mentioning it to the gentleman,” he added, dryly. + +“So I saw,” said the other; “you're kind a emphatic in yer remarks. +Yeh ought to give the gentleman a chance to git used to the ways of +th' country. He'll be as tough as th' rest of us if you'll give him a +chance. I kin see it in him.” + +“Thank you,” said Henderson. “I'm glad you do me justice. I wish you +wouldn't let daylight through me till I've had a chance to get my +quarter section. I'm going to be one of you, either as a live man or a +corpse. But I prefer a hundred and sixty acres of land to six feet of +it.” + +“There, now!” triumphantly cried the squat man. “Didn't I tell yeh? Give +him a show! 'Tain't no fault of his that he's a tenderfoot. He'll get +over that.” + +Gillispie shook hands with first one and then the other of the men. +“It's a square deal from this on,” he said. “Come and have a drink.” + +That's how they met--John Henderson, John Gillispie, and John Waite. +And a week later they were putting up a shanty together for common use, +which overlapped each of their reservations, and satisfied the law with +its sociable subterfuge. + +The life wasn't bad, Henderson decided; and he adopted all the ways of +the country in an astonishingly short space of time. There was a freedom +about it all which was certainly complete. The three alternated in the +night watch. Once a week one of them went to town for provisions. They +were not good at the making of bread, so they contented themselves with +hot cakes. Then there was salt pork for a staple, and prunes. They slept +in straw-lined bunks, with warm blankets for a covering. They made a +point of bringing reading-matter back from town every week, and there +were always cards to fall back on, and Waite sang songs for them with +natural dramatic talent. + +Nevertheless, in spite of their contentment, none of them was sorry when +the opportunity offered for going to town. There was always a bit of +stirring gossip to be picked up, and now and then there was a “show” at +the “opera-house,” in which, it is almost unnecessary to say, no opera +had ever been sung. Then there was the hotel, at which one not only +got good fare, but a chat with the three daughters of Jim O'Neal, the +proprietor--girls with the accident of two Irish parents, who were, +notwithstanding, as typically American as they well could be. A +half-hour's talk with these cheerful young women was all the more to be +desired for the reason that within riding distance of the three Johns' +ranch there were only two other women. One was Minerva Fitch, who had +gone out from Michigan accompanied by an oil-stove and a knowledge of +the English grammar, with the intention of teaching school, but who had +been unable to carry these good intentions into execution for the reason +that there were no children to teach,--at least, none but Bow-legged +Joe. He was a sad little fellow, who looked like a prairie-dog, and who +had very much the same sort of an outlook on life. The other woman was +the brisk and efficient wife of Mr. Bill Deems, of “Missourah.” Mr. +Deems had never in his life done anything, not even so much as bring in +a basket of buffalo chips to supply the scanty fire. That is to say, he +had done nothing strictly utilitarian. Yet he filled his place. He +was the most accomplished story-teller in the whole valley, and this +accomplishment of his was held in as high esteem as the improvisations +of a Welsh minstrel were among his reverencing people. His wife alone +deprecated his skill, and interrupted his spirited narratives with +sarcastic allusions concerning the empty cupboard, and the “state of her +back,” to which, as she confided to any who would listen, “there was not +a rag fit to wear.” + +These two ladies had not, as may be surmised, any particular attraction +for John Henderson. Truth to tell, Henderson had not come West with the +intention of liking women, but rather with a determination to see +and think as little of them as possible. Yet even the most confirmed +misogynist must admit that it is a good thing to see a woman now and +then, and for this reason Henderson found it amusing to converse with +the amiable Misses O'Neal. At twenty-five one cannot be unyielding in +one's avoidance of the sex. + +Henderson, with his pony at a fine lope, was on his way to town one day, +in that comfortable frame of mind adduced by an absence of any ideas +whatever, when he suddenly became conscious of a shiver that seemed +to run from his legs to the pony, and back again. The animal gave a +startled leap, and lifted his ears. There was a stirring in the coarse +grasses; the sky, which a moment before had been like sapphire, dulled +with an indescribable grayness. + +Then came a little singing afar off, as if from a distant convocation +of cicadae, and before Henderson could guess what it meant, a cloud +of dust was upon him, blinding and bewildering, pricking with sharp +particles at eyes and nostrils. The pony was an ugly fellow, and when +Henderson felt him put his forefeet together, he knew what that meant, +and braced himself for the struggle. But it was useless; he had not yet +acquired the knack of staying on the back of a bucking bronco, and the +next moment he was on the ground, and around him whirled that saffron +chaos of dust. The temperature lowered every moment. Henderson +instinctively felt that this was but the beginning of the storm. He +picked himself up without useless regrets for his pony, and made his way +on. + +The saffron hue turned to blackness, and then out of the murk shot a +living green ball of fire, and ploughed into the earth. Then sheets of +water, that seemed to come simultaneously from earth and sky, swept the +prairie, and in the midst of it struggled Henderson, weak as a little +child, half bereft of sense by the strange numbness of head and dullness +of eye. Another of those green balls fell and burst, as it actually +appeared to him, before his horrified eyes, and the bellow and blare of +the explosion made him cry out in a madness of fright and physical pain. +In the illumination he had seen a cabin only a few feet in front of him, +and toward it he made frantically, with an animal's instinctive desire +for shelter. + +The door did not yield at once to his pressure, and in the panic of +his fear he threw his weight against it. There was a cry from within, a +fall, and Henderson flung himself in the cabin and closed the door. + +In the dusk of the storm he saw a woman half prostrate. It was she +whom he had pushed from the door. He caught the hook in its staple, +and turned to raise her. She was not trembling as much as he, but, like +himself, she was dizzy with the shock of the lightning. In the midst of +all the clamor Henderson heard a shrill crying, and looking toward the +side of the room, he dimly perceived three tiny forms crouched in one of +the bunks. The woman took the smallest of the children in her arms, and +kissed and soothed it; and Henderson, after he had thrown a blanket at +the bottom of the door to keep out the drifting rain, sat with his back +to it, bracing it against the wind, lest the frail staple should give +way. He managed some way to reach out and lay hold of the other little +ones, and got them in his arms,--a boy, so tiny he seemed hardly human, +and a girl somewhat sturdier. They cuddled in his arms, and clutched his +clothes with their frantic little hands, and the three sat so while the +earth and the heavens seemed to be meeting in angry combat. + +And back and forth, back and forth, in the dimness swayed the body of +the woman, hushing her babe. + +Almost as suddenly as the darkness had fallen, it lifted. The lightning +ceased to threaten, and almost frolicked,--little wayward flashes of +white and yellow dancing in mid-air. The wind wailed less frequently, +like a child who sobs in its sleep. And at last Henderson could make his +voice heard. + +“Is there anything to build a fire with?” he shouted. “The children are +shivering so.” + +The woman pointed to a basket of buffalo chips in the corner, and he +wrapped his little companions up in a blanket while he made a fire in +the cooking-stove. The baby was sleeping by this time, and the woman +began tidying the cabin, and when the fire was burning brightly, she put +some coffee on. + +“I wish I had some clothes to offer you,” she said, when the wind had +subsided sufficiently to make talking possible. “I'm afraid you'll have +to let them get dry on you.” + +“Oh, that's of no consequence at all! We're lucky to get off with our +lives. I never saw anything so terrible. Fancy! half an hour ago it was +summer; now it is winter!” + +“It seems rather sudden when you're not used to it,” the woman admitted. +“I've lived in the West six years now; you can't frighten me any more. +We never die out here before our time comes.” + +“You seem to know that I haven't been here long,” said Henderson, with +some chagrin. + +“Yes,” admitted the woman; “you have the ear-marks of a man from the +East.” + +She was a tall woman, with large blue eyes, and a remarkable quantity of +yellow hair braided on top of her head. Her gown was of calico, of such +a pattern as a widow might wear. + +“I haven't been out of town a week yet,” she said. “We're not half +settled. Not having any one to help makes it harder; and the baby is +rather fretful.” + +“But you're not alone with all these little codgers?” cried Henderson, +in dismay. + +The woman turned toward him with a sort of defiance. “Yes, I am,” she +said; “and I'm as strong as a horse, and I mean to get through all +right. Here were the three children in my arms, you may say, and no way +to get in a cent. I wasn't going to stand it just to please other folk. +I said, let them talk if they want to, but I'm going to hold down a +claim, and be accumulating something while the children are getting up a +bit. Oh, I'm not afraid!” + +In spite of this bold assertion of bravery, there was a sort of break in +her voice. She was putting dishes on the table as she talked, and turned +some ham in the skillet, and got the children up before the fire, +and dropped some eggs in water,--all with a rapidity that bewildered +Henderson. + +“How long have you been alone?” he asked, softly. + +“Three months before baby was born, and he's five months old now. +I--I--you think I can get on here, don't you? There was nothing else to +do.” + +She was folding another blanket over the sleeping baby now, and the +action brought to her guest the recollection of a thousand tender +moments of his dimly remembered youth. + +“You'll get on if we have anything to do with it,” he cried, suppressing +an oath with difficulty, just from pure emotion. + +And he told her about the three Johns' ranch, and found it was only +three miles distant, and that both were on the same road; only her +cabin, having been put up during the past week, had of course been +unknown to him. So it ended in a sort of compact that they were to help +each other in such ways as they could. Meanwhile the fire got genial, +and the coffee filled the cabin with its comfortable scent, and all of +them ate together quite merrily, Henderson cutting up the ham for the +youngsters; and he told how he chanced to come out; and she entertained +him with stories of what she thought at first when she was brought a +bride to Hamilton, the adjacent village, and convulsed him with stories +of the people, whom she saw with humorous eyes. + +Henderson marvelled how she could in those few minutes have rescued the +cabin from the desolation in which the storm had plunged it. Out of the +window he could see the stricken grasses dripping cold moisture, and the +sky still angrily plunging forward like a disturbed sea. Not a tree or +a house broke the view. The desolation of it swept over him as it never +had before. But within the little ones were chattering to themselves in +odd baby dialect, and the mother was laughing with them. + +“Women aren't always useless,” she said, at parting; “and you tell your +chums that when they get hungry for a slice of homemade bread they can +get it here. And the next time they go by, I want them to stop in and +look at the children. It'll do them good. They may think they won't +enjoy themselves, but they will.” + +“Oh, I'll answer for that!” cried he, shaking hands with her. “I'll tell +them we have just the right sort of a neighbor.” + +“Thank you,” said she, heartily. “And you may tell them that her name is +Catherine Ford.” + +Once at home, he told his story. + +“H'm!” said Gillispie, “I guess I'll have to go to town myself +to-morrow.” + +Henderson looked at him blackly. “She's a woman alone, Gillispie,” said +he, severely, “trying to make her way with handicaps--” + +“Shet up, can't ye, ye darned fool?” roared Gillispie. “What do yeh take +me fur?” + +Waite was putting on his rubber coat preparatory to going out for his +night with the cattle. “Guess you're makin' a mistake, my boy,” he said, +gently. “There ain't no danger of any woman bein' treated rude in these +parts.” + +“I know it, by Jove!” cried Henderson, in quick contriteness. + +“All right,” grunted Gillispie, in tacit acceptance of this apology. “I +guess you thought you was in civilized parts.” + +Two days after this Waite came in late to his supper. “Well, I seen +her,” he announced. + +“Oh! did you?” cried Henderson, knowing perfectly well whom he meant. +“What was she doing?” + +“Killin' snakes, b'gosh! She says th' baby's crazy fur um, an' so she +takes aroun' a hoe on her shoulder wherever she goes, an' when she sees +a snake, she has it out with 'im then an' there. I says to 'er, 'Yer +don't expec' t' git all th' snakes outen this here country, d' yeh?' +'Well,' she says, 'I'm as good a man as St. Patrick any day.' She is a +jolly one, Henderson. She tuk me in an' showed me th' kids, and give me +a loaf of gingerbread to bring home. Here it is; see?” + +“Hu!” said Gillispie. “I'm not in it.” But for all of his scorn he was +not above eating the gingerbread. + +It was gardening time, and the three Johns were putting in every spare +moment in the little paling made of willow twigs behind the house. It +was little enough time they had, though, for the cattle were new to each +other and to the country, and they were hard to manage. It was generally +conceded that Waite had a genius for herding, and he could take the +“mad” out of a fractious animal in a way that the others looked on as +little less than superhuman. Thus it was that one day, when the clay had +been well turned, and the seeds arranged on the kitchen table, and +all things prepared for an afternoon of busy planting, that Waite +and Henderson, who were needed out with the cattle, felt no little +irritation at the inexplicable absence of Gillispie, who was to look +after the garden. It was quite nightfall when he at last returned. +Supper was ready, although it had been Gillispie's turn to prepare it. + +Henderson was sore from his saddle, and cross at having to do more than +his share of the work. “Damn yeh!” he cried, as Gillispie appeared. +“Where yeh been?” + +“Making garden,” responded Gillispie, slowly. + +“Making garden!” Henderson indulged in some more harmless oaths. + +Just then Gillispie drew from under his coat a large and friendly +looking apple-pie. “Yes,” he said, with emphasis; “I've bin a-makin' +garden fur Mis' Ford.” + +And so it came about that the three Johns knew her and served her, and +that she never had a need that they were not ready to supply if they +could. Not one of them would have thought of going to town without +stopping to inquire what was needed at the village. As for Catherine +Ford, she was fighting her way with native pluck and maternal +unselfishness. If she had feared solitude she did not suffer from it. +The activity of her life stifled her fresh sorrow. She was pleasantly +excited by the rumors that a railroad was soon to be built near the +place, which would raise the value of the claim she was “holding down” + many thousand dollars. + +It is marvellous how sorrow shrinks when one is very healthy and very +much occupied. Although poverty was her close companion, Catherine had +no thought of it in this primitive manner of living. She had come out +there, with the independence and determination of a Western woman, for +the purpose of living at the least possible expense, and making the most +she could while the baby was “getting out of her arms.” That process +has its pleasures, which every mother feels in spite of burdens, and +the mind is happily dulled by nature's merciful provision. With a little +child tugging at the breast, care and fret vanish, not because of the +happiness so much as because of a certain mammal complacency, which +is not at all intellectual, but serves its purpose better than the +profoundest method of reasoning. + +So without any very unbearable misery at her recent widowhood, this +healthy young woman worked in field and house, cared for her little +ones, milked the two cows out in the corral, sewed, sang, rode, baked, +and was happy for very wholesomeness. Sometimes she reproached herself +that she was not more miserable, remembering that long grave back in +the unkempt little prairie cemetery, and she sat down to coax her sorrow +into proper prominence. But the baby cooing at her from its bunk, the +low of the cattle from the corral begging her to relieve their heavy +bags, the familiar call of one of her neighbors from without, even +the burning sky of the summer dawns, broke the spell of this conjured +sorrow, and in spite of herself she was again a very hearty and happy +young woman. Besides, if one has a liking for comedy, it is +impossible to be dull on a Nebraska prairie. The people are a merrier +divertissement than the theatre with its hackneyed stories. Catherine +Ford laughed a good deal, and she took the three Johns into her +confidence, and they laughed with her. There was Minerva Fitch, who +insisted on coming over to tell Catherine how to raise her children, and +who was almost offended that the children wouldn't die of sunstroke +when she predicted. And there was Bob Ackerman, who had inflammatory +rheumatism and a Past, and who confided the latter to Mrs. Ford while +she doctored the former with homoeopathic medicines. And there were all +the strange visionaries who came out prospecting, and quite naturally +drifted to Mrs. Ford's cabin for a meal, and paid her in compliments of +a peculiarly Western type. And there were the three Johns themselves. +Catherine considered it no treason to laugh at them a little. + +Yet at Waite she did not laugh much. There had come to be something +pathetic in the constant service he rendered her. The beginning of his +more particular devotion had started in a particular way. Malaria was +very bad in the country. It had carried off some of the most vigorous +on the prairie, and twice that summer Catherine herself had laid out the +cold forms of her neighbors on ironing-boards, and, with the assistance +of Bill Deems of Missourah, had read the burial service over them. She +had averted several other fatal runs of fever by the contents of her +little medicine-case. These remedies she dealt out with an intelligence +that astonished her patients, until it was learned that she was studying +medicine at the time that she met her late husband, and was persuaded to +assume the responsibilities of matrimony instead of those of the medical +profession. + +One day in midsummer, when the sun was focussing itself on the raw pine +boards of her shanty, and Catherine had the shades drawn for coolness +and the water-pitcher swathed in wet rags, East Indian fashion, she +heard the familiar halloo of Waite down the road. This greeting, which +was usually sent to her from the point where the dipping road lifted +itself into the first view of the house, did not contain its usual note +of cheerfulness. Catherine, wiping her hands on her checked apron, ran +out to wave a welcome; and Waite, his squat body looking more distorted +than ever, his huge shoulders lurching as he walked, came fairly +plunging down the hill. + +“It's all up with Henderson!” he cried, as Catherine approached. “He's +got the malery, an' he says he's dyin'.” + +“That's no sign he's dying, because he says so,” retorted Catherine. + +“He wants to see yeh,” panted Waite, mopping his big ugly head. “I think +he's got somethin' particular to say.” + +“How long has he been down?” + +“Three days; an' yeh wouldn't know 'im.” + +The children were playing on the floor at that side of the house where +it was least hot. Catherine poured out three bowls of milk, and cut some +bread, meanwhile telling Kitty how to feed the baby. + +“She's a sensible thing, is the little daughter,” said Catherine, as she +tied on her sunbonnet and packed a little basket with things from the +cupboard. She kissed the babies tenderly, flung her hoe--her only weapon +of defence--over her shoulder, and the two started off. + +They did not speak, for their throats were soon too parched. The prairie +was burned brown with the sun; the grasses curled as if they had been on +a gridiron. A strong wind was blowing; but it brought no comfort, for +it was heavy with a scorching heat. The skin smarted and blistered under +it, and the eyes felt as if they were filled with sand. The sun seemed +to swing but a little way above the earth, and though the sky was +intensest blue, around about this burning ball there was a halo of +copper, as if the very ether were being consumed in yellow fire. + +Waite put some big burdock-leaves on Catherine's head under her bonnet, +and now and then he took a bottle of water from his pocket and made her +swallow a mouthful. She staggered often as she walked, and the road was +black before her. Still, it was not very long before the oddly shaped +shack of the three Johns came in sight; and as he caught a glimpse of +it, Waite quickened his footsteps. + +“What if he should be gone?” he said, under his breath. + +“Oh, come off!” said Catherine, angrily. “He's not gone. You make me +tired!” + +But she was trembling when she stopped just before the door to compose +herself for a moment. Indeed, she trembled so very much that Waite +put out his sprawling hand to steady her. She gently felt the pressure +tightening, and Waite whispered in her ear: + +“I guess I'd stand by him as well as anybody, excep' you, Mis' Ford. +He's been my bes' friend. But I guess you like him better, eh?” + +Catherine raised her finger. She could hear Henderson's voice within; +it was pitiably querulous. He was half sitting up in his bunk, and +Gillispie had just handed him a plate on which two cakes were swimming +in black molasses and pork gravy. Henderson looked at it a moment; then +over his face came a look of utter despair. He dropped his head in his +arms and broke into uncontrolled crying. + +“Oh, my God, Gillispie,” he sobbed, “I shall die out here in this +wretched hole! I want my mother. Great God, Gillispie, am I going to die +without ever seeing my mother?” + +Gillispie, maddened at this anguish, which he could in no way alleviate, +sought comfort by first lighting his pipe and then taking his revolver +out of his hip-pocket and playing with it. Henderson continued to shake +with sobs, and Catherine, who had never before in her life heard a man +cry, leaned against the door for a moment to gather courage. Then she +ran into the house quickly, laughing as she came. She took Henderson's +arms away from his face and laid him back on the pillow, and she stooped +over him and kissed his forehead in the most matter-of-fact way. + +“That's what your mother would do if she were here,” she cried, merrily. +“Where's the water?” + +She washed his face and hands a long time, till they were cool and his +convulsive sobs had ceased. Then she took a slice of thin bread from her +basket and a spoonful of amber jelly. She beat an egg into some milk and +dropped a little liquor within it, and served them together on the first +clean napkin that had been in the cabin of the three Johns since it was +built. + +At this the great fool on the bed cried again, only quietly, tears +of weak happiness running from his feverish eyes. And Catherine +straightened the disorderly cabin. She came every day for two weeks, and +by that time Henderson, very uncertain as to the strength of his legs, +but once more accoutred in his native pluck, sat up in a chair, for +which she had made clean soft cushions, writing a letter to his mother. +The floor was scrubbed; the cabin had taken to itself cupboards made +of packing-boxes; it had clothes-presses and shelves; curtains at the +windows; boxes for all sort of necessaries, from flour to tobacco; and +a cook-book on the wall, with an inscription within which was more +appropriate than respectful. + +The day that she announced that she would have no further call to come +back, Waite, who was looking after the house while Gillispie was afield, +made a little speech. + +“After this here,” he said, “we four stands er falls together. Now +look here, there's lots of things can happen to a person on this cussed +praira, and no one be none th' wiser. So see here, Mis' Ford, every +night one of us is a-goin' to th' roof of this shack. From there we can +see your place. If anything is th' matter--it don't signify how little +er how big--you hang a lantern on th' stick that I'll put alongside th' +house to-morrow. Yeh can h'ist th' light up with a string, and every +mornin' before we go out we'll look too, and a white rag'll bring us +quick as we can git there. We don't say nothin' about what we owe yeh, +fur that ain't our way, but we sticks to each other from this on.” + +Catherine's eyes were moist. She looked at Henderson. His face had no +expression in it at all. He did not even say good-by to her, and she +turned, with the tears suddenly dried under her lids, and walked down +the road in the twilight. + +Weeks went by, and though Gillispie and Waite were often at Catherine's, +Henderson never came. Gillispie gave it out as his opinion that +Henderson was an ungrateful puppy; but Waite said nothing. This strange +man, who seemed like a mere untoward accident of nature, had changed +during the summer. His big ill-shaped body had grown more gaunt; +his deep-set gray eyes had sunk deeper; the gentleness which had +distinguished him even on the wild ranges of Montana became more marked. +Late in August he volunteered to take on himself the entire charge of +the night watch. + +“It's nicer to be out at night,” he said to Catherine. “Then you don't +keep looking off at things; you can look inside;” and he struck his +breast with his splay hand. + +Cattle are timorous under the stars. The vastness of the plains, the +sweep of the wind under the unbroken arch, frighten them; they are +made for the close comforts of the barn-yard; and the apprehension is +contagious, as every ranchman knows. Waite realized the need of becoming +good friends with his animals. Night after night, riding up and down +in the twilight of the stars, or dozing, rolled in his blanket, in the +shelter of a knoll, he would hear a low roar; it was the cry of the +alarmist. Then from every direction the cattle would rise with trembling +awkwardness on their knees, and answer, giving out sullen bellowings. +Some of them would begin to move from place to place, spreading the +baseless alarm, and then came the time for action, else over the plain +in mere fruitless frenzy would go the whole frantic band, lashed to +madness by their own fears, trampling each other, heedless of any +obstacle, in pitiable, deadly rout. Waite knew the premonitory signs +well, and at the first warning bellow he was on his feet, alert +and determined, his energy nerved for a struggle in which he always +conquered. + +Waite had a secret which he told to none, knowing, in his unanalytical +fashion, that it would not be believed in. But soon as ever the dark +heads of the cattle began to lift themselves, he sent a resonant voice +out into the stillness. The songs he sang were hymns, and he made them +into a sort of imperative lullaby. Waite let his lungs and soul fill +with the breath of the night; he gave himself up to the exaltation of +mastering those trembling brutes. Mounting, melodious, with even and +powerful swing he let his full notes fall on the air in the confidence +of power, and one by one the reassured cattle would lie down again, +lowing in soft contentment, and so fall asleep with noses stretched out +in mute attention, till their presence could hardly be guessed except +for the sweet aroma of their cuds. + +One night in the early dusk, he saw Catherine Ford hastening across the +prairie with Bill Deems. He sent a halloo out to them, which they both +answered as they ran on. Waite knew on what errand of mercy Catherine +was bent, and he thought of the children over at the cabin alone. The +cattle were quiet, the night beautiful, and he concluded that it was +safe enough, since he was on his pony, to ride down there about midnight +and see that the little ones were safe. + +The dark sky, pricked with points of intensest light, hung over him +so beneficently that in his heart there leaped a joy which even his +ever-present sorrow could not disturb. This sorrow Waite openly admitted +not only to himself, but to others. He had said to Catherine: “You see, +I'll always hev to love yeh. An' yeh'll not git cross with me; I'm not +goin' to be in th' way.” And Catherine had told him, with tears in her +eyes, that his love could never be but a comfort to any woman. And these +words, which the poor fellow had in no sense mistaken, comforted him +always, became part of his joy as he rode there, under those piercing +stars, to look after her little ones. He found them sleeping in their +bunks, the baby tight in Kitty's arms, the little boy above them in the +upper bunk, with his hand in the long hair of his brown spaniel. Waite +softly kissed each of them, so Kitty, who was half waking, told her +mother afterwards, and then, bethinking him that Catherine might not be +able to return in time for their breakfast, found the milk and bread, +and set it for them on the table. Catherine had been writing, and her +unfinished letter lay open beside the ink. He took up the pen and wrote, + +“The childdren was all asleep at twelv. + +“J. W.” + + +He had not more than got on his pony again before he heard an ominous +sound that made his heart leap. It was a frantic dull pounding of +hoofs. He knew in a second what it meant. There was a stampede among +the cattle. If the animals had all been his, he would not have lost +his sense of judgment. But the realization that he had voluntarily +undertaken the care of them, and that the larger part of them belonged +to his friends, put him in a passion of apprehension that, as a +ranchman, was almost inexplicable. He did the very thing of all others +that no cattle-man in his right senses would think of doing. Gillispie +and Henderson, talking it over afterward, were never able to understand +it. It is possible--just barely possible--that Waite, still drunk on his +solitary dreams, knew what he was doing, and chose to bring his little +chapter to an end while the lines were pleasant. At any rate, he rode +straight forward, shouting and waving his arms in an insane endeavor to +head off that frantic mob. The noise woke the children, and they peered +from the window as the pawing and bellowing herd plunged by, trampling +the young steers under their feet. + +In the early morning, Catherine Ford, spent both in mind and body, came +walking slowly home. In her heart was a prayer of thanksgiving. Mary +Deems lay sleeping back in her comfortless shack, with her little son by +her side. + +“The wonder of God is in it,” said Catherine to herself as she walked +home. “All the ministers of all the world could not have preached me +such a sermon as I've had to-night.” + +So dim had been the light and so perturbed her mind that she had not +noticed how torn and trampled was the road. But suddenly a bulk in her +pathway startled her. It was the dead and mangled body of a steer. She +stooped over it to read the brand on its flank. “It's one of the three +Johns',” she cried out, looking anxiously about her. “How could that +have happened?” + +The direction which the cattle had taken was toward her house, and she +hastened homeward. And not a quarter of a mile from her door she found +the body of Waite beside that of his pony, crushed out of its familiar +form into something unspeakably shapeless. In her excitement she half +dragged, half carried that mutilated body home, and then ran up her +signal of alarm on the stick that Waite himself had erected for her +convenience. She thought it would be a long time before any one reached +her, but she had hardly had time to bathe the disfigured face and +straighten the disfigured body before Henderson was pounding at her +door. Outside stood his pony panting from its terrific exertions. +Henderson had not seen her before for six weeks. Now he stared at her +with frightened eyes. + +“What is it? What is it?” he cried. “What has happened to you, my--my +love?” + +At least afterward, thinking it over as she worked by day or tossed in +her narrow bunk at night, it seemed to Catherine that those were the +words he spoke. Yet she could never feel sure; nothing in his manner +after that justified the impassioned anxiety of his manner in those +first few uncertain moments; for a second later he saw the body of his +friend and learned the little that Catherine knew. They buried him +the next day in a little hollow where there was a spring and some wild +aspens. + +“He never liked the prairie,” Catherine said, when she selected the +spot. “And I want him to lie as sheltered as possible.” + +After he had been laid at rest, and she was back, busy with tidying her +neglected shack, she fell to crying so that the children were scared. + +“There's no one left to care what becomes of us,” she told them, +bitterly. “We might starve out here for all that any one cares.” + +And all through the night her tears fell, and she told herself that they +were all for the man whose last thought was for her and her babies; she +told herself over and over again that her tears were all for him. After +this the autumn began to hurry on, and the snow fell capriciously, days +of biting cold giving place to retrospective glances at summer. The last +of the vegetables were taken out of the garden and buried in the cellar; +and a few tons of coal--dear almost as diamonds--were brought out to +provide against the severest weather. Ordinarily buffalo chips were +the fuel. Catherine was alarmed at the way her wretched little store of +money began to vanish. The baby was fretful with its teething, and was +really more care than when she nursed it. The days shortened, and it +seemed to her that she was forever working by lamp-light The prairies +were brown and forbidding, the sky often a mere gray pall. The monotony +of the life began to seem terrible. Sometimes her ears ached for a +sound. For a time in the summer so many had seemed to need her that +she had been happy in spite of her poverty and her loneliness. Now, +suddenly, no one wanted her. She could find no source of inspiration. +She wondered how she was going to live through the winter, and keep her +patience and her good-nature. + +“You'll love me,” she said, almost fiercely, one night to the +children--“you'll love mamma, no matter how cross and homely she gets, +won't you?” + +The cold grew day by day. A strong winter was setting in. Catherine took +up her study of medicine again, and sat over her books till midnight. +It occurred to her that she might fit herself for nursing by spring, and +that the children could be put with some one--she did not dare to think +with whom. But this was the only solution she could find to her problem +of existence. + +November settled down drearily. Few passed the shack. Catherine, who +had no one to speak with excepting the children, continually devised +amusements for them. They got to living in a world of fantasy, and +were never themselves, but always wild Indians, or arctic explorers, +or Robinson Crusoes. Kitty and Roderick, young as they were, found a +never-ending source of amusement in these little grotesque dreams and +dramas. The fund of money was getting so low that Catherine was obliged +to economize even in the necessities. If it had not been for her two +cows, she would hardly have known how to find food for her little ones. +But she had a wonderful way of making things with eggs and milk, and she +kept her little table always inviting. The day before Thanksgiving she +determined that they should all have a frolic. + +“By Christmas,” she said to Kitty, “the snow may be so bad that I cannot +get to town. We'll have our high old time now.” + +There is no denying that Catherine used slang even in talking to the +children. The little pony had been sold long ago, and going to town +meant a walk of twelve miles. But Catherine started out early in the +morning, and was back by nightfall, not so very much the worse, and +carrying in her arms bundles which might have fatigued a bronco. + +The next morning she was up early, and was as happy and ridiculously +excited over the prospect of the day's merrymaking as if she had been +Kitty. Busy as she was, she noticed a peculiar oppression in the air, +which intensified as the day went on. The sky seemed to hang but a +little way above the rolling stretch of frost-bitten grass. But Kitty +laughing over her new doll, Roderick startling the sullen silence +with his drum, the smell of the chicken, slaughtered to make a prairie +holiday, browning in the oven, drove all apprehensions from Catherine's +mind. She was a common creature. Such very little things could make her +happy. She sang as she worked; and what with the drumming of her boy, +and the little exulting shrieks of her baby, the shack was filled with a +deafening and exhilarating din. + +It was a little past noon, when she became conscious that there was +sweeping down on her a gray sheet of snow and ice, and not till then did +she realize what those lowering clouds had signified. For one moment she +stood half paralyzed. She thought of everything,--of the cattle, of the +chance for being buried in this drift, of the stock of provisions, of +the power of endurance of the children. While she was still thinking, +the first ice-needles of the blizzard came peppering the windows. The +cattle ran bellowing to the lee side of the house and crouched there, +and the chickens scurried for the coop. Catherine seized such blankets +and bits of carpet as she could find, and crammed them at windows and +doors. Then she piled coal on the fire, and clothed the children in all +they had that was warmest, their out-door garments included; and with +them close about her, she sat and waited. The wind seemed to push +steadily at the walls of the house. The howling became horrible. She +could see that the children were crying with fright, but she could +not hear them. The air was dusky; the cold, in spite of the fire, +intolerable. In every crevice of the wretched structure the ice and snow +made their way. It came through the roof, and began piling up in little +pointed strips under the crevices. Catherine put the children all +together in one bunk, covered them with all the bedclothes she had, and +then stood before them defiantly, facing the west, from whence the +wind was driving. Not suddenly, but by steady pressure, at length the +window-sash yielded, and the next moment that whirlwind was in the +house,--a maddening tumult of ice and wind, leaving no room for +resistance; a killing cold, against which it was futile to fight. +Catherine threw the bedclothes over the heads of the children, and then +threw herself across the bunk, gasping and choking for breath. Her +body would not have yielded to the suffering yet, so strongly made and +sustained was it; but her dismay stifled her. She saw in one horrified +moment the frozen forms of her babies, now so pink and pleasant to the +sense; and oblivion came to save her from further misery. + +She was alive--just barely alive--when Gillispie and Henderson got +there, three hours later, the very balls of their eyes almost frozen +into blindness. But for an instinct stronger than reason they would +never have been able to have found their way across that trackless +stretch. The children lying unconscious under their coverings were +neither dead nor actually frozen, although the men putting their hands +on their little hearts could not at first discover the beating. Stiff +and suffering as these young fellows were, it was no easy matter to get +the window back into place and re-light the fire. They had tied flasks +of liquor about their waists; and this beneficent fluid they used with +that sense of appreciation which only a pioneer can feel toward +whiskey. It was hours before Catherine rewarded them with a gleam +of consciousness. Her body had been frozen in many places. Her arms, +outstretched over her children and holding the clothes down about +them, were rigid. But consciousness came at length, dimly struggling up +through her brain; and over her she saw her friends rubbing and rubbing +those strong firm arms of hers with snow. + +She half raised her head, with a horror of comprehension in her eyes, +and listened. A cry answered her,--a cry of dull pain from the baby. +Henderson dropped on his knees beside her. + +“They are all safe,” he said. “And we will never leave you again. I have +been afraid to tell you how I love you. I thought I might offend you. I +thought I ought to wait--you know why. But I will never let you run the +risks of this awful life alone again. You must rename the baby. From +this day his name is John. And we will have the three Johns again +back at the old ranch. It doesn't matter whether you love me or not, +Catherine, I am going to take care of you just the same. Gillispie +agrees with me.” + +“Damme, yes,” muttered Gillispie, feeling of his hip-pocket for +consolation in his old manner. + +Catherine struggled to find her voice, but it would not come. + +“Do not speak,” whispered John. “Tell me with your eyes whether you will +come as my wife or only as our sister.” + +Catherine told him. + +“This is Thanksgiving day,” said he. “And we don't know much about +praying, but I guess we all have something in our hearts that does just +as well.” + +“Damme, yes,” said Gillispie, again, as he pensively cocked and uncocked +his revolver. + + + + +A Resuscitation + +AFTER being dead twenty years, he walked out into the sunshine. + +It was as if the bones of a bleached skeleton should join themselves on +some forgotten plain, and look about them for the vanished flesh. + +To be dead it is not necessary to be in the grave. There are places +where the worms creep about the heart instead of the body. + +The penitentiary is one of these. David Culross had been in the +penitentiary twenty years. Now, with that worm-eaten heart, he came out +into liberty and looked about him for the habiliments with which he had +formerly clothed himself,--for hope, self-respect, courage, pugnacity, +and industry. + +But they had vanished and left no trace, like the flesh of the dead men +on the plains, and so, morally unapparelled, in the hideous skeleton of +his manhood, he walked on down the street under the mid-June sunshine. + +You can understand, can you not, how a skeleton might wish to get back +into its comfortable grave? David Culross had not walked two blocks +before he was seized with an almost uncontrollable desire to beg to be +shielded once more in that safe and shameful retreat from which he had +just been released. A horrible perception of the largeness of the world +swept over him. Space and eternity could seem no larger to the usual man +than earth--that snug and insignificant planet--looked to David Culross. + +“If I go back,” he cried, despairingly, looking up to the great building +that arose above the stony hills, “they will not take me in.” He was +absolutely without a refuge, utterly without a destination; he did not +have a hope. There was nothing he desired except the surrounding of +those four narrow walls between which he had lain at night and dreamed +those ever-recurring dreams,-dreams which were never prophecies or +promises, but always the hackneyed history of what he had sacrificed by +his crime, and relinquished by his pride. + +The men who passed him looked at him with mingled amusement and pity. +They knew the “prison look,” and they knew the prison clothes. For +though the State gives to its discharged convicts clothes which are +like those of other men, it makes a hundred suits from the same sort of +cloth. The police know the fabric, and even the citizens recognize +it. But, then, were each man dressed in different garb he could not be +disguised. Every one knows in what dull school that sidelong glance is +learned, that aimless drooping of the shoulders, that rhythmic lifting +of the heavy foot. + +David Culross wondered if his will were dead. He put it to the test. +He lifted up his head to a position which it had not held for many +miserable years. He put his hands in his pockets in a pitiful attempt at +nonchalance, and walked down the street with a step which was meant to +be brisk, but which was in fact only uncertain. In his pocket were ten +dollars. This much the State equips a man with when it sends him out of +its penal halls. It gives him also transportation to any point within +reasonable distance that he may desire to reach. Culross had requested a +ticket to Chicago. He naturally said Chicago. In the long colorless days +it had been in Chicago that all those endlessly repeated scenes had been +laid. Walking up the street now with that wavering ineffectual gait, +these scenes came back to surge in his brain like waters ceaselessly +tossed in a wind-swept basin. + +There was the office, bare and clean, where the young stoop-shouldered +clerks sat writing. In their faces was a strange resemblance, just as +there was in the backs of the ledgers, and in the endless bills on +the spindles. If one of them laughed, it was not with gayety, but with +gratification at the discomfiture of another. None of them ate well. +None of them were rested after sleep. All of them rode on the stuffy +one-horse cars to and from their work. Sundays they lay in bed very +late, and ate more dinner than they could digest. There was a certain +fellowship among them,--such fellowship as a band of captives among +cannibals might feel, each of them waiting with vital curiosity to +see who was the next to be eaten. But of that fellowship that plans +in unison, suffers in sympathy, enjoys vicariously, strengthens into +friendship and communion of soul they knew nothing. Indeed, such +camaraderie would have been disapproved of by the Head Clerk. He would +have looked on an emotion with exactly the same displeasure that he +would on an error in the footing of the year's accounts. It was tacitly +understood that one reached the proud position of Head Clerk by having +no emotions whatever. + +Culross did not remember having been born with a pen in his hand, or +even with one behind his ear; but certainly from the day he had been +let out of knickerbockers his constant companion had been that greatly +overestimated article. His father dying at a time that cut short David's +school-days, he went out armed with his new knowledge of double-entry, +determined to make a fortune and a commercial name. Meantime, he lived +in a suite of three rooms on West Madison Street with his mother, who +was a good woman, and lived where she did that she might be near her +favorite meeting-house. She prayed, and cooked bad dinners, principally +composed of dispiriting pastry. Her idea of house-keeping was to keep +the shades down, whatever happened; and when David left home in the +evening for any purpose of pleasure, she wept. David persuaded himself +that he despised amusement, and went to bed each night at half-past nine +in a folding bedstead in the front room, and, by becoming absolutely +stolid from mere vegetation, imagined that he was almost fit to be a +Head Clerk. + +Walking down the street now after the twenty years, thinking of these +dead but innocent days, this was the picture he saw; and as he reflected +upon it, even the despoiled and desolate years just passed seemed richer +by contrast. + +He reached the station thus dreaming, and found, as he had been told +when the warden bade him good-by, that a train was to be at hand +directly bound to the city. A few moments later he was on that train. +Well back in the shadow, and out of sight of the other passengers, he +gave himself up to the enjoyment of the comfortable cushion. He would +willingly have looked from the window,--green fields were new and +wonderful; drifting clouds a marvel; men, houses, horses, farms, all a +revelation,--but those haunting visions were at him again, and would not +leave brain or eye free for other things. + +But the next scene had warmer tints. It was the interior of a rich +room,--crimson and amber fabrics, flowers, the gleam of a statue beyond +the drapings; the sound of a tender piano unflinging a familiar melody, +and a woman. She was just a part of all the luxury. + +He himself, very timid and conscious of his awkwardness, sat near, +trying barrenly to get some of his thoughts out of his brain on to his +tongue. + +“Strange, isn't it,” the woman broke in on her own music, “that we +have seen each other so very often and never spoken? I've often thought +introductions were ridiculous. Fancy seeing a person year in and year +out, and really knowing all about him, and being perfectly acquainted +with his name--at least his or her name, you know--and then never +speaking! Some one comes along, and says, 'Miss Le Baron, this is Mr. +Culross,' just as if one didn't know that all the time! And there you +are! You cease to be dumb folks, and fall to talking, and say a lot of +things neither of you care about, and after five or six weeks of time +and sundry meetings, get down to honestly saying what you mean. I'm so +glad we've got through with that first stage, and can say what we think +and tell what we really like.” + +Then the playing began again,--a harplike intermingling of soft sounds. +Zoe Le Baron's hands were very girlish. Everything about her was +unformed. Even her mind was so. But all promised a full completion. +The voice, the shoulders, the smile, the words, the lips, the arms, the +whole mind and body, were rounding to maturity. + +“Why do you never come to church in the morning?” asks Miss Le Baron, +wheeling around on her piano-stool suddenly. “You are only there at +night, with your mother.” + +“I go only on her account,” replies David, truthfully. “In the morning +I am so tired with the week's work that I rest at home. I ought to go, I +know.” + +“Yes, you ought,” returns the young woman, gravely. “It doesn't really +rest one to lie in bed like that. I've tried it at boarding-school. It +was no good whatever.” + +“Should you advise me,” asks David, in a confiding tone, “to arise early +on Sunday?” + +The girl blushes a little. “By all means!” she cries, her eyes +twinkling, “and--and come to church. Our morning sermons are really very +much better than those in the evening.” And she plays a waltz, and what +with the music and the warmth of the room and the perfume of the roses, +a something nameless and mystical steals over the poor clerk, and +swathes him about like the fumes of opium. They are alone. The silence +is made deeper by that rhythmic unswelling of sound. As the painter +flushes the bare wall into splendor, these emotions illuminated his +soul, and gave to it that high courage that comes when men or women +suddenly realize that each life has its significance,-their own lives no +less than the lives of others. + +The man sitting there in the shadow in that noisy train saw in his +vision how the lad arose and moved, like one under a spell, toward the +piano. He felt again the enchantment of the music-ridden quiet, of the +perfume, and the presence of the woman. + +“Knowing you and speaking with you have not made much difference with +me,” he whispers, drunk on the new wine of passion, “for I have loved +you since I saw you first. And though it is so sweet to hear you speak, +your voice is no more beautiful than I thought it would be. I have loved +you a long time, and I want to know--” + +The broken man in the shadow remembered how the lad stopped, astonished +at his boldness and his fluency, overcome suddenly at the thought of +what he was saying. The music stopped with a discord. The girl arose, +trembling and scarlet. + +“I would not have believed it of you,” she cries, “to take advantage of +me like this, when I am alone--and--everything. You know very well that +nothing but trouble could come to either of us from your telling me a +thing like that.” + +He puts his hands up to his face to keep off her anger. He is trembling +with confusion. + +Then she broke in penitently, trying to pull his hands away from his +hot face: “Never mind! I know you didn't mean anything. Be good, do, and +don't spoil the lovely times we have together. You know very well +father and mother wouldn't let us see each other at all if they--if they +thought you were saying anything such as you said just now.” + +“Oh, but I can't help it!” cries the boy, despairingly. “I have never +loved anybody at all till now. I don't mean not another girl, you know. +But you are the first being I ever cared for. I sometimes think mother +cares for me because I pay the rent. And the office--you can't imagine +what that is like. The men in it are moving corpses. They're proud to be +that way, and so was I till I knew you and learned what life was like. +All the happy moments I have had have been here. Now, if you tell me +that we are not to care for each other--” + +There was some one coming down the hall. The curtain lifted. A +middle-aged man stood there looking at him. + +“Culross,” said he, “I'm disappointed in you. I didn't mean to listen, +but I couldn't help hearing what you said just now. I don't blame you +particularly. Young men will be fools. And I do not in any way mean to +insult you when I tell you to stop your coming here. I don't want to see +you inside this door again, and after a while you will thank me for +it. You have taken a very unfair advantage of my invitation. I make +allowances for your youth.” + +He held back the curtain for the lad to pass out. David threw a +miserable glance at the girl. She was standing looking at her father +with an expression that David could not fathom. He went into the hall, +picked up his hat, and walked out in silence. + +David wondered that night, walking the chilly streets after he +quitted the house, and often, often afterward, if that comfortable and +prosperous gentleman, safe beyond the perturbations of youth, had +any idea of what he had done. How COULD he know anything of the black +monotony of the life of the man he turned from his door? The “desk's +dead wood” and all its hateful slavery, the dull darkened rooms where +his mother prosed through endless evenings, the bookless, joyless, +hopeless existence that had cramped him all his days rose up before +him, as a stretch of unbroken plain may rise before a lost man till it +maddens him. + +The bowed man in the car-seat remembered with a flush of reminiscent +misery how the lad turned suddenly in his walk and entered the door of +a drinking-room that stood open. It was very comfortable within. The +screens kept out the chill of the autumn night, the sawdust-sprinkled +floor was clean, the tables placed near together, the bar glittering, +the attendants white-aproned and brisk. + +David liked the place, and he liked better still the laughter that came +from a room within. It had a note in it a little different from anything +he had ever heard before in his life, and one that echoed his mood. He +ventured to ask if he might go into the farther room. + +It does not mean much when most young men go to a place like this. They +take their bit of unwholesome dissipation quietly enough, and are a +little coarser and more careless each time they indulge in it, perhaps. +But certainly their acts, whatever gradual deterioration they may +indicate, bespeak no sudden moral revolution. With this young clerk it +was different. He was a worse man from the moment he entered the door, +for he did violence to his principles; he killed his self-respect. + +He had been paid at the office that night, and he had the money--a +week's miserable pittance--in his pocket. His every action revealed the +fact that he was a novice in recklessness. His innocent face piqued the +men within. They gave him a welcome that amazed him. Of course the rest +of the evening was a chaos to him. The throat down which he poured the +liquor was as tender as a child's. The men turned his head with +their ironical compliments. Their boisterous good-fellowship was as +intoxicating to this poor young recluse as the liquor. + +It was the revulsion from this feeling, when he came to a consciousness +that the men were laughing at him and not with him, that wrecked his +life. He had gone from beer to whiskey, and from whiskey to brandy, by +this time, at the suggestion of the men, and was making awkward lunges +with a billiard cue, spurred on by the mocking applause of the others. +One young fellow was particularly hilarious at his expense. His jokes +became insults, or so they seemed to David. + +A quarrel followed, half a jest on the part of the other, all serious +as far as David was concerned. And then--Well, who could tell how it +happened? The billiard cue was in David's hand, and the skull of the +jester was split, a horrible gaping thing, revoltingly animal. + +David never saw his home again. His mother gave it out in church that +her heart was broken, and she wrote a letter to David begging him to +reform. She said she would never cease to pray for him, that he might +return to grace. He had an attorney, an impecunious and very aged +gentleman, whose life was a venerable failure, and who talked so much +about his personal inconveniences from indigestion that he forgot to +take a very keen interest in the concerns of his client. David's trial +made no sensation. He did not even have the cheap sympathy of the +morbid. The court-room was almost empty the dull spring day when the +east wind beat against the window, jangling the loose panes all through +the reading of the verdict. + +Twenty years! + +Twenty years in the penitentiary! + +David looked up at the judge and smiled. Men have been known to smile +that way when the car-wheel crashes over their legs, or a bullet lets +the air through their lungs. + +All that followed would have seemed more terrible if it had not appeared +to be so remote. David had to assure himself over and over that it was +really he who was put in that disgraceful dress, and locked in that +shameful walk from corridor to workroom, from work-room to chapel. +The work was not much more monotonous than that to which he had been +accustomed in the office. Here, as there, one was reproved for not doing +the required amount, but never praised for extraordinary efforts. Here, +as there, the workers regarded each other with dislike and suspicion. +Here, as there, work was a penalty and not a pleasure. + +It is the nights that are to be dreaded in a penitentiary. Speech eases +the brain of free men; but the man condemned to eternal silence is +bound to endure torments. Thought, which might be a diversion, becomes +a curse; it is a painful disease which becomes chronic. It does not take +long to forget the days of the week and the months of the year when +time brings no variance. David drugged himself on dreams. He knew it was +weakness, but it was the wine of forgetfulness, and he indulged in it. +He went over and over, in endless repetition, every scene in which Zoe +Le Baron had figured. + +He learned by a paper that she had gone to Europe. He was glad of that. +For there were hours in which he imagined that his fate might have +caused her distress--not much, of course, but perhaps an occasional hour +of sympathetic regret. But it was pleasanter not to think of that. He +preferred to remember the hours they had spent together while she was +teaching him the joy of life. + +How lovely her gray eyes were! Deep, yet bright, and full of silent +little speeches. The rooms in which he imagined her as moving were +always splendid; the gowns she wore were of rustling silk. He never in +any dream, waking or sleeping, associated her with poverty or sorrow or +pain. Gay and beautiful, she moved from city to city, in these visions +of David's, looking always at wonderful things, and finding laughter in +every happening. + +It was six months after his entrance into his silent abode that a letter +came for him. + +“By rights, Culross,” said the warden, “I should not give this letter +to you. It isn't the sort we approve of. But you're in for a good spell, +and if there is anything that can make life seem more tolerable, I don't +know but you're entitled to it. At least, I'm not the man to deny it to +you.” + +This was the letter:-- + +“MY DEAR FRIEND,--I hope you do not think that all these months, when +you have been suffering so terribly, I have been thinking of other +things! But I am sure you know the truth. You know that I could not send +you word or come to see you, or I would have done it. When I first heard +of what you had done, I saw it all as it happened,--that dreadful scene, +I mean, in the saloon. I am sure I have imagined everything just as it +was. I begged papa to help you, but he was very angry. You see, papa was +so peculiar. He thought more of the appearances of things, perhaps, than +of facts. It infuriated him to think of me as being concerned about you +or with you. I did not know he could be so angry, and his anger did not +die, but for days it cast such a shadow over me that I used to wish I +was dead. Only I would not disobey him, and now I am glad of that. We +were in France three months, and then, coming home, papa died. It was +on the voyage. I wish he had asked me to forgive him, for then I think +I could have remembered him with more tenderness. But he did nothing of +the kind. He did not seem to think he had done wrong in any way, though +I feel that some way we might have saved you. I am back here in Chicago +in the old home. But I shall not stay in this house. It is so large +and lonesome, and I always see you and father facing each other angrily +there in the parlor when I enter it. So I am going to get me some cosey +rooms in another part of the city, and take my aunt, who is a sweet old +lady, to live with me; and I am going to devote my time--all of it--and +all of my brains to getting you out of that terrible place. What is the +use of telling me that you are a murderer? Do I not know you could not +be brought to hurt anything? I suppose you must have killed that poor +man, but then it was not you, it was that dreadful drink--it was Me! +That is what continually haunts me. If I had been a braver girl, and +spoken the words that were in my heart, you would not have gone into +that place. You would be innocent to-day. It was I who was responsible +for it all. I let father kill your heart right there before me, and +never said a word. Yet I knew how it was with you, and--this is what +I ought to have said then, and what I must say now--and all the time I +felt just as you did. I thought I should die when I saw you go away, and +knew you would never come back again. Only I was so selfish, I was so +wicked, I would say nothing. + +“I have no right to be comfortable and hopeful, and to have friends, +with you shut up from liberty and happiness. I will not have those +comfortable rooms, after all. I will live as you do. I will live alone +in a bare room. For it is I who am guilty! And then I will feel that I +also am being punished. + +“Do you hate me? Perhaps my telling you now all these things, and that I +felt toward you just as you did toward me, will not make you happy. For +it may be that you despise me. + +“Anyway, I have told you the truth now. I will go as soon as I hear from +you to a lawyer, and try to find out how you may be liberated. I am sure +it can be done when the facts are known. + +“Poor boy! How I do hope you have known in your heart that I was not +forgetting you. Indeed, day or night, I have thought of nothing else. +Now I am free to help you. And be sure, whatever happens, that I am +working for you. + +“ZOE LE BARON.” + + +That was all. Just a girlish, constrained letter, hardly hinting at the +hot tears that had been shed for many weary nights, coyly telling of the +impatient young love and all the maidenly shame. + +David permitted himself to read it only once. Then a sudden resolution +was born-a heroic one. Before he got the letter he was a crushed +and unsophisticated boy; when he had read it, and absorbed its full +significance, he became suddenly a man, capable of a great sacrifice. + +“I return your letter,” he wrote, without superscription, “and thank you +for your anxiety about me. But the truth is, I had forgotten all about +you in my trouble. You were not in the least to blame for what happened. +I might have known I would come to such an end. You thought I was good, +of course; but it is not easy to find out the life of a young man. It is +rather mortifying to have a private letter sent here, because the warden +reads them all. I hope you will enjoy yourself this winter, and hasten +to forget one who had certainly forgotten you till reminded by your +letter, which I return. + +“Respectfully, + +“DAVID CULROSS.” + + +That night some deep lines came into his face which never left it, and +which made him look like a man of middle age. + +He never doubted that his plan would succeed; that, piqued and indignant +at his ingratitude, she would hate him, and in a little time forget +he ever lived, or remember him only to blush with shame at her past +association with him. He saw her happy, loved, living the usual life of +women, with all those things that make life rich. + +For there in the solitude an understanding of deep things came to him. +He who thought never to have a wife grew to know what the joy of it must +be. He perceived all the subtle rapture of wedded souls. He learned what +the love of children was, the pride of home, the unselfish ambition +for success that spurs men on. All the emotions passed in procession at +night before him, tricked out in palpable forms. + +A burst of girlish tears would dissipate whatever lingering pity Zoe +felt for him. How often he said that! With her sensitiveness she would +be sure to hate a man who had mortified her. + +So he fell to dreaming of her again as moving among happy and luxurious +scenes, exquisitely clothed, with flowers on her bosom and jewels on +her neck; and he saw men loving her, and was glad, and saw her at last +loving the best of them, and told himself in the silence of the night +that it was as he wished. + +Yet always, always, from weary week to weary week, he rehearsed the +scenes. They were his theatre, his opera, his library, his lecture hall. + +He rehearsed them again there on the cars. He never wearied of them. To +be sure, other thoughts had come to him at night. Much that to most men +seems complex and puzzling had grown to appear simple to him. In a way +his brain had quickened and deepened through the years of solitude. He +had thought out a great many things. He had read a few good books and +digested them, and the visions in his heart had kept him from being +bitter. + +Yet, suddenly confronted with liberty, turned loose like a pastured +colt, without master or rein, he felt only confusion and dismay. He +might be expected to feel exultation. He experienced only fright. It is +precisely the same with the liberated colt. + +The train pulled into a bustling station, in which the multitudinous +noises were thrown back again from the arched iron roof. The relentless +haste of all the people was inexpressibly cruel to the man who looked +from the window wondering whither he would go, and if, among all the +thousands that made up that vast and throbbing city, he would ever find +a friend. + +For a moment David longed even for that unmaternal mother who had +forgotten him in the hour of his distress; but she had been dead for +many years. + +The train stopped. Every one got out. David forced himself to his feet +and followed. He had been driven back into the world. It would have +seemed less terrible to have been driven into a desert. He walked +toward the great iron gates, seeing the people and hearing the noises +confusedly. + +As he entered the space beyond the grating some one caught him by the +arm. It was a little middle-aged woman in plain clothes, and with sad +gray eyes. + +“Is this David?” said she. + +He did not speak, but his face answered her. + +“I knew you were coming to-day. I've waited all these years, David. You +didn't think I believed what you said in that letter did you? This way, +David,--this is the way home.” + + + + +Two Pioneers + +IT was the year of the small-pox. The Pawnees had died in their cold +tepees by the fifties, the soldiers lay dead in the trenches without the +fort, and many a gay French voyageur, who had thought to go singing down +the Missouri on his fur-laden raft in the springtime, would never again +see the lights of St. Louis, or the coin of the mighty Choteau company. + +It had been a winter of tragedies. The rigors of the weather and the +scourge of the disease had been fought with Indian charm and with +Catholic prayer. Both were equally unavailing. If a man was taken sick +at the fort they put him in a warm room, brought him a jug of water +once a day, and left him to find out what his constitution was worth. +Generally he recovered; for the surgeon's supplies had been exhausted +early in the year. But the Indians, in their torment, rushed into the +river through the ice, and returned to roll themselves in their blankets +and die in ungroaning stoicism. + +Every one had grown bitter and hard. The knives of the trappers were +sharp, and not one whit sharper than their tempers. Some one said that +the friendly Pawnees were conspiring with the Sioux, who were always +treacherous, to sack the settlement. The trappers doubted this. They and +the Pawnees had been friends many years, and they had together killed +the Sioux in four famous battles on the Platte. Yet--who knows? There +was pestilence in the air, and it had somehow got into men's souls as +well as their bodies. + +So, at least, Father de Smet said. He alone did not despair. He +alone tried neither charm nor curse. He dressed him an altar in the +wilderness, and he prayed at it--but not for impossible things. When in +a day's journey you come across two lodges of Indians, sixty souls in +each, lying dead and distorted from the plague in their desolate tepees, +you do not pray, if you are a man like Father de Smet. You go on to the +next lodge where the living yet are, and teach them how to avoid death. + +Besides, when you are young, it is much easier to act than to pray. When +the children cried for food, Father de Smet took down the rifle from +the wall and went out with it, coming back only when he could feed the +hungry. There were places where the prairie was black with buffalo, and +the shy deer showed their delicate heads among the leafless willows +of the Papillion. When they--the children--were cold, this young man +brought in baskets of buffalo chips from the prairie and built them +a fire, or he hung more skins up at the entrance to the tepees. If he +wanted to cross a river and had no boat at hand, he leaped the uncertain +ice, or, in clear current, swam, with his clothes on his head in a +bundle. + +A wonderful traveller for the time was Father de Smet. Twice he had gone +as far as the land of the Flathead nation, and he could climb mountain +passes as well as any guide of the Rockies. He had built a dozen +missions, lying all the way from the Columbia to the Kaw. He had always +a jest at his tongue's end, and served it out with as much readiness as +a prayer; and he had, withal, an arm trained to do execution. Every +man on the plains understood the art of self-preservation. Even in +Cainsville, over by the council ground of the western tribes, which was +quite the most civilized place for hundreds of miles, life was uncertain +when the boats came from St. Louis with bad whiskey in their holds. But +no one dared take liberties with the holy father. The thrust from his +shoulder was straight and sure, and his fist was hard. + +Yet it was not the sinner that Father de Smet meant to crush. He always +supplemented his acts of physical prowess with that explanation. It +was the sin that he struck at from the shoulder--and may not even an +anointed one strike at sin? + +Father de Smet could draw a fine line, too, between the things which +were bad in themselves, and the things which were only extrinsically +bad. For example, there were the soups of Mademoiselle Ninon. Mam'selle +herself was not above reproach, but her soups were. Mademoiselle Ninon +was the only Parisian thing in the settlement. And she was certainly to +be avoided--which was perhaps the reason that no one avoided her. It +was four years since she had seen Paris. She was sixteen then, and she +followed the fortunes of a certain adventurer who found it advisable to +sail for Montreal. Ninon had been bored back in Paris, it being dull +in the mantua-making shop of Madame Guittar. If she had been a man she +would have taken to navigation, and might have made herself famous by +sailing to some unknown part of the New World. Being a woman, she took +a lover who was going to New France, and forgot to weep when he found an +early and violent death. And there were others at hand, and Ninon sailed +around the cold blue lakes, past Sault St. Marie, and made her way +across the portages to the Mississippi, and so down to the sacred rock +of St. Louis. That was a merry place. Ninon had fault to find neither +with the wine nor the dances. They were all that one could have desired, +and there was no limit to either of them. But still, after a time, even +this grew tiresome to one of Ninon's spirit, and she took the first +opportunity to sail up the Missouri with a certain young trapper +connected with the great fur company, and so found herself at +Cainsville, with the blue bluffs rising to the east of her, and the low +white stretches of the river flats undulating down to where the sluggish +stream wound its way southward capriciously. + +Ninon soon tired of her trapper. For one thing she found out that he +was a coward. She saw him run once in a buffalo fight. That was when the +Pawnee stood still with a blanket stretched wide in a gaudy square, +and caught the head of the mad animal fairly in the tough fabric; his +mustang's legs trembled under him, but he did not move,--for a mustang +is the soul of an Indian, and obeys each thought; the Indian himself +felt his heart pounding at his ribs; but once with that garment fast +over the baffled eyes of the struggling brute, the rest was only a +matter of judicious knife-thrusts. Ninon saw this. She rode past her +lover, and snatched the twisted bullion cord from his hat that she had +braided and put there, and that night she tied it on the hat of the +Pawnee who had killed the buffalo. + +The Pawnees were rather proud of the episode, and as for the Frenchmen, +they did not mind. The French have always been very adaptable in +America. Ninon was universally popular. + +And so were her soups. + +Every man has his price. Father de Smet's was the soups of Mademoiselle +Ninon. Fancy! If you have an educated palate and are obliged to eat +the strong distillation of buffalo meat, cooked in a pot which has been +wiped out with the greasy petticoat of a squaw! When Ninon came down +from St. Louis she brought with her a great box containing neither +clothes, furniture, nor trinkets, but something much more wonderful! +It was a marvellous compounding of spices and seasonings. The aromatic +liquids she set before the enchanted men of the settlement bore no more +relation to ordinary buffalo soup than Chateaubriand's Indian maidens +did to one of the Pawnee girls, who slouched about the settlement with +noxious tresses and sullen slavish coquetries. + +Father de Smet would not at any time have called Ninon a scarlet woman. +But when he ate the dish of soup or tasted the hot corn-cakes that she +invariably invited him to partake of as he passed her little house, he +refrained with all the charity of a true Christian and an accomplished +epicure from even thinking her such. And he remembered the words of the +Saviour, “Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.” + +To Father de Smet's healthy nature nothing seemed more superfluous than +sin. And he was averse to thinking that any committed deeds of which he +need be ashamed. So it was his habit, especially if the day was pleasant +and his own thoughts happy, to say to himself when he saw one of the +wild young trappers leaving the cabin of Mademoiselle Ninon: “He has +been for some of the good woman's hot cakes,” till he grew quite to +believe that the only attractions that the adroit Frenchwoman possessed +were of a gastronomic nature. + +To tell the truth, the attractions of Mademoiselle Ninon were varied. To +begin with, she was the only thing in that wilderness to suggest home. +Ninon had a genius for home-making. Her cabin, in which she cooked, +slept, ate, lived, had become a boudoir. + +The walls were hung with rare and beautiful skins; the very floor made +rich with huge bear robes, their permeating odors subdued by heavy +perfumes brought, like the spices, from St. Louis. The bed, in daytime, +was a couch of beaver-skins; the fireplace had branching antlers +above it, on which were hung some of the evidences of the fair Ninon's +coquetry, such as silken scarves, of the sort the voyageurs from the far +north wore; and necklaces made by the Indians of the Pacific coast and +brought to Ninon by--but it is not polite to inquire into these matters. +There were little moccasins also, much decorated with porcupine-quills, +one pair of which Father de Smet had brought from the Flathead nation, +and presented to Ninon that time when she nursed him through a frightful +run of fever. She would take no money for her patient services. + +“Father,” said she, gravely, when he offered it to her, “I am not +myself virtuous. But I have the distinction of having preserved the only +virtuous creature in the settlement for further usefulness. Sometimes, +perhaps, you will pray for Ninon.” + +Father de Smet never forgot those prayers. + +These were wild times, mind you. No use to keep your skirts coldly clean +if you wished to be of help. These men were subduing a continent. Their +primitive qualities came out. Courage, endurance, sacrifice, suffering +without complaint, friendship to the death, indomitable hatred, +unfaltering hope, deep-seated greed, splendid gayety--it takes these +things to subdue a continent. Vice is also an incidental,--that is to +say, what one calls vice. This is because it is the custom to measure +these men as if they were governed by the laws of civilization, where +there is neither law nor civilization. + +This much is certain: gentlemen cannot conquer a country. They +tried gentlemen back in Virginia, and they died, partly from lack of +intellect, but mostly from lack of energy. After the yeomen have fought +the conquering fight, it is well enough to bring in gentlemen, who +are sometimes clever lawmakers, and who look well on thrones or in +presidential chairs. + +But to return to the winter of the smallpox. It was then that the priest +and Ninon grew to know each other well. They became acquainted first +in the cabin where four of the trappers lay tossing in delirium. The +horrible smell of disease weighted the air. Outside wet snow fell +continuously and the clouds seemed to rest only a few feet above the +sullen bluffs. The room was bare of comforts, and very dirty. Ninon +looked about with disgust. + +“You pray,” said she to the priest, “and I will clean the room.” + +“Not so,” returned the broad-shouldered father, smilingly, “we will both +clean the room.” Thus it came that they scrubbed the floor together, and +made the chimney so that it would not smoke, and washed the blankets on +the beds, and kept the woodpile high. They also devised ventilators, and +let in fresh air without exposing the patients. They had no medicine, +but they continually rubbed the suffering men with bear's grease. + +“It's better than medicine,” said Ninon, after the tenth day, as, wan +with watching, she held the cool hand of one of the recovering men in +her own. “If we had had medicines we should have killed these men.” + +“You are a woman of remarkable sense,” said the holy father, who was +eating a dish of corn-meal and milk that Ninon had just prepared, “and a +woman also of Christian courage.” + +“Christian courage?” echoed Ninon; “do you think that is what you call +it? I am not afraid, no, not I; but it is not Christian courage. You +mistake in calling it that.” There were tears in her eyes. The priest +saw them. + +“God lead you at last into peaceful ways,” said he, softly, lifting one +hand in blessing. “Your vigil is ended. Go to your home and sleep. You +know the value of the temporal life that God has given to man. In the +hours of the night, Ninon, think of the value of eternal life, which it +is also His to give.” + +Ninon stared at him a moment with a dawning horror in her eyes. + +Then she pointed to the table. + +“Whatever you do,” said she, “don't forget the bear's grease.” And she +went out laughing. The priest did not pause to recommend her soul to +further blessing. He obeyed her directions. + +March was wearing away tediously. The river was not yet open, and the +belated boats with needed supplies were moored far down the river. Many +of the reduced settlers were dependent on the meat the Indians brought +them for sustenance. The mud made the roads almost impassable; for the +frost lay in a solid bed six inches below the surface, and all above +that was semiliquid muck. Snow and rain alternated, and the frightful +disease did not cease its ravages. + +The priest got little sleep. Now he was at the bed of a little +half-breed child, smoothing the straight black locks from the narrow +brow; now at the cot of some hulking trapper, who wept at the pain, but +died finally with a grin of bravado on his lips; now in a foul tepee, +where some grave Pawnee wrapped his mantle about him, and gazed with +prophetic and unflinching eyes into the land of the hereafter. + +The little school that the priest started had been long since abandoned. +It was only the preservation of life that one thought of in these days. +And recklessness had made the men desperate. To the ravages of disease +were added horrible murders. Moral health is always low when physical +health is so. + +Give a nation two winters of grippe, and it will have an epidemic of +suicide. Give it starvation and small-pox, and it will have a contagion +of murders. There are subtle laws underlying these things,--laws which +the physicians think they can explain; but they are mistaken. The reason +is not so material as it seems. + +But spring was near in spite of falling snow and the dirty ice in the +river. There was not even a flushing of the willow twigs to tell it by, +nor a clearing of the leaden sky,--only the almanac. Yet all men +were looking forward to it. The trappers put in the feeble days of +convalescence, making long rafts on which to pile the skins dried over +winter,--a fine variety, worth all but their weight in gold. Money was +easily got in those days; but there are circumstances under which money +is valueless. + +Father de Smet thought of this the day before Easter, as he plunged +through the mud of the winding street in his bearskin gaiters. Stout +were his legs, firm his lungs, as he turned to breathe in the west wind; +clear his sharp and humorous eyes. He was going to the little chapel +where the mission school had previously been held. Here was a rude +pulpit, and back of it a much-disfigured virgin, dressed in turkey-red +calico. Two cheap candles in their tin sticks guarded this figure, and +beneath, on the floor, was spread an otter-skin of perfect beauty. The +seats were of pine, without backs, and the wind whistled through the +chinks between the logs. Moreover, the place was dirty. Lenten service +had been out of the question. The living had neither time nor strength +to come to worship; and the dead were not given the honor of a burial +from church in these times of terror. The priest looked about him in +dismay, the place was so utterly forsaken; yet to let Easter go by +without recognition was not to his liking. He had been the night +before to every house in the settlement, bidding the people to come to +devotions on Sunday morning. He knew that not one of them would +refuse his invitation. There was no hero larger in the eyes of these +unfortunates than the simple priest who walked among them with his +unpretentious piety. The promises were given with whispered blessings, +and there were voices that broke in making them, and hands that shook +with honest gratitude. The priest, remembering these things, and all the +awful suffering of the winter, determined to make the service symbolic, +indeed, of the resurrection and the life,--the annual resurrection and +life that comes each year, a palpable miracle, to teach the dullest that +God reigns. + +“How are you going to trim the altar?” cried a voice behind him. + +He turned, startled, and in the doorway stood Mademoiselle Ninon, +her short skirt belted with a red silk scarf,--the token of some +trapper,--her ankles protected with fringed leggins, her head covered +with a beribboned hat of felt, such as the voyageurs wore. + +“Our devotions will be the only decorations we can hang on it. But +gratitude is better than blossoms, and humanity more beautiful than +green wreaths,” said the father, gently. + +It was a curious thing, and one that he had often noticed himself; he +gave this woman--unworthy as she was--the best of his simple thoughts. + +Ninon tiptoed toward the priest with one finger coquettishly raised to +insure secrecy. + +“You will never believe it,” she whispered, “no one would believe it! +But the fact is, father, I have two lilies.” + +“Lilies,” cried the priest, incredulously, “two lilies?” + +“That's what I say, father--two marvellously fair lilies with little +sceptres of gold in them, and leaves as white as snow. The bulbs were +brought me last autumn by--; that is to say, they were brought from St. +Louis. Only now have they blossomed. Heavens, how I have watched the +buds! I have said to myself every morning for a fortnight: 'Will they +open in time for the good father's Easter morning service?' Then I said: +'They will open too soon. Buds,' I have cried to them, 'do not dare +to open yet, or you will be horribly passee by Easter. Have the +kindness, will you, to save yourselves for a great event.' And they did +it; yes, father, you may not believe, but no later than this morning +these sensible flowers opened up their leaves boldly, quite conscious +that they were doing the right thing, and to-morrow, if you please, they +will be here. And they will perfume the whole place; yes.” + +She stopped suddenly, and relaxed her vivacious expression for one of +pain. + +“You are certainly ill,” cried the priest. “Rest yourself.” He tried to +push her on to one of the seats; but a sort of convulsive rigidity came +over her, very alarming to look at. + +“You are worn out,” her companion said gravely. “And you are chilled.” + +“Yes, I'm cold,” confessed Ninon. “But I had to come to tell you about +the lilies. But, do you see, I never could bring myself to put them in +this room as it is now. It would be too absurd to place them among this +dirt. We must clean the place.” + +“The place will be cleaned. I will see to it. But as for you, go home +and care for yourself.” Ninon started toward the door with an uncertain +step. Suddenly she came back. + +“It is too funny,” she said, “that red calico there on the Virgin. +Father, I have some laces which were my mother's, who was a good woman, +and which have never been worn by me. They are all I have to remember +France by and the days when I was--different. If I might be permitted--” + she hesitated and looked timidly at the priest. + +“'She hath done what she could,'” murmured Father de Smet, softly. +“Bring your laces, Ninon.” He would have added: “Thy sins be forgiven +thee.” But unfortunately, at this moment, Pierre came lounging down the +street, through the mud, fresh from Fort Laramie. His rifle was slung +across his back, and a full game-bag revealed the fact that he had +amused himself on his way. His curly and wind-bleached hair blew out +in time-torn banners from the edge of his wide hat. His piercing, black +eyes were those of a man who drinks deep, fights hard, and lives +always in the open air. Wild animals have such eyes, only there is this +difference: the viciousness of an animal is natural; at least one-half +of the viciousness of man is artificial and devised. + +When Ninon saw the frost-reddened face of this gallant of the plains, +she gave a little cry of delight, and the color rushed back into her +face. The trapper saw her, and gave a rude shout of welcome. The next +moment, he had swung her clear of the chapel steps; and then the two +went down the street together, Pierre pausing only long enough to doff +his hat to the priest. + +“The Virgin will wear no fresh laces,” said the priest, with some +bitterness; but he was mistaken. An hour later, Ninon was back, not only +with a box of laces, but also with a collection of cosmetics, with which +she proceeded to make startling the scratched and faded face of the +wooden Virgin, who wore, after the completion of Ninon's labors, a +decidedly piquant and saucy expression. The very manner in which the +laces were draped had a suggestion of Ninon's still unforgotten art as +a maker of millinery, and was really a very good presentment of Paris +fashions four years past. Pierre, meantime, amused himself by filling up +the chinks in the logs with fresh mud,--a commodity of which there was +no lack,--and others of the neighbors, incited by these extraordinary +efforts, washed the dirt from seats, floor, and windows, and brought +furs with which to make presentable the floor about the pulpit. + +Father de Smet worked harder than any of them. In his happy enthusiasm +he chose to think this energy on the part of the others was prompted by +piety, though well he knew it was only a refuge from the insufferable +ennui that pervaded the place. Ninon suddenly came up to him with a +white face. + +“I am not well,” she said. Her teeth were chattering, and her eyes had +a little blue glaze over them. “I am going home. In the morning I will +send the lilies.” + +The priest caught her by the hand. + +“Ninon,” he whispered, “it is on my soul not to let you go to-night. +Something tells me that the hour of your salvation is come. Women worse +than you, Ninon, have come to lead holy lives. Pray, Ninon, pray to the +Mother of Sorrows, who knows the sufferings and sins of the heart.” + He pointed to the befrilled and highly fashionable Virgin with her +rouge-stained cheeks. + +Ninon shrank from him, and the same convulsive rigidity he had noticed +before, held her immovable. A moment later, she was on the street again, +and the priest, watching her down the street, saw her enter her cabin +with Pierre. + +....... + + +It was past midnight when the priest was awakened from his sleep by +a knock on the door. He wrapped his great buffalo-coat about him, and +answered the summons. Without in the damp darkness stood Pierre. + +“Father,” he cried, “Ninon has sent for you. Since she left you, she has +been very ill. I have done what I could; but now she hardly speaks, but +I make out that she wants you.” Ten minutes later, they were in Ninon's +cabin. When Father de Smet looked at her he knew she was dying. He had +seen the Indians like that many times during the winter. It was the +plague, but driven in to prey upon the system by the exposure. The +Parisienne's teeth were set, but she managed to smile upon her visitor +as he threw off his coat and bent over her. He poured some whiskey for +her; but she could not get the liquid over her throat. + +“Do not,” she said fiercely between those set white teeth, “do not +forget the lilies.” She sank back and fixed her glazing eyes on the +antlers, and kept them there watching those dangling silken scarves, +while the priest, in haste, spoke the words for the departing soul. + +The next morning she lay dead among those half barbaric relics of her +coquetry, and two white lilies with hearts of gold shed perfume from an +altar in a wilderness. + + + +Up the Gulch + +“GO West?” sighed Kate. “Why, yes! I'd like to go West.” + +She looked at the babies, who were playing on the floor with their +father, and sighed again. + +“You've got to go somewhere, you know, Kate. It might as well be west as +in any other direction. And this is such a chance! We can't have mamma +lying around on sofas without any roses in her cheeks, can we?” He put +this last to the children, who, being yet at the age when they talked +in “Early English,” as their father called it, made a clamorous but +inarticulate reply. + +Major Shelly, the grandfather of these very young persons, stroked his +mustache and looked indulgent. + +“Show almost human intelligence, don't they?” said their father, as he +lay flat on his back and permitted the babies to climb over him. + +“Ya-as,” drawled the major. “They do. Don't see how you account for it, +Jack.” + +Jack roared, and the lips of the babies trembled with fear. + +Their mother said nothing. She was on the sofa, her hands lying +inert, her eyes fixed on her rosy babies with an expression which her +father-in-law and her husband tried hard not to notice. + +It was not easy to tell why Kate was ailing. Of course, the babies were +young, but there were other reasons. + +“I believe you're too happy,” Jack sometimes said to her. “Try not to +be quite so happy, Kate. At least, try not to take your happiness so +seriously. Please don't adore me so; I'm only a commonplace fellow. And +the babies--they're not going to blow away.” + +But Kate continued to look with intense eyes at her little world, and +to draw into it with loving and generous hands all who were willing to +come. + +“Kate is just like a kite,” Jack explained to his father, the major; +“she can't keep afloat without just so many bobs.” + +Kate's “bobs” were the unfortunates she collected around her. These +absorbed her strength. She felt their misery with sympathies that were +abnormal. The very laborer in the streets felt his toil less keenly than +she, as she watched the drops gather on his brow. + +“Is life worth keeping at the cost of a lot like that?” she would ask. +She felt ashamed of her own ease. She apologized for her own serene and +perfect happiness. She even felt sorry for those mothers who had not +children as radiantly beautiful as her own. + +“Kate must have a change,” the major had given out. He was going West on +business and insisted on taking her with him. Jack looked doubtful. +He wasn't sure how he would get along without Kate to look after +everything. Secretly, he had an idea that servants were a kind of wild +animal that had to be fed by an experienced keeper. But when the time +came, he kissed her good-by in as jocular a manner as he could summon, +and refused to see the tears that gathered in her eyes. + +Until Chicago was reached, there was nothing very different from that +which Kate had been in the habit of seeing. After that, she set herself +to watch for Western characteristics. She felt that she would know them +as soon as she saw them. + +“I expected to be stirred up and shocked,” she explained to the major. +But somehow, the Western type did not appear. Commonplace women with +worn faces--browned and seamed, though not aged--were at the stations, +waiting for something or some one. Men with a hurried, nervous air were +everywhere. Kate looked in vain for the gayety and heartiness which she +had always associated with the West. + +After they got beyond the timber country and rode hour after hour on a +tract smooth as a becalmed ocean, she gave herself up to the feeling of +immeasurable vastness which took possession of her. The sun rolled +out of the sky into oblivion with a frantic, headlong haste. Nothing +softened the aspect of its wrath. Near, red, familiar, it seemed to +visibly bowl along the heavens. In the morning it rose as baldly as it +had set. And back and forth over the awful plain blew the winds,--blew +from east to west and back again, strong as if fresh from the chambers +of their birth, full of elemental scents and of mighty murmurings. + +“This is the West!” Kate cried, again and again. + +The major listened to her unsmilingly. It always seemed to him a waste +of muscular energy to smile. He did not talk much. Conversation had +never appealed to him in the light of an art. He spoke when there was a +direction or a command to be given, or an inquiry to be made. The major, +if the truth must be known, was material. Things that he could taste, +touch, see, appealed to him. He had been a volunteer in the civil +war,--a volunteer with a good record,--which he never mentioned; and, +having acquitted himself decently, let the matter go without asking +reprisal or payment for what he had freely given. He went into business +and sold cereal foods. + +“I believe in useful things,” the major expressed himself. “Oatmeal, +wheat,-men have to have them. God intended they should. There's Jack--my +son-Jack Shelly--lawyer. What's the use of litigation? God didn't design +litigation. It doesn't do anybody any good. It isn't justice you get. +It's something entirely different,--a verdict according to law. They say +Jack's clever. But I'm mighty glad I sell wheat.” + +He didn't sell it as a speculator, however. That wasn't his way. + +“I earn what I make,” he often said; and he had grown rich in the +selling of his wholesome foods. + +. . . . . . . + +Helena lies among round, brown hills. Above it is a sky of deep and +illimitable blue. In the streets are crumbs of gold, but it no longer +pays to mine for these; because, as real estate, the property is more +valuable. It is a place of fictitious values. There is excitement in the +air. Men have the faces of speculators. Every laborer is patient at +his task because he cherishes a hope that some day he will be a +millionnaire. There is hospitality, and cordiality and good fellowship, +and an undeniable democracy. There is wealth and luxurious living. There +is even culture,--but it is obtruded as a sort of novelty; it is not +accepted as a matter of course. + +Kate and the major were driven over two or three miles of dusty, hard +road to a distant hotel, which stands in the midst of greenness,--in +an oasis. Immediately above the green sward that surrounds it the brown +hills rise, the grass scorched by the sun. + +Kate yielded herself to the almost absurd luxury of the place with ease +and complacency. She took kindly to the great verandas. She adapted +herself to the elaborate and ill-assorted meals. She bathed in the +marvellous pool, warm with the heat of eternal fires in mid-earth. This +pool was covered with a picturesque Moorish structure, and at one end +a cascade tumbled, over which the sun, coming through colored windows, +made a mimic prism in the white spray. The life was not unendurable. The +major was seldom with her, being obliged to go about his business; +and Kate amused herself by driving over the hills, by watching the +inhabitants, by wondering about the lives in the great, pretentious, +unhomelike houses with their treeless yards and their closed shutters. +The sunlight, white as the glare on Arabian sands, penetrated +everywhere. It seemed to fairly scorch the eye-balls. + +“Oh, we're West, now,” Kate said, exultantly. “I've seen a thousand +types. But yet--not quite THE type--not the impersonation of simplicity +and daring that I was looking for.” + +The major didn't know quite what she was talking about. But he +acquiesced. All he cared about was to see her grow stronger; and that +she was doing every day. She was growing amazingly lovely, too,-at least +the major thought so. Every one looked at her; but that was, perhaps, +because she was such a sylph of a woman. Beside the stalwart major, she +looked like a fairy princess. + +One day she suddenly realized the fact that she had had a companion on +the veranda for several mornings. Of course, there were a great many +persons--invalids, largely--sitting about, but one of them had been +obtruding himself persistently into her consciousness. It was not that +he was rude; it was only that he was thinking about her. A person with +a temperament like Kate's could not long be oblivious to a thing like +that; and she furtively observed the offender with that genius for +psychological perception which was at once her greatest danger and her +charm. + +The man was dressed with a childish attempt at display. His shirt-front +was decorated with a diamond, and his cuff-buttons were of onyx with +diamond settings. His clothes were expensive and perceptibly new, and +he often changed his costumes, but with a noticeable disregard for +propriety. He was very conscious of his silk hat, and frequently wiped +it with a handkerchief on which his monogram was worked in blue. + +When the 'busses brought up their loads, he was always on hand to watch +the newcomers. He took a long time at his dinners, and appeared to +order a great deal and eat very little. There were card-rooms and a +billiard-hall, not to mention a bowling-alley and a tennis-court, where +the other guests of the hotel spent much time. But this man never +visited them. He sat often with one of the late reviews in his hand, +looking as if he intended giving his attention to it at any moment. +But after he had scrupulously cut the leaves with a little carved ivory +paper-cutter, he sat staring straight before him with the book open, but +unread, in his hand. + +Kate took more interest in this melancholy, middle-aged man than she +would have done if she had not been on the outlook for her Western +type,--the man who was to combine all the qualities of chivalry, daring, +bombast, and generosity, seasoned with piquant grammar, which she firmly +believed to be the real thing. But notwithstanding this kindly and +somewhat curious interest, she might never have made his acquaintance if +it had not been for a rather unpleasant adventure. + +The major was “closing up a deal” and had hurried away after breakfast, +and Kate, in the luxury of convalescence, half-reclined in a great chair +on the veranda and watched the dusky blue mist twining itself around the +brown hills. She was not thinking of the babies; she was not worrying +about home; she was not longing for anything, or even indulging in +a dream. That vacuous content which engrosses the body after long +indisposition, held her imperatively. Suddenly she was aroused from this +happy condition of nothingness by the spectacle of an enormous bull-dog +approaching her with threatening teeth. She had noticed the monster +often in his kennel near the stables, and it was well understood that he +was never to be permitted his freedom. Now he walked toward her with a +solid step and an alarming deliberateness. Kate sat still and tried to +assure herself that he meant no mischief, but by the time the great body +had made itself felt on the skirt of her gown she could restrain her +fear no longer, and gave a nervous cry of alarm. The brute answered with +a growl. If he had lacked provocation before, he considered that he had +it now. He showed his teeth and flung his detestable body upon her; +and Kate felt herself growing dizzy with fear. But just then an arm was +interposed and the dog was flung back. There was a momentary struggle. +Some gentlemen came hurrying out of the office; and as they beat the +dog back to its retreat, Kate summoned words from her parched throat to +thank her benefactor. + +It was the melancholy man with the new clothes. This morning he +was dressed in a suit of the lightest gray, with a white marseilles +waistcoat, over which his glittering chain shone ostentatiously. White +tennis-shoes, a white rose in his buttonhole, and a white straw hat +in his hand completed a toilet over which much time had evidently been +spent. Kate noted these details as she held out her hand. + +“I may have been alarmed without cause,” she said; “but I was horribly +frightened. Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. And I think, if +you would add to your kindness by getting me a glass of water--” + +When he came back, his hand was trembling a little; and as Kate looked +up to learn the cause, she saw that his face was flushed. He was +embarrassed. She decided that he was not accustomed to the society of +ladies. “Brutes like that dog ain't no place in th' world--that's my +opinion. There are some bad things we can't help havin' aroun'; but a +bull-dog ain't one of 'em.” + +“I quite agree with you,” Kate acquiesced, as she drank the water. “But +as this is the first unpleasant experience of any kind that I have had +since I came here, I don't feel that I have any right to complain.” + +“You're here fur yur health?” + +“Yes. And I am getting it. You're not an invalid, I imagine?” + +“No--no-op. I'm here be--well, I've thought fur a long time I'd like t' +stay at this here hotel.” + +“Indeed!” + +“Yes. I've been up th' gulch these fifteen years. Bin livin' on a shelf +of black rock. Th' sun got 'round 'bout ten. Couldn't make a thing +grow.” The man was looking off toward the hills, with an expression of +deep sadness in his eyes. “Didn't never live in a place where nothin' +'d grow, did you? I took geraniums up thar time an' time agin. Red +ones. Made me think of mother; she's in Germany. Watered 'em mornin' an' +night. Th' damned things died.” + +The oath slipped out with an artless unconsciousness, and there was +a little moisture in his eyes. Kate felt she ought to bring the +conversation to a close. She wondered what Jack would say if he saw her +talking with a perfect stranger who used oaths! She would have gone into +the house but for something that caught her eye. It was the hand of the +man; that hand was a bludgeon. All grace and flexibility had gone out +of it, and it had become a mere instrument of toil. It was seamed and +misshapen; yet it had been carefully manicured, and the pointed nails +looked fantastic and animal-like. A great seal-ring bore an elaborate +monogram, while the little finger displayed a collection of diamonds and +emeralds truly dazzling to behold. An impulse of humanity and a sort +of artistic curiosity, much stronger than her discretion, urged Kate to +continue her conversation. + +“What were you doing up the gulch?” she said. + +The man leaned back in his chair and regarded her a moment before +answering. He realized the significance of her question. He took it as +a sign that she was willing to be friendly. A look of gratitude, +almost tender, sprang into his eyes,--dull gray eyes, they were, with a +kindliness for their only recommendation. + +“Makin' my pile,” he replied. “I've been in these parts twenty years. +When I come here, I thought I was goin' to make a fortune right off. I +had all th' money that mother could give me, and I lost everything I had +in three months. I went up th' gulch.” He paused, and wiped his forehead +with his handkerchief. + +There was something in his remark and the intonation which made Kate say +softly: + +“I suppose you've had a hard time of it.” + +“Thar you were!” he cried. “Thar was th' rock--risin', risin', black! At +th' bottom wus th' creek, howlin' day an' night! Lonesome! Gee! No one +t' talk to. Of course, th' men. Had some with me always. They didn't +talk. It's too-too quiet t' talk much. They played cards. Curious, but I +never played cards. Don't think I'd find it amusin'. No, I worked. Came +down here once in six months or three months. Had t' come--grub-staked +th' men, you know. Did you ever eat salt pork?” He turned to Kate +suddenly with this question. + +“Why, yes; a few times. Did you have it?” + +“Nothin' else, much. I used t' think of th' things mother cooked. Mother +understood cookin', if ever a woman did. I'll never forget th' dinner +she gave me th' day I came away. A woman ought t' cook. I hear American +women don't go in much for cookin'.” + +“Oh, I think that's a mistake,” Kate hastened to interrupt. “All that I +know understand how to serve excellent dinners. Of course, they may not +cook them themselves, but I think they could if it were necessary.” + +“Hum!” He picked up a long glove that had fallen from Kate's lap and +fingered it before returning it. + +“I s'pose you cook?” + +“I make a specialty of salads and sorbets,” smiled Kate. “I guess +I could roast meat and make bread; but circumstances have not yet +compelled me to do it. But I've a theory that an American woman can do +anything she puts her mind to.” + +The man laughed out loud,--a laugh quite out of proportion to the mild +good humor of the remark; but it was evident that he could no longer +conceal his delight at this companionship. + +“How about raisin' flowers?” he asked. “Are you strong on that?” + +“I've only to look at a plant to make it grow,” Kate cried, with +enthusiasm. “When my friends are in despair over a plant, they bring it +to me, and I just pet it a little, and it brightens up. I've the most +wonderful fernery you ever saw. It's green, summer and winter. Hundreds +of people stop and look up at it, it is so green and enticing, there +above the city streets.” + +“What city?” + +“Philadelphia.” + +“Mother's jest that way. She has a garden of roses. And the +mignonette--” + +But he broke off suddenly, and sat once more staring before him. + +“But not a damned thing,” he added, with poetic pensiveness, “would grow +in that gulch.” + +“Why did you stay there so long?” asked Kate, after a little pause in +which she managed to regain her waning courage. + +“Bad luck. You never see a place with so many false leads. To-day you'd +get a streak that looked big. To-morrow you'd find it a pocket. One +night I'd go t' bed with my heart goin' like a race-horse. Next night +it would be ploddin' along like a winded burro. Don't know what made +me stick t' it. It was hot there, too! And cold! Always roastin' ur +freezin'. It'd been different if I'd had any one t' help me stand it. +But th' men were always findin' fault. They blamed me fur everythin'. +I used t' lie awake at night an' hear 'em talkin' me over. It made me +lonesome, I tell you! Thar wasn't no one! Mother used t' write. But +I never told her th' truth. She ain't a suspicion of what I've been +a-goin' through.” + +Kate sat and looked at him in silence. His face was seamed, though +far from old. His body was awkward, but impressed her with a sense of +magnificent strength. + +“I couldn't ask no woman t' share my hard times,” he resumed after a +time. “I always said when I got a woman, it was goin' t' be t' make her +happy. It wer'n't t' be t' ask her t' drudge.” + +There was another silence. This man out of the solitude seemed to +be elated past expression at his new companionship. He looked with +appreciation at the little pointed toes of Kate's slippers, as they +glanced from below the skirt of her dainty organdie. He noted the band +of pearls on her finger. His eyes rested long on the daisies at her +waist. The wind tossed up little curls of her warm brown hair. Her eyes +suffused with interest, her tender mouth seemed ready to lend itself to +any emotion, and withal she was so small, so compact, so exquisite. The +man wiped his forehead again, in mere exuberance. + +“Here's my card,” he said, very solemnly, as he drew an engraved bit of +pasteboard from its leather case. Kate bowed and took it. + +“Mr. Peter Roeder,” she read. “I've no card,” she said. “My name is +Shelly. I'm here for my health, as I told you.” She rose at this point, +and held out her hand. “I must thank you once more for your kindness,” + she said. + +His eyes fastened on hers with an appeal for a less formal word. There +was something almost terrible in their silent eloquence. + +“I hope we may meet again,” she said. + +Mr. Peter Roeder made a very low and awkward bow, and opened the door +into the corridor for her. + +That evening the major announced that he was obliged to go to Seattle. +The journey was not an inviting one; Kate was well placed where she was, +and he decided to leave her. + +She was well enough now to take longer drives; and she found strange, +lonely canyons, wild and beautiful, where yellow waters burst through +rocky barriers with roar and fury,--tortuous, terrible places, such as +she had never dreamed of. Coming back from one of these drives, two +days after her conversation on the piazza with Peter Roeder, she met +him riding a massive roan. He sat the animal with that air of perfect +unconsciousness which is the attribute of the Western man, and his +attire, even to his English stock, was faultless,--faultily faultless. + +“I hope you won't object to havin' me ride beside you,” he said, +wheeling his horse. To tell the truth, Kate did not object. She was a +little dull, and had been conscious all the morning of that peculiar +physical depression which marks the beginning of a fit of homesickness. + +“The wind gits a fine sweep,” said Roeder, after having obtained +the permission he desired. “Now in the gulch we either had a dead +stagnation, or else the wind was tearin' up and down like a wild beast.” + +Kate did not reply, and they went on together, facing the riotous wind. + +“You can't guess how queer it seems t' be here,” he said, +confidentially. “It seems t' me as if I had come from some other planet. +Thar don't rightly seem t' be no place fur me. I tell you what it's +like. It's as if I'd come down t' enlist in th' ranks, an' found 'em +full,--every man marchin' along in his place, an' no place left fur me.” + +Kate could not find a reply. + +“I ain't a friend,--not a friend! I ain't complainin'. It ain't th' +fault of any one--but myself. You don' know what a durned fool I've +bin. Someway, up thar in th' gulch I got t' seemin' so sort of important +t' myself, and my makin' my stake seemed such a big thing, that I +thought I had only t' come down here t' Helena t' have folks want t' +know me. I didn't particular want th' money because it wus money. But +out here you work fur it, jest as you work fur other things in other +places,--jest because every one is workin' fur it, and it's the man who +gets th' most that beats. It ain't that they are any more greedy than +men anywhere else. My pile's a pretty good-sized one. An' it's likely to +be bigger; but no one else seems t' care. Th' paper printed some pieces +about it. Some of th' men came round t' see me; but I saw their game. I +said I guessed I'd look further fur my acquaintances. I ain't spoken to +a lady,--not a real lady, you know,--t' talk with, friendly like, but +you, fur--years.” + +His face flushed in that sudden way again. They were passing some of +those pretentious houses which rise in the midst of Helena's ragged +streets with such an extraneous air, and Kate leaned forward to look at +them. The driver, seeing her interest, drew up the horses for a moment. + +“Fine, fine!” ejaculated Roeder. “But they ain't got no garden. A house +don't seem anythin' t' me without a garden. Do you know what I think +would be th' most beautiful thing in th' world? A baby in a rose-garden! +Do you know, I ain't had a baby in my hands, excep' Ned Ramsey's little +kid, once, for ten year!” + +Kate's face shone with sympathy. + +“How dreadful!” she cried. “I couldn't live without a baby about.” + +“Like babies, do you? Well, well. Boys? Like boys?” + +“Not a bit better than girls,” said Kate, stoutly. + +“I like boys,” responded Roeder, with conviction. “My mother liked boys. +She had three girls, but she liked me a damned sight the best.” + +Kate laughed outright. + +“Why do you swear?” she said. “I never heard a man swear before,--at +least, not one with whom I was talking. That's one of your gulch habits. +You must get over it.” + +Roeder's blond face turned scarlet. + +“You must excuse me,” he pleaded. “I'll cure myself of it! Jest give me +a chance.” + +This was a little more personal than Kate approved of, and she raised +her parasol to conceal her annoyance. It was a brilliant little fluff +of a thing which looked as if it were made of butterflies' wings. Roeder +touched it with awe. + +“You have sech beautiful things,” he said. “I didn't know women wore +sech nice things. Now that dress--it's like--I don't know what it's +like.” It was a simple little taffeta, with warp and woof of azure and +of cream, and gay knots of ribbon about it. + +“We have the advantage of men,” she said. “I often think one of the +greatest drawbacks to being a man would be the sombre clothes. I like to +wear the prettiest things that can be found.” + +“Lace?” queried Roeder. “Do you like lace?” + +“I should say so! Did you ever see a woman who didn't?” + +“Hu--um! These women I've known don't know lace,--these wives of th' men +out here. They're th' only kind I've seen this long time.” + +“Oh, of course, but I mean--” + +“I know what you mean. My mother has a chest full of linen an' lace. She +showed it t' me th' day I left. 'Peter,' she said, 'some day you bring a +wife home with you, an' I'll give you that lace an' that linen.' An' I'm +goin' t' do it, too,” he said quietly. + +“I hope so,” said Kate, with her eyes moist. “I hope you will, and that +your mother will be very happy.” + +. . . . . . . + +There was a hop at the hotel that night, and it was almost a matter of +courtesy for Kate to go. Ladies were in demand, for there were not very +many of them at the hotel. Every one was expected to do his best to make +it a success; and Kate, not at all averse to a waltz or two, dressed +herself for the occasion with her habitual striving after artistic +effect. She was one of those women who make a picture of themselves as +naturally as a bird sings. She had an opal necklace which Jack had given +her because, he said, she had as many moods as an opal had colors; and +she wore this with a crepe gown, the tint of the green lights in +her necklace. A box of flowers came for her as she was dressing; they +were Puritan roses, and Peter Roeder's card was in the midst of +them. She was used to having flowers given her. It would have seemed +remarkable if some one had not sent her a bouquet when she was going to +a ball. + +“I shall dance but twice,” she said to those who sought her for a +partner. “Neither more nor less.” + +“Ain't you goin' t' dance with me at all?” Roeder managed to say to her +in the midst of her laughing altercation with the gentlemen. + +“Dance with you!” cried Kate. “How do men learn to dance when they are +up a gulch?” + +“I ken dance,” he said stubbornly. He was mortified at her chaffing. + +“Then you may have the second waltz,” she said, in quick contrition. +“Now you other gentlemen have been dancing any number of times these +last fifteen years. But Mr. Roeder is just back from a hard campaign,--a +campaign against fate. My second waltz is his. And I shall dance my +best.” + +It happened to be just the right sort of speech. The women tried +good-naturedly to make Roeder's evening a pleasant one. They were filled +with compassion for a man who had not enjoyed the society of their sex +for fifteen years. They found much amusement in leading him through the +square dances, the forms of which were utterly unknown to him. But he +waltzed with a sort of serious alertness that was not so bad as it might +have been. + +Kate danced well. Her slight body seemed as full of the spirit of the +waltz as a thrush's body is of song. Peter Roeder moved along with +her in a maze, only half-answering her questions, his gray eyes full of +mystery. + +Once they stopped for a moment, and he looked down at her, as with +flushed face she stood smiling and waving her gossamer fan, each motion +stirring the frail leaves of the roses he had sent her. + +“It's cur'ous,” he said softly, “but I keep thinkin' about that black +gulch.” + +“Forget it,” she said. “Why do you think of a gulch when--” She stopped +with a sudden recollection that he was not used to persiflage. But he +anticipated what she was about to say. + +“Why think of the gulch when you are here?” he said. “Why, because it +is only th' gulch that seems real. All this,--these pleasant, polite +people, this beautiful room, th' flowers everywhere, and you, and me as +I am, seem as if I was dreamin'. Thar ain't anything in it all that is +like what I thought it would be.” + +“Not as you thought it would be?” + +“No. Different. I thought it would be--well, I thought th' people would +not be quite so high-toned. I hope you don't mind that word.” + +“Not in the least,” she said. “It's a musical term. It applies very well +to people.” + +They took up the dance again and waltzed breathlessly till the close. +Kate was tired; the exertion had been a little more than she had +bargained for. She sat very still on the veranda under the white glare +of an electric ball, and let Roeder do the talking. Her thoughts, +in spite of the entertainment she was deriving from her present +experiences, would go back to the babies. She saw them tucked well in +bed, each in a little iron crib, with the muslin curtains shielding +their rosy faces from the light. She wondered if Jack were reading alone +in the library or was at the club, or perhaps at the summer concert, +with the swell of the violins in his ears. Jack did so love music. +As she thought how delicate his perceptions were, how he responded to +everything most subtle in nature and in art, of how life itself was a +fine art with him, and joy a thing to be cultivated, she turned with a +sense of deep compassion to the simple man by her side. His rough face +looked a little more unattractive than usual. His evening clothes were +almost grotesque. His face wore a look of solitude, of hunger. + +“What were you saying?” she said, dreamily. “I beg your pardon.” + +“I was sayin' how I used t' dream of sittin' on the steps of a hotel +like this, and not havin' a thing t' do. When I used t' come down here +out of the gulch, and see men who had had good dinners, an' good baths, +sittin' around smokin', with money t' go over there t' th' bookstan' an' +get anythin' they'd want, it used t' seem t' me about all a single man +could wish fur.” + +“Well, you've got it all now.” + +“But I didn't any of th' time suppose that would satisfy a man long. +Only I was so darned tired I couldn't help wantin' t' rest. But I'm not +so selfish ur s' narrow as to be satisfied with THAT. No, I'm not goin' +t' spend m' pile that way--quite!” + +He laughed out loud, and then sat in silence watching Kate as she lay +back wearily in her chair. + +“I've got t' have that there garden,” he said, laughingly. “Got t' get +them roses. An' I'll have a big bath-house,--plenty of springs in this +country. You ken have a bath here that won't freeze summer NOR winter. +An' a baby! I've got t' have a baby. He'll go with th' roses an' th' +bath.” He laughed again heartily. + +“It's a queer joke, isn't it?” Roeder asked. “Talkin' about my baby, an' +I haven't even a wife.” His face flushed and he turned his eyes away. + +“Have I shown you the pictures of my babies?” Kate inquired. “You'd like +my boy, I know. And my girl is just like me,--in miniature.” + +There was a silence. She looked up after a moment. Roeder appeared to be +examining the monogram on his ring as if he had never seen it before. + +“I didn't understand that you were married,” he said gently. + +“Didn't you? I don't think you ever called me by any name at all, or I +should have noticed your mistake and set you right. Yes, I'm married. I +came out here to get strong for the babies.” + +“Got a boy an' a girl, eh?” + +“Yes.” + +“How old's th' boy?” + +“Five.” + +“An' th' girl?” + +“She'll soon be four.” + +“An' yer husband--he's livin'?” + +“I should say so! I'm a very happy woman, Mr. Roeder. If only I were +stronger!” + +“Yer lookin' much better,” he said, gravely, “than when you come. You'll +be all right.” + +The moon began to come up scarlet beyond the eastern hills. The two +watched it in silence. Kate had a feeling of guilt, as if she had been +hurting some helpless thing. + +“I was in hopes,” he said, suddenly, in a voice that seemed abrupt and +shrill, “thet you'd see fit t' stay here.” + +“Here in Helena? Oh, no!” + +“I was thinkin' I'd offer you that two hundred thousand dollars, if +you'd stay.” + +“Mr. Roeder! You don't mean-surely--” + +“Why, yes. Why not?” He spoke rather doggedly. “I'll never see no other +woman like you. You're different from others. How good you've been t' +me!” + +“Good! I'm afraid I've been very bad--at least, very stupid.” + +“I say, now--your husband's good t' you, ain't he?” + +“He is the kindest man that ever lived.” + +“Oh, well, I didn't know.” + +A rather awkward pause followed which was broken by Roeder. + +“I don't see jest what I'm goin' t' do with that thar two hundred +thousand dollars,” he said, mournfully. + +“Do with it? Why, live with it! Send some to your mother.” + +“Oh, I've done that. Five thousand dollars. It don't seem much here; but +it'll seem a lot t' her. I'd send her more, only it would've bothered +her.” + +“Then there is your house,--the house with the bath-room. But I suppose +you'll have other rooms?” + +Peter laughed a little in spite of himself. + +“I guess I won't have a house,” he said. “An' I couldn't make a garden +alone.” + +“Hire a man to help you.” Kate was trembling, but she kept talking +gayly. She was praying that nothing very serious would happen. There was +an undercurrent of sombreness in the man's manner that frightened her. + +“I guess I'll jest have t' keep on dreamin' of that boy playin' with th' +roses.” + +“No, no,” cried Kate; “he will come true some day! I know he'll come +true.” + +Peter got up and stood by her chair. + +“You don't know nothin' about it,” he said. “You don't know, an' you +can't know what it's bin t' me t' talk with you. Here I come out of a +place where there ain't no sound but the water and the pines. Years come +an' go. Still no sound. Only thinkin', thinkin', thinkin'! Missin' all +th' things men care fur! Dreamin' of a time when I sh'd strike th' pile. +Then I seed home, wife, a boy, flowers, everythin'. You're so beautiful, +an' you're so good. You've a way of pickin' a man's heart right out of +him. First time I set my eyes on you I thought you were th' nicest +thing I ever see! And how little you are! That hand of yours,--look at +it,--it's like a leaf! An' how easy you smile. Up th' gulch we didn't +smile; we laughed, but gen'ly because some one got in a fix. Then your +voice! Ah, I've thought fur years that some day I might hear a voice +like that! Don't you go! Sit still! I'm not blamin' you fur anythin'; +but I may never, 's long's I live, find any one who will understand +things th' way you understand 'em. Here! I tell you about that gulch +an' you see that gulch. You know how th' rain sounded thar, an' how th' +shack looked, an' th' life I led, an' all th' thoughts I had, an' th' +long nights, an' th' times when--but never mind. I know you know it all. +I saw it in yer eyes. I tell you of mother, an' you see 'er. You know +'er old German face, an' 'er proud ways, an' her pride in me, an' how +she would think I wuz awfully rich. An' you see how she would give out +them linens, all marked fur my wife, an' how I would sit an' watch her +doin' it, an'--you see everything. I know you do. I could feel you doin' +it. Then I say to myself: 'Here is th' one woman in th' world made fur +me. Whatever I have, she shall have. I'll spend my life waitin' on her. +She'll tell me all th' things I ought t' know, an' hev missed knowin'; +she'll read t' me; she'll be patient when she finds how dull I've grown. +And thar'll be th' boy--'” + +He seized her hand and wrung it, and was gone. Kate saw him no more that +night. + +The next morning the major returned. Kate threw her arms around his neck +and wept. + +“I want the babies,” she explained when the major showed his +consternation. “Don't mind my crying. You ought to be used to seeing me +cry by this time. I must get home, that's all. I must see Jack.” + +So that night they started. + +At the door of the carriage stood Peter Roeder, waiting. + +“I'm going t' ride down with you,” he said. The major looked nonplussed. + +Kate got in and the major followed. + +“Come,” she said to Roeder. He sat opposite and looked at her as if he +would fasten her image on his mind. + +“You remember,” he said after a time, “that I told you I used t' dream +of sittin' on the veranda of th' hotel and havin' nothin' t' do?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, I don't think I care fur it. I've had a month of it. I'm goin' +back up th' gulch.” + +“No!” cried Kate, instinctively reaching out her hands toward him. + +“Why not? I guess you don't know me. I knew that somewhere I'd find a +friend. I found that friend; an' now I'm alone again. It's pretty quiet +up thar in the gulch; but I'll try it.” + +“No, no. Go to Europe; go to see your mother.” + +“I thought about that a good deal, a while ago. But I don't seem t' have +no heart fur it now. I feel as if I'd be safer in th' gulch.” + +“Safer?” + +“The world looks pretty big. It's safe and close in th' gulch.” + +At the station the major went to look after the trunks, and Roeder put +Kate in her seat. + +“I wanted t' give you something,” he said, seating himself beside her, +“but I didn't dare.” + +“Oh, my dear friend,” she cried, laying her little gloved hand on his +red and knotted one, “don't go back into the shadow. Do not return to +that terrible silence. Wait. Have patience. Fate has brought you wealth. +It will bring you love.” + +“I've somethin' to ask,” he said, paying no attention to her appeal. +“You must answer it. If we 'a' met long ago, an' you hadn't a husband +or--anythin'--do you think you'd've loved me then?” + +She felt herself turning white. + +“No,” she said softly. “I could never have loved you, my dear friend. We +are not the same. Believe me, there is a woman somewhere who will love +you; but I am not that woman--nor could I have ever been.” + +The train was starting. The major came bustling in. + +“Well, good-by,” said Roeder, holding out his hand to Kate. + +“Good-by,” she cried. “Don't go back up the gulch.” + +“Oh,” he said, reassuringly, “don't you worry about me, my--don't worry. +The gulch is a nice, quiet place. An' you know what I told you about th' +ranks all bein' full. Good-by.” The train was well under way. He sprang +off, and stood on the platform waving his handkerchief. + +“Well, Kate,” said the major, seating himself down comfortably and +adjusting his travelling cap, “did you find the Western type?” + +“I don't quite know,” said she, slowly. “But I have made the discovery +that a human soul is much the same wherever you meet it.” + +“Dear me! You haven't been meeting a soul, have you?” the major said, +facetiously, unbuckling his travelling-bag. “I'll tell Jack.” + +“No, I'll tell Jack. And he'll feel quite as badly as I do to think that +I could do nothing for its proper adjustment.” + +The major's face took on a look of comprehension. + +“Was that the soul,” he asked, “that just came down in the carriage with +us?” + +“That was it,” assented Kate. “It was born; it has had its mortal day; +and it has gone back up the gulch.” + + + + +A Michigan Man + +A PINE forest is nature's expression of solemnity and solitude. +Sunlight, rivers, cascades, people, music, laughter, or dancing could +not make it gay. With its unceasing reverberations and its eternal +shadows, it is as awful and as holy as a cathedral. + +Thirty good fellows working together by day and drinking together by +night can keep up but a moody imitation of jollity. Spend twenty-five +of your forty years, as Luther Dallas did, in this perennial gloom, and +your soul--that which enjoys, aspires, competes--will be drugged as deep +as if you had quaffed the cup of oblivion. Luther Dallas was counted one +of the most experienced axe-men in the northern camps. He could fell +a tree with the swift surety of an executioner, and in revenge for his +many arboral murders the woodland had taken captive his mind, captured +and chained it as Prospero did Ariel. The resounding footsteps of +Progress driven on so mercilessly in this mad age could not reach his +fastness. It did not concern him that men were thinking, investigating, +inventing. His senses responded only to the sonorous music of the woods; +a steadfast wind ringing metallic melody from the pine-tops contented +him as the sound of the sea does the sailor; and dear as the odors of +the ocean to the mariner were the resinous scents of the forest to him. +Like a sailor, too, he had his superstitions. He had a presentiment that +he was to die by one of these trees,-that some day, in chopping, the +tree would fall upon and crush him as it did his father the day they +brought him back to the camp on a litter of pine boughs. + +One day the gang-boss noticed a tree that Dallas had left standing in a +most unwoodmanlike manner in the section which was allotted to him. + +“What in thunder is that standing there for?” he asked. + +Dallas raised his eyes to the pine, towering in stern dignity a hundred +feet above them. + +“Well,” he said feebly, “I noticed it, but kind-a left it t' the last.” + +“Cut it down to-morrow,” was the response. + +The wind was rising, and the tree muttered savagely. Luther thought it +sounded like a menace, and turned pale. No trouble has yet been found +that will keep a man awake in the keen air of the pineries after he +has been swinging his axe all day, but the sleep of the chopper was so +broken with disturbing dreams that night that the beads gathered on +his brow, and twice he cried aloud. He ate his coarse flap-jacks in the +morning and escaped from the smoky shanty as soon as he could. + +“It'll bring bad luck, I'm afraid,” he muttered as he went to get his +axe from the rack. He was as fond of his axe as a soldier of his musket, +but to-day he shouldered it with reluctance. He felt like a man with his +destiny before him. The tree stood like a sentinel. He raised his axe, +once, twice, a dozen times, but could not bring himself to make a cut +in the bark. He walked backwards a few steps and looked up. The funereal +green seemed to grow darker and darker till it became black. It was the +embodiment of sorrow. Was it not shaking giant arms at him? Did it not +cry out in angry challenge? Luther did not try to laugh at his fears; +he had never seen any humor in life. A gust of wind had someway crept +through the dense barricade of foliage that flanked the clearing, +and struck him with an icy chill. He looked at the sky; the day was +advancing rapidly. He went at his work with an energy as determined as +despair. The axe in his practised hand made clean straight cuts in the +trunk, now on this side, now on that. His task was not an easy one, +but he finished it with wonderful expedition. After the chopping was +finished, the tree stood firm a moment; then, as the tensely-strained +fibres began a weird moaning, he sprang aside, and stood waiting. In the +distance he saw two men hewing a log. The axe-man sent them a shout +and threw up his arms for them to look. The tree stood out clear and +beautiful against the gray sky; the men ceased their work and watched +it. The vibrations became more violent, and the sounds they produced +grew louder and louder till they reached a shrill wild cry. There came a +pause, then a deep shuddering groan. The topmost branches began to move +slowly, the whole stately bulk swayed, and then shot towards the ground. +The gigantic trunk bounded from the stump, recoiled like a cannon, +crashed down, and lay conquered, with a roar as of an earthquake, in a +cloud of flying twigs and chips. + +When the dust had cleared away, the men at the log on the outside of the +clearing could not see Luther. They ran to the spot, and found him +lying on the ground with his chest crushed in. His fearful eyes had not +rightly calculated the distance from the stump to the top of the pine, +nor rightly weighed the power of the massed branches, and so, standing +spell-bound, watching the descending trunk as one might watch his +Nemesis, the rebound came and left him lying worse than dead. + +Three months later, when the logs, lopped of their branches, drifted +down the streams, the woodman, a human log lopped of his strength, +drifted to a great city. A change, the doctor said, might prolong +his life. The lumbermen made up a purse, and he started out, not very +definitely knowing his destination. He had a sister, much younger than +himself, who at the age of sixteen had married and gone, he believed, to +Chicago. That was years ago, but he had an idea that he might find her. +He was not troubled by his lack of resources; he did not believe that +any man would want for a meal unless he were “shiftless.” He had always +been able to turn his hand to something. + +He felt too ill from the jostling of the cars to notice much of anything +on the journey. The dizzy scenes whirling past made him faint, and he +was glad to lie with closed eyes. He imagined that his little sister in +her pink calico frock and bare feet (as he remembered her) would be +at the station to meet him. “Oh, Lu!” she would call from some +hiding-place, and he would go and find her. + +The conductor stopped by Luther's seat and said that they were in the +city at last; but it seemed to the sick man as if they went miles after +that, with a multitude of twinkling lights on one side and a blank +darkness, that they told him was the lake, on the other. The conductor +again stopped by his seat. + +“Well, my man,” said he, “how are you feeling?” + +Luther, the possessor of the toughest muscles in the gang, felt a sick +man's irritation at the tone of pity. + +“Oh, I'm all right!” he said, gruffly, and shook off the assistance the +conductor tried to offer with his overcoat. “I'm going to my sister's,” + he explained, in answer to the inquiry as to where he was going. The +man, somewhat piqued at the spirit in which his overtures were met, left +him, and Luther stepped on to the platform. There was a long vista of +semi-light, down which crowds of people walked and baggage-men rushed. +The building, if it deserved the name, seemed a ruin, and through the +arched doors Luther could see men--hackmen-dancing and howling like +dervishes. Trains were coming and going, and the whistles and bells +kept up a ceaseless clangor. Luther, with his small satchel and uncouth +dress, slouched by the crowd unnoticed, and reached the street. He +walked amid such an illumination as he had never dreamed of, and paused +half blinded in the glare of a broad sheet of electric light that filled +a pillared entrance into which many people passed. He looked about him. +Above on every side rose great, many-windowed buildings; on the street +the cars and carriages thronged, and jostling crowds dashed headlong +among the vehicles. After a time he turned down a street that seemed to +him a pandemonium filled with madmen. It went to his head like wine, and +hardly left him the presence of mind to sustain a quiet exterior. The +wind was laden with a penetrating moisture that chilled him as the dry +icy breezes from Huron never had done, and the pain in his lungs made +him faint and dizzy. He wondered if his red-cheeked little sister could +live in one of those vast, impregnable buildings. He thought of stopping +some of those serious-looking men and asking them if they knew her; +but he could not muster up the courage. The distressing experience that +comes to almost every one some time in life, of losing all identity in +the universal humanity, was becoming his. The tears began to roll down +his wasted face from loneliness and exhaustion. He grew hungry with +longing for the dirty but familiar cabins of the camp, and staggered +along with eyes half closed, conjuring visions of the warm interiors, +the leaping fires, the groups of laughing men seen dimly through clouds +of tobacco-smoke. + +A delicious scent of coffee met his hungry sense and made him really +think he was taking the savory black draught from his familiar tin cup; +but the muddy streets, the blinding lights, the cruel, rushing people, +were still there. The buildings, however, now became different. They +were lower and meaner, with dirty windows. Women laughing loudly crowded +about the doors, and the establishments seemed to be equally divided +between saloon-keepers, pawnbrokers, and dealers in second-hand clothes. +Luther wondered where they all drew their support from. Upon one +signboard he read, “Lodgings 10 cents to 50 cents. A Square Meal for 15 +cents,” and, thankful for some haven, entered. Here he spent his first +night and other nights, while his purse dwindled and his strength waned. +At last he got a man in a drug-store to search the directory for +his sister's residence. They found a name he took to be his +brother-in-law's. It was two days later when he found the address,--a +great, many-storied mansion on one of the southern boulevards,--and found +also that his search had been in vain. Sore and faint, he staggered back +to his miserable shelter, only to arise feverish and ill in the morning. +He frequented the great shop doors, thronged with brilliantly-dressed +ladies, and watched to see if his little sister might not dash up in +one of those satin-lined coaches and take him where he would be warm and +safe and would sleep undisturbed by drunken, ribald songs and loathsome +surroundings. There were days when he almost forgot his name, and, +striving to remember, would lose his senses for a moment and drift back +to the harmonious solitudes of the North and breathe the resin-scented +frosty atmosphere. He grew terrified at the blood he coughed from his +lacerated lungs, and wondered bitterly why the boys did not come to take +him home. + +One day, as he painfully dragged himself down a residence street, he +tried to collect his thoughts and form some plan for the future. He had +no trade, understood no handiwork; he could fell trees. He looked at +the gaunt, scrawny, transplanted specimens that met his eye, and gave +himself up to the homesickness that filled his soul. He slept that night +in the shelter of a stable, and spent his last money in the morning for +a biscuit. + +He travelled many miles that afternoon looking for something to which he +might turn his hand. Once he got permission to carry a hod for half an +hour. At the end of that time he fainted. When he recovered, the foreman +paid him twenty-five cents. “For God's sake, man, go home,” he said. +Luther stared at him with a white face and went on. + +There came days when he so forgot his native dignity as to beg. +He seldom received anything; he was referred to various charitable +institutions the existence of which he had never heard. + +One morning, when a pall of smoke enveloped the city and the odors of +coal-gas refused to lift their nauseating poison through the heavy air, +Luther, chilled with dew and famished, awoke to a happier life. The +loneliness at his heart was gone. The feeling of hopeless imprisonment +that the miles and miles of streets had terrified him with gave place +to one of freedom and exaltation. Above him he heard the rasping of +pine boughs; his feet trod on a rebounding mat of decay; the sky was as +coldly blue as the bosom of Huron. He walked as if on ether, singing a +senseless jargon the woodmen had aroused the echoes with,-- + + “Hi yi halloo! + The owl sees you! + Look what you do! + Hi yi halloo!” + +Swung over his shoulder was a stick he had used to assist his limping +gait, but now transformed into the beloved axe. He would reach the +clearing soon, he thought, and strode on like a giant, while people +hurried from his path. Suddenly a smooth trunk, stripped of its bark and +bleached by weather, arose before him. + +“Hi yi halloo!” High went the wasted arm--crash!--a broken staff, a +jingle of wires, a maddened, shouting man the centre of a group of +amused spectators! A few moments later, four broad-shouldered men in +blue had him in their grasp, pinioned and guarded, clattering over the +noisy streets behind two spirited horses. They drew after them a troop +of noisy, jeering boys, who danced about the wagon like a swirl of +autumn leaves. Then came a halt, and Luther was dragged up the steps of +a square brick building with a belfry on the top. They entered a large +bare room with benches ranged about the walls, and brought him before a +man at a desk. + +“What is your name?” asked the man at the desk. + +“Hi yi halloo!” said Luther. + +“He's drunk, sergeant,” said one of the men in blue, and the axe-man was +led into the basement. He was conscious of an involuntary resistance, a +short struggle, and a final shock of pain,--then oblivion. + +The chopper awoke to the realization of three stone walls and an iron +grating in front. Through this he looked out upon a stone flooring +across which was a row of similar apartments. He neither knew nor cared +where he was. The feeling of imprisonment was no greater than he had +felt on the endless, cheerless streets. He laid himself on the bench +that ran along a side wall, and, closing his eyes, listened to the +babble of the clear stream and the thunder of the “drive” on its +journey. How the logs hurried and jostled! crushing, whirling, ducking, +with the merry lads leaping about them with shouts and laughter. +Suddenly he was recalled by a voice. Some one handed a narrow tin cup +full of coffee and a thick slice of bread through the grating. Across +the way he dimly saw a man eating a similar slice of bread. Men in other +compartments were swearing and singing. He knew these now for the voices +he had heard in his dreams. He tried to force some of the bread down his +parched and swollen throat, but failed; the coffee strangled him, and he +threw himself upon the bench. + +The forest again, the night-wind, the whistle of the axe through the +air. Once when he opened his eyes he found it dark. It would soon be +time to go to work. He fancied there would be hoar-frost on the trees +in the morning. How close the cabin seemed! Ha!--here came his little +sister. Her voice sounded like the wind on a spring morning. How loud it +swelled now! “Lu! Lu!” she cried. + +The next morning the lock-up keeper opened the cell door. Luther lay +with his head in a pool of blood. His soul had escaped from the thrall +of the forest. + +“Well, well!” said the little fat police-justice, when he was told of it. +“We ought to have a doctor around to look after such cases.” + + + + +A Lady of Yesterday + +“A LIGHT wind blew from the gates of the sun,” the morning she first +walked down the street of the little Iowa town. Not a cloud flecked the +blue; there was a humming of happy insects; a smell of rich and moist +loam perfumed the air, and in the dusk of beeches and of oaks stood the +quiet homes. She paused now and then, looking in the gardens, or at a +group of children, then passed on, smiling in content. + +Her accent was so strange, that the agent for real estate, whom she +visited, asked her, twice and once again, what it was she said. + +“I want,” she had repeated smilingly, “an upland meadow, where clover +will grow, and mignonette.” + +At the tea-tables that night, there was a mighty chattering. The brisk +village made a mystery of this lady with the slow step, the foreign +trick of speech, the long black gown, and the gentle voice. The men, +concealing their curiosity in presence of the women, gratified it +secretly, by sauntering to the tavern in the evening. There the keeper +and his wife stood ready to convey any neighborly intelligence. + +“Elizabeth Astrado” was written in the register,--a name conveying +little, unaccompanied by title or by place of residence. + +“She eats alone,” the tavern-keeper's wife confided to their eager +ears, “and asks for no service. Oh, she's a curiosity! She's got her +story,--you'll see!” + +In a town where every man knew every other man, and whether or not he +paid his taxes on time, and what his standing was in church, and all the +skeletons of his home, a stranger alien to their ways disturbed their +peace of mind. + +“An upland meadow where clover and mignonette will grow,” she had said, +and such an one she found, and planted thick with fine white clover +and with mignonette. Then, while the carpenters raised her cabin at the +border of the meadow, near the street, she passed among the villagers, +mingling with them gently, winning their good-will, in spite of +themselves. + +The cabin was of unbarked maple logs, with four rooms and a rustic +portico. Then all the villagers stared in very truth. They, living +in their trim and ugly little homes, accounted houses of logs as the +misfortune of their pioneer parents. A shed for wood, a barn for the +Jersey cow, a rustic fence, tall, with a high swinging gate, completed +the domain. In the front room of the cabin was a fireplace of rude +brick. In the bedrooms, cots as bare and hard as a nun's, and in the +kitchen the domestic necessaries; that was all. The poorest house-holder +in the town would not have confessed to such scant furnishing. Yet the +richest man might well have hesitated before he sent to France for hives +and hives of bees, as she did, setting them up along the southern border +of her meadow. + +Later there came strong boxes, marked with many marks of foreign +transportation lines, and the neighbor-gossips, seeing them, imagined +wealth of curious furniture; but the man who carted them told his wife, +who told her friend, who told her friend, that every box to the last one +was placed in the dry cemented cellar, and left there in the dark. + +“An' a mighty ridic'lous expense a cellar like that is, t' put under a +house of that char'cter,” said the man to his wife--who repeated it to +her friend. + +“But that ain't all,” the carpenter's wife had said when she heard about +it all, “Hank says there is one little room, not fit for buttery nor +yet fur closit, with a window high up--well, you ken see yourself-an' a +strong door. Jus' in passin' th' other day, when he was there, hangin' +some shelves, he tried it, an' it was locked!” + +“Well!” said the women who listened. + +However, they were not unfriendly, these brisk gossips. Two of them, +plucking up tardy courage, did call one afternoon. Their hostess was out +among her bees, crooning to them, as it seemed, while they lighted all +about her, lit on the flower in her dark hair, buzzed vivaciously about +her snow-white linen gown, lighted on her long, dark hands. She came +in brightly when she saw her guests, and placed chairs for them, +courteously, steeped them a cup of pale and fragrant tea, and served +them with little cakes. Though her manner was so quiet and so kind, the +women were shy before her. She, turning to one and then the other, asked +questions in her quaint way. + +“You have children, have you not?” + +Both of them had. + +“Ah,” she cried, clasping those slender hands, “but you are very +fortunate! Your little ones,--what are their ages?” + +They told her, she listening smilingly. + +“And you nurse your little babes--you nurse them at the breast?” + +The modest women blushed. They were not used to speaking with such +freedom. But they confessed they did, not liking artificial means. + +“No,” said the lady, looking at them with a soft light in her eyes, “as +you say, there is nothing like the good mother Nature. The little ones +God sends should lie at the breast. 'Tis not the milk alone that +they imbibe; it is the breath of life,-it is the human magnetism, the +power,-how shall I say? Happy the mother who has a little babe to hold!” + +They wanted to ask a question, but they dared not--wanted to ask a +hundred questions. But back of the gentleness was a hauteur, and they +were still. + +“Tell me,” she said, breaking her reverie, “of what your husbands do. +Are they carpenters? Do they build houses for men, like the blessed +Jesus? Or are they tillers of the soil? Do they bring fruits out of this +bountiful valley?” + +They answered, with a reservation of approval. “The blessed Jesus!” It +sounded like popery. + +She had gone from these brief personal matters to other things. + +“How very strong you people seem,” she had remarked. “Both your men +and your women are large and strong. You should be, being appointed to +subdue a continent. Men think they choose their destinies, but indeed, +good neighbors, I think not so. Men are driven by the winds of God's +will. They are as much bidden to build up this valley, this storehouse +for the nations, as coral insects are bidden to make the reefs with +their own little bodies, dying as they build. Is it not so?” + +“We are the creatures of God's will, I suppose,” said one of her +visitors, piously. + +She had given them little confidences in return. + +“I make my bread,” she said, with childish pride, “pray see if you +do not think it excellent!” And she cut a flaky loaf to display its +whiteness. One guest summoned the bravado to inquire,-- + +“Then you are not used to doing housework?” + +“I?” she said, with a slow smile, “I have never got used to +anything,--not even living.” And so she baffled them all, yet won them. + +The weeks went by. Elizabeth Astrado attended to her bees, milked her +cow, fed her fowls, baked, washed, and cleaned, like the simple women +about her, saving that as she did it a look of ineffable content lighted +up her face, and she sang for happiness. Sometimes, amid the ballads +that she hummed, a strain slipped in of some great melody, which +she, singing unaware, as it were, corrected, shaking her finger in +self-reproval, and returning again to the ballads and the hymns. Nor +was she remiss in neighborly offices; but if any were ailing, or had a +festivity, she was at hand to assist, condole, or congratulate, carrying +always some simple gift in her hand, appropriate to the occasion. + +She had her wider charities too, for all she kept close to her home. +When, one day, a story came to her of a laborer struck down with heat in +putting in a culvert on the railroad, and gossip said he could not +speak English, she hastened to him, caught dying words from his lips, +whispered a reply, and then what seemed to be a prayer, while he +held fast her hand, and sank to coma with wistful eyes upon her face. +Moreover 'twas she who buried him, raising a cross above his grave, and +she who planted rose-bushes about the mound. + +“He spoke like an Italian,” said the physician to her warily. + +“And so he was,” she had replied. + +“A fellow-countryman of yours, no doubt?” + +“Are not all men our countrymen, my friend?” she said, gently. “What are +little lines drawn in the imagination of men, dividing territory, that +they should divide our sympathies? The world is my country--and yours, +I hope. Is it not so?” + +Then there had also been a hapless pair of lovers, shamed before their +community, who, desperate, impoverished, and bewildered at the war +between nature and society, had been helped by her into a new part of +the world. There had been a widow with many children, who had found +baskets of cooked food and bundles of well-made clothing on her step. +And as the days passed, with these pleasant offices, the face of the +strange woman glowed with an ever-increasing content, and her dark, +delicate beauty grew. + +John Hartington spent his vacation at Des Moines, having a laudable +desire to see something of the world before returning to his native +town, with his college honors fresh upon him. Swiftest of the college +runners was John Hartington, famed for his leaping too, and measuring +widest at the chest and waist of all the hearty fellows at the +university. His blond curls clustered above a brow almost as innocent +as a child's; his frank and brave blue eyes, his free step, his mellow +laugh, bespoke the perfect animal, unharmed by civilization, unperplexed +by the closing century's fallacies and passions. The wholesome oak that +spreads its roots deep in the generous soil, could not be more a part +of nature than he. Conscientious, unimaginative, direct, sincere, +industrious, he was the ideal man of his kind, and his return to town +caused a flutter among the maidens which they did not even attempt to +conceal. They told him all the chat, of course, and, among other things, +mentioned the great sensation of the year,--the coming of the woman +with her mystery, the purchase of the sunny upland, the planting it +with clover and with mignonette, the building of the house of logs, +the keeping of the bees, the barren rooms, the busy, silent life, the +charities, the never-ending wonder of it all. And then the woman--kind, +yet different from the rest, with the foreign trick of tongue, the slow, +proud walk, the delicate, slight hands, the beautiful, beautiful smile, +the air as of a creature from another world. + +Hartington, strolling beyond the village streets, up where the sunset +died in daffodil above the upland, saw the little cot of logs, and out +before it, among blood-red poppies, the woman of whom he had heard. Her +gown of white gleamed in that eerie radiance, glorified, her sad great +eyes bent on him in magnetic scrutiny. A peace and plenitude of power +came radiating from her, and reached him where he stood, suddenly, and +for the first time in his careless life, struck dumb and awed. She, too, +seemed suddenly abashed at this great bulk of youthful manhood, innocent +and strong. She gazed on him, and he on her, both chained with +some mysterious enchantment. Yet neither spoke, and he, turning in +bewilderment at last, went back to town, while she placed one hand on +her lips to keep from calling him. And neither slept that night, and in +the morning when she went with milking pail and stool out to the grassy +field, there he stood at the bars, waiting. Again they gazed, like +creatures held in thrall by some magician, till she held out her hand +and said,-- + +“We must be friends, although we have not met. Perhaps we ARE old +friends. They say there have been worlds before this one. I have not +seen you in these habiliments of flesh and blood, and yet--we may be +friends?” + +John Hartington, used to the thin jests of the village girls, and all +their simple talk, rose, nevertheless, enlightened as he was with some +strange sympathy with her, to understand and answer what she said. + +“I think perhaps it may be so. May I come in beside you in the field? +Give me the pail. I'll milk the cow for you.” + +She threw her head back and laughed like a girl from school, and he +laughed too, and they shook hands. Then she sat near him while he +milked, both keeping silence, save for the p-rring noise he made with +his lips to the patient beast. Being through, she served him with a +cupful of the fragrant milk; but he bade her drink first, then drank +himself, and then they laughed again, as if they both had found +something new and good in life. + +Then she,-- + +“Come see how well my bees are doing.” And they went. She served him +with the lucent syrup of the bees, perfumed with the mignonette,--such +honey as there never was before. He sat on the broad doorstep, near +the scarlet poppies, she on the grass, and then they talked--was it one +golden hour--or two? Ah, well, 'twas long enough for her to learn all of +his simple life, long enough for her to know that he was victor at the +races at the school, that he could play the pipe, like any shepherd of +the ancient days, and when he went he asked her if he might return. + +“Well,” laughed she, “sometimes I am lonely. Come see me--in a week.” + +Yet he was there that day at twilight, and he brought his silver pipe, +and piped to her under the stars, and she sung ballads to him,--songs +of Strephon and times when the hills were young, and flocks were fairer +than they ever be these days. + +“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,” and still the intercourse, +still her dark loveliness waxing, still the weaving of the mystic spell, +still happiness as primitive and as sweet as ever Eden knew. + +Then came a twilight when the sweet rain fell, and on the heavy air the +perfumes of the fields floated. The woman stood by the window of the +cot, looking out. Tall, graceful, full of that subtle power which drew +his soul; clothed in white linen, fragrant from her fields, with breath +freighted with fresh milk, with eyes of flame, she was there to be +adored. And he, being man of manliest type, forgot all that might have +checked the words, and poured his soul out at her feet. She drew herself +up like a queen, but only that she might look queenlier for his sake, +and, bending, kissed his brow, and whispered back his vows. + +And they were married. + +The villagers pitied Hartington. + +“She's more than a match for him in years--an' in some other ways, as +like as not,” they said. “Besides, she ain't much inclined to mention +anything about her past. 'Twon't bear the tellin' probably.” + +As for the lovers, they laughed as they went about their honest tasks, +or sat together arms encircling each at evening, now under the stars, +and now before their fire of wood. They talked together of their farm, +added a field for winter wheat, bought other cattle, and some horses, +which they rode out over the rolling prairies side by side. He never +stopped to chat about the town; she never ventured on the street without +him by her side. Truth to tell, their neighbors envied them, marvelling +how one could extract a heaven out of earth, and what such perfect joy +could mean. + +Yet, for all their prosperity, not one addition did they make to that +most simple home. It stood there, with its bare necessities, made +beautiful only with their love. But when the winter was most gone, he +made a little cradle of hard wood, in which she placed pillows of down, +and over which she hung linen curtains embroidered by her hand. + +In the long evenings, by the flicker of the fire, they sat together, +cheek to cheek, and looked at this little bed, singing low songs +together. + +“This happiness is terrible, my John,” she said to him one night,--a +wondrous night, when the eastern wind had flung the tassels out on all +the budding trees of spring, and the air was throbbing with awakening +life, and balmy puffs of breeze, and odors of the earth. “And we are +growing young. Do you not think that we are very young and strong?” + +He kissed her on the lips. “I know that you are beautiful,” he said. + +“Oh, we have lived at Nature's heart, you see, my love. The cattle and +the fowls, the honey and the wheat, the cot-the cradle, John, and you +and me! These things make happiness. They are nature. But then, you +cannot understand. You have never known the artificial--” + +“And you, Elizabeth?” + +“John, if you wish, you shall hear all I have to tell. 'Tis a long, +long, weary tale. Will you hear it now? Believe me, it will make us +sad.” + +She grasped his arm till he shrank with pain. + +“Tell what you will and when you will, Elizabeth. Perhaps, some +day--when--” he pointed to the little crib. + +“As you say.” And so it dropped. + +There came a day when Hartington, sitting upon the portico, where +perfumes of the budding clover came to him, hated the humming of the +happy bees, hated the rustling of the trees, hated the sight of earth. + +“The child is dead,” the nurse had said, “as for your wife, perhaps--” + but that was all. Finally he heard the nurse's step upon the floor. + +“Come,” she said, motioning him. And he had gone, laid cheek against +that dying cheek, whispered his love once more, saw it returned even +then, in those deep eyes, and laid her back upon her pillow, dead. + +He buried her among the mignonette, levelled the earth, sowed thick the +seed again. + +“'Tis as she wished,” he said. + +With his strong hands he wrenched the little crib, laid it piece by +piece upon their hearth, and scattered then the sacred ashes on the +wind. Then, with hard-coming breath, broke open the locked door of that +room which he had never entered, thinking to find there, perhaps, some +sign of that unguessable life of hers, but found there only an altar, +with votive lamps before the Blessed Virgin, and lilies faded and fallen +from their stems. + +Then down into the cellar went he, to those boxes, with the foreign +marks. And then, indeed, he found a hint of that dead life. Gowns of +velvet and of silk, such as princesses might wear, wonders of lace, +yellowed with time, great cloaks of snowy fur, lustrous robes, jewels +of worth,--a vast array of brilliant trumpery. Then there were books in +many tongues, with rich old bindings and illuminated page, and in them +written the dead woman's name,--a name of many parts, with titles of +impress, and in the midst of all the name, “Elizabeth Astrado,” as she +said. + +And that was all, or if there were more he might have learned, following +trails that fell within his way, he never learned it, being content, and +thankful that he had held her for a time within his arms, and looked +in her great soul, which, wearying of life's sad complexities, had +simplified itself, and made his love its best adornment. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Mountain Woman and Others, by +(AKA Elia Wilkinson) Elia W. 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Peattie</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A Mountain Woman and Others</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: (AKA Elia Wilkinson) Elia W. Peattie</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 23, 2008 [EBook #1877]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 20, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Judy Boss, and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MOUNTAIN WOMAN AND OTHERS ***</div> + + + + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + A MOUNTAIN WOMAN + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Elia Wilkinson Peattie + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h4> + To<br /><br /> My best Friend, and kindest Critic,<br /><br /> My Husband. + </h4> + <div class="mynote"> + <p> + Transcriber's Note: I have omitted signature designations and have + closed abbreviations, e.g., “do n't” becoming “don't,” etc. In addition, + I have made the following changes to the text: + </p> +<table> + <tr><th>PAGE</th><th>LINE</th><th>ORIGINAL</th><th>CHANGED TO</th></tr> + <tr><td>38</td><td>19</td><td>seem to</td><td>seemed to</td></tr> + <tr><td>47</td><td>9</td><td>beafsteak</td><td>beefsteak</td></tr> + <tr><td>56</td><td>4</td><td>divertisement</td><td>divertissement</td></tr> + <tr><td>91</td><td>19</td><td>divertisement</td><td>divertissement</td></tr> + <tr><td>155</td><td>17</td><td>scarfs.</td><td>scarves.</td></tr> + <tr><td>169</td><td>20</td><td>scarfs,</td><td>scarves,</td></tr> +</table> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a id="link2H_FORE"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + FOREWORD. + </h2> + <p> + MOST of the tales in this little book have been printed before. “A + Mountain Woman” appeared in Harper's Weekly, as did “The Three Johns” and + “A Resuscitation.” “Jim Lancy's Waterloo” was printed in the Cosmopolitan, + “A Michigan Man” in Lippincott's, and “Up the Gulch” in Two Tales. The + courtesy of these periodicals in permitting the stories to be republished + is cordially acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + E. W. P. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Contents + </h3> + <table style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_FORE"> FOREWORD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> A Mountain Woman </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> A Resuscitation </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> Two Pioneers </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> A Michigan Man </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A Lady of Yesterday </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + A Mountain Woman + </h2> + <p> + IF Leroy Brainard had not had such a respect for literature, he would have + written a book. + </p> + <p> + As it was, he played at being an architect—and succeeded in being a + charming fellow. My sister Jessica never lost an opportunity of laughing + at his endeavors as an architect. + </p> + <p> + “You can build an enchanting villa, but what would you do with a + cathedral?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never have a chance at a cathedral,” he would reply. “And, + besides, it always seems to me so material and so impertinent to build a + little structure of stone and wood in which to worship God!” + </p> + <p> + You see what he was like? He was frivolous, yet one could never tell when + he would become eloquently earnest. + </p> + <p> + Brainard went off suddenly Westward one day. I suspected that Jessica was + at the bottom of it, but I asked no questions; and I did not hear from him + for months. Then I got a letter from Colorado. + </p> + <p> + “I have married a mountain woman,” he wrote. “None of your puny breed of + modern femininity, but a remnant left over from the heroic ages,—a + primitive woman, grand and vast of spirit, capable of true and steadfast + wifehood. No sophistry about her; no knowledge even that there is + sophistry. Heavens! man, do you remember the rondeaux and triolets I used + to write to those pretty creatures back East? It would take a Saga man of + the old Norseland to write for my mountain woman. If I were an artist, I + would paint her with the north star in her locks and her feet on purple + cloud. I suppose you are at the Pier. I know you usually are at this + season. At any rate, I shall direct this letter thither, and will follow + close after it. I want my wife to see something of life. And I want her to + meet your sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” cried Jessica, when I read the letter to her; “I don't know + that I care to meet anything quite so gigantic as that mountain woman. I'm + one of the puny breed of modern femininity, you know. I don't think my + nerves can stand the encounter.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Jessica!” I protested. She blushed a little. + </p> + <p> + “Don't think bad of me, Victor. But, you see, I've a little scrap-book of + those triolets upstairs.” Then she burst into a peal of irresistible + laughter. “I'm not laughing because I am piqued,” she said frankly. + “Though any one will admit that it is rather irritating to have a man who + left you in a blasted condition recover with such extraordinary + promptness. As a philanthropist, one of course rejoices, but as a woman, + Victor, it must be admitted that one has a right to feel annoyed. But, + honestly, I am not ungenerous, and I am going to do him a favor. I shall + write, and urge him not to bring his wife here. A primitive woman, with + the north star in her hair, would look well down there in the Casino + eating a pineapple ice, wouldn't she? It's all very well to have a soul, + you know; but it won't keep you from looking like a guy among women who + have good dressmakers. I shudder at the thought of what the poor thing + will suffer if he brings her here.” + </p> + <p> + Jessica wrote, as she said she would; but, for all that, a fortnight later + she was walking down the wharf with the “mountain woman,” and I was + sauntering beside Leroy. At dinner Jessica gave me no chance to talk with + our friend's wife, and I only caught the quiet contralto tones of her + voice now and then contrasting with Jessica's vivacious soprano. A + drizzling rain came up from the east with nightfall. Little groups of + shivering men and women sat about in the parlors at the card-tables, and + one blond woman sang love songs. The Brainards were tired with their + journey, and left us early. When they were gone, Jessica burst into + eulogy. + </p> + <p> + “That is the first woman,” she declared, “I ever met who would make a fit + heroine for a book.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will not feel under obligations to educate her, as you + insinuated the other day?” + </p> + <p> + “Educate her! I only hope she will help me to unlearn some of the things I + know. I never saw such simplicity. It is antique!” + </p> + <p> + “You're sure it's not mere vacuity?” “Victor! How can you? But you haven't + talked with her. You must to-morrow. Good-night.” She gathered up her + trailing skirts and started down the corridor. Suddenly she turned back. + “For Heaven's sake!” she whispered, in an awed tone, “I never even noticed + what she had on!” + </p> + <p> + The next morning early we made up a riding party, and I rode with Mrs. + Brainard. She was as tall as I, and sat in her saddle as if quite + unconscious of her animal. The road stretched hard and inviting under our + horses' feet. The wind smelled salt. The sky was ragged with gray masses + of cloud scudding across the blue. I was beginning to glow with + exhilaration, when suddenly my companion drew in her horse. + </p> + <p> + “If you do not mind, we will go back,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Her tone was dejected. I thought she was tired. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” she protested, when I apologized for my thoughtlessness in + bringing her so far. “I'm not tired. I can ride all day. Where I come + from, we have to ride if we want to go anywhere; but here there seems to + be no particular place to—to reach.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you so utilitarian?” I asked, laughingly. “Must you always have some + reason for everything you do? I do so many things just for the mere + pleasure of doing them, I'm afraid you will have a very poor opinion of + me.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not what I mean,” she said, flushing, and turning her large gray + eyes on me. “You must not think I have a reason for everything I do.” She + was very earnest, and it was evident that she was unacquainted with the + art of making conversation. “But what I mean,” she went on, “is that there + is no place—no end—to reach.” She looked back over her + shoulder toward the west, where the trees marked the sky line, and an + expression of loss and dissatisfaction came over her face. “You see,” she + said, apologetically, “I'm used to different things—to the + mountains. I have never been where I could not see them before in my + life.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I see! I suppose it is odd to look up and find them not there.” + </p> + <p> + “It's like being lost, this not having anything around you. At least, I + mean,” she continued slowly, as if her thought could not easily put itself + in words,—“I mean it seems as if a part of the world had been taken + down. It makes you feel lonesome, as if you were living after the world + had begun to die.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll get used to it in a few days. It seems very beautiful to me here. + And then you will have so much life to divert you.” + </p> + <p> + “Life? But there is always that everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean men and women.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Still, I am not used to them. I think I might be not—not very + happy with them. They might think me queer. I think I would like to show + your sister the mountains.” + </p> + <p> + “She has seen them often.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she told me. But I don't mean those pretty green hills such as we saw + coming here. They are not like my mountains. I like mountains that go + beyond the clouds, with terrible shadows in the hollows, and belts of snow + lying in the gorges where the sun cannot reach, and the snow is blue in + the sunshine, or shining till you think it is silver, and the mist so + wonderful all about it, changing each moment and drifting up and down, + that you cannot tell what name to give the colors. These mountains of + yours here in the East are so quiet; mine are shouting all the time, with + the pines and the rivers. The echoes are so loud in the valley that + sometimes, when the wind is rising, we can hardly hear a man talk unless + he raises his voice. There are four cataracts near where I live, and they + all have different voices, just as people do; and one of them is happy—a + little white cataract—and it falls where the sun shines earliest, + and till night it is shining. But the others only get the sun now and + then, and they are more noisy and cruel. One of them is always in the + shadow, and the water looks black. That is partly because the rocks all + underneath it are black. It falls down twenty great ledges in a gorge with + black sides, and a white mist dances all over it at every leap. I tell + father the mist is the ghost of the waters. No man ever goes there; it is + too cold. The chill strikes through one, and makes your heart feel as if + you were dying. But all down the side of the mountain, toward the south + and the west, the sun shines on the granite and draws long points of light + out of it. Father tells me soldiers marching look that way when the sun + strikes on their bayonets. Those are the kind of mountains I mean, Mr. + Grant.” + </p> + <p> + She was looking at me with her face transfigured, as if it, like the + mountains she told me of, had been lying in shadow, and waiting for the + dazzling dawn. + </p> + <p> + “I had a terrible dream once,” she went on; “the most terrible dream ever + I had. I dreamt that the mountains had all been taken down, and that I + stood on a plain to which there was no end. The sky was burning up, and + the grass scorched brown from the heat, and it was twisting as if it were + in pain. And animals, but no other person save myself, only wild things, + were crouching and looking up at that sky. They could not run because + there was no place to which to go.” + </p> + <p> + “You were having a vision of the last man,” I said. “I wonder myself + sometimes whether this old globe of ours is going to collapse suddenly and + take us with her, or whether we will disappear through slow disastrous + ages of fighting and crushing, with hunger and blight to help us to the + end. And then, at the last, perhaps, some luckless fellow, stronger than + the rest, will stand amid the ribs of the rotting earth and go mad.” + </p> + <p> + The woman's eyes were fixed on me, large and luminous. “Yes,” she said; + “he would go mad from the lonesomeness of it. He would be afraid to be + left alone like that with God. No one would want to be taken into God's + secrets.” + </p> + <p> + “And our last man,” I went on, “would have to stand there on that swaying + wreck till even the sound of the crumbling earth ceased. And he would try + to find a voice and would fail, because silence would have come again. And + then the light would go out—” + </p> + <p> + The shudder that crept over her made me stop, ashamed of myself. + </p> + <p> + “You talk like father,” she said, with a long-drawn breath. Then she + looked up suddenly at the sun shining through a rift in those reckless + gray clouds, and put out one hand as if to get it full of the headlong + rollicking breeze. “But the earth is not dying,” she cried. “It is well + and strong, and it likes to go round and round among all the other worlds. + It likes the sun and moon; they are all good friends; and it likes the + people who live on it. Maybe it is they instead of the fire within who + keep it warm; or maybe it is warm just from always going, as we are when + we run. We are young, you and I, Mr. Grant, and Leroy, and your beautiful + sister, and the world is young too!” Then she laughed a strong splendid + laugh, which had never had the joy taken out of it with drawing-room + restrictions; and I laughed too, and felt that we had become very good + companions indeed, and found myself warming to the joy of companionship as + I had not since I was a boy at school. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon the four of us sat at a table in the Casino together. The + Casino, as every one knows, is a place to amuse yourself. If you have a + duty, a mission, or an aspiration, you do not take it there with you, it + would be so obviously out of place; if poverty is ahead of you, you forget + it; if you have brains, you hasten to conceal them; they would be a + serious encumbrance. + </p> + <p> + There was a bubbling of conversation, a rustle and flutter such as there + always is where there are many women. All the place was gay with flowers + and with gowns as bright as the flowers. I remembered the apprehensions of + my sister, and studied Leroy's wife to see how she fitted into this highly + colored picture. She was the only woman in the room who seemed to wear + draperies. The jaunty slash and cut of fashionable attire were missing in + the long brown folds of cloth that enveloped her figure. I felt certain + that even from Jessica's standpoint she could not be called a guy. + Picturesque she might be, past the point of convention, but she was not + ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + “Judith takes all this very seriously,” said Leroy, laughingly. “I suppose + she would take even Paris seriously.” + </p> + <p> + His wife smiled over at him. “Leroy says I am melancholy,” she said, + softly; “but I am always telling him that I am happy. He thinks I am + melancholy because I do not laugh. I got out of the way of it by being so + much alone. You only laugh to let some one else know you are pleased. When + you are alone there is no use in laughing. It would be like explaining + something to yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a philosopher, Judith. Mr. Max Mueller would like to know you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he a friend of yours, dear?” + </p> + <p> + Leroy blushed, and I saw Jessica curl her lip as she noticed the blush. + She laid her hand on Mrs. Brainard's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Have you always been very much alone?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I was born on the ranch, you know; and father was not fond of leaving it. + Indeed, now he says he will never again go out of sight of it. But you can + go a long journey without doing that; for it lies on a plateau in the + valley, and it can be seen from three different mountain passes. Mother + died there, and for that reason and others—father has had a strange + life—he never wanted to go away. He brought a lady from Pennsylvania + to teach me. She had wonderful learning, but she didn't make very much use + of it. I thought if I had learning I would not waste it reading books. I + would use it to—to live with. Father had a library, but I never + cared for it. He was forever at books too. Of course,” she hastened to + add, noticing the look of mortification deepen on her husband's face, “I + like books very well if there is nothing better at hand. But I always said + to Mrs. Windsor—it was she who taught me—why read what other + folk have been thinking when you can go out and think yourself? Of course + one prefers one's own thoughts, just as one prefers one's own ranch, or + one's own father.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are sure to like New York when you go there to live,” cried + Jessica; “for there you will find something to make life entertaining all + the time. No one need fall back on books there.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure. I'm afraid there must be such dreadful crowds of people. Of + course I should try to feel that they were all like me, with just the same + sort of fears, and that it was ridiculous for us to be afraid of each + other, when at heart we all meant to be kind.” + </p> + <p> + Jessica fairly wrung her hands. “Heavens!” she cried. “I said you would + like New York. I am afraid, my dear, that it will break your heart!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Mrs. Brainard, with what was meant to be a gentle jest, “no one + can break my heart except Leroy. I should not care enough about any one + else, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The compliment was an exquisite one. I felt the blood creep to my own + brain in a sort of vicarious rapture, and I avoided looking at Leroy lest + he should dislike to have me see the happiness he must feel. The + simplicity of the woman seemed to invigorate me as the cool air of her + mountains might if it blew to me on some bright dawn, when I had come, + fevered and sick of soul, from the city. + </p> + <p> + When we were alone, Jessica said to me: “That man has too much vanity, and + he thinks it is sensitiveness. He is going to imagine that his wife makes + him suffer. There's no one so brutally selfish as your sensitive man. He + wants every one to live according to his ideas, or he immediately begins + suffering. That friend of yours hasn't the courage of his convictions. He + is going to be ashamed of the very qualities that made him love his wife.” + </p> + <p> + There was a hop that night at the hotel, quite an unusual affair as to + elegance, given in honor of a woman from New York, who wrote a novel a + month. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brainard looked so happy that night when she came in the parlor, + after the music had begun, that I felt a moisture gather in my eyes just + because of the beauty of her joy, and the forced vivacity of the women + about me seemed suddenly coarse and insincere. Some wonderful red stones, + brilliant as rubies, glittered in among the diaphanous black driftings of + her dress. She asked me if the stones were not very pretty, and said she + gathered them in one of her mountain river-beds. + </p> + <p> + “But the gown?” I said. “Surely, you do not gather gowns like that in + river-beds, or pick them off mountain-pines?” + </p> + <p> + “But you can get them in Denver. Father always sent to Denver for my + finery. He was very particular about how I looked. You see, I was all he + had—” She broke off, her voice faltering. + </p> + <p> + “Come over by the window,” I said, to change her thought. “I have + something to repeat to you. It is a song of Sydney Lanier's. I think he + was the greatest poet that ever lived in America, though not many agree + with me. But he is my dear friend anyway, though he is dead, and I never + saw him; and I want you to hear some of his words.” + </p> + <p> + I led her across to an open window. The dancers were whirling by us. The + waltz was one of those melancholy ones which speak the spirit of the dance + more eloquently than any merry melody can. The sound of the sea booming + beyond in the darkness came to us, and long paths of light, now red, now + green, stretched toward the distant light-house. These were the lines I + repeated:— + </p> +<p class="poetry"> + “What heartache—ne'er a hill! + Inexorable, vapid, vague, and chill + The drear sand levels drain my spirit low. + With one poor word they tell me all they know; + Whereat their stupid tongues, to tease my pain, + Do drawl it o'er and o'er again. + They hurt my heart with griefs I cannot name; + Always the same—the same.” + </p> + <p> + But I got no further. I felt myself moved with a sort of passion which did + not seem to come from within, but to be communicated to me from her. A + certain unfamiliar happiness pricked through with pain thrilled me, and I + heard her whispering,— + </p> + <p> + “Do not go on, do not go on! I cannot stand it to-night!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” I whispered back; “come out for a moment!” We stole into the dusk + without, and stood there trembling. I swayed with her emotion. There was a + long silence. Then she said: “Father may be walking alone now by the black + cataract. That is where he goes when he is sad. I can see how lonely he + looks among those little twisted pines that grow from the rock. And he + will be remembering all the evenings we walked there together, and all the + things we said.” I did not answer. Her eyes were still on the sea. + </p> + <p> + “What was the name of the man who wrote that verse you just said to me?” + </p> + <p> + I told her. + </p> + <p> + “And he is dead? Did they bury him in the mountains? No? I wish I could + have put him where he could have heard those four voices calling down the + canyon.” + </p> + <p> + “Come back in the house,” I said; “you must come, indeed,” I said, as she + shrank from re-entering. + </p> + <p> + Jessica was dancing like a fairy with Leroy. They both saw us and smiled + as we came in, and a moment later they joined us. I made my excuses and + left my friends to Jessica's care. She was a sort of social tyrant + wherever she was, and I knew one word from her would insure the popularity + of our friends—not that they needed the intervention of any one. + Leroy had been a sort of drawing-room pet since before he stopped wearing + knickerbockers. + </p> + <p> + “He is at his best in a drawing-room,” said Jessica, “because there he + deals with theory and not with action. And he has such beautiful theories + that the women, who are all idealists, adore him.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning I awoke with a conviction that I had been idling too + long. I went back to the city and brushed the dust from my desk. Then each + morning, I, as Jessica put it, “formed public opinion” to the extent of + one column a day in the columns of a certain enterprising morning journal. + </p> + <p> + Brainard said I had treated him shabbily to leave upon the heels of his + coming. But a man who works for his bread and butter must put a limit to + his holiday. It is different when you only work to add to your general + picturesqueness. That is what I wrote Leroy, and it was the unkindest + thing I ever said to him; and why I did it I do not know to this day. I + was glad, though, when he failed to answer the letter. It gave me a more + reasonable excuse for feeling out of patience with him. + </p> + <p> + The days that followed were very dull. It was hard to get back into the + way of working. I was glad when Jessica came home to set up our little + establishment and to join in the autumn gayeties. Brainard brought his + wife to the city soon after, and went to housekeeping in an odd sort of a + way. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't see anything in the place save curios,” Jessica reported, + after her first call on them. “I suppose there is a cookingstove + somewhere, and maybe even a pantry with pots in it. But all I saw was + Alaska totems and Navajo blankets. They have as many skins around on the + floor and couches as would have satisfied an ancient Briton. And everybody + was calling there. You know Mr. Brainard runs to curios in selecting his + friends as well as his furniture. The parlors were full this afternoon of + abnormal people, that is to say, with folks one reads about. I was the + only one there who hadn't done something. I guess it's because I am too + healthy.” + </p> + <p> + “How did Mrs. Brainard like such a motley crew?” + </p> + <p> + “She was wonderful—perfectly wonderful! Those insulting creatures + were all studying her, and she knew it. But her dignity was perfect, and + she looked as proud as a Sioux chief. She listened to every one, and they + all thought her so bright.” + </p> + <p> + “Brainard must have been tremendously proud of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he was—of her and his Chilcat portieres.” + </p> + <p> + Jessica was there often, but—well, I was busy. At length, however, I + was forced to go. Jessica refused to make any further excuses for me. The + rooms were filled with small celebrities. + </p> + <p> + “We are the only nonentities,” whispered Jessica, as she looked around; + “it will make us quite distinguished.” + </p> + <p> + We went to speak to our hostess. She stood beside her husband, looking + taller than ever; and her face was white. Her long red gown of clinging + silk was so peculiar as to give one the impression that she was dressed in + character. It was easy to tell that it was one of Leroy's fancies. I + hardly heard what she said, but I know she reproached me gently for not + having been to see them. I had no further word with her till some one led + her to the piano, and she paused to say,— + </p> + <p> + “That poet you spoke of to me—the one you said was a friend of yours—he + is my friend now too, and I have learned to sing some of his songs. I am + going to sing one now.” She seemed to have no timidity at all, but stood + quietly, with a half smile, while a young man with a Russian name played a + strange minor prelude. Then she sang, her voice a wonderful contralto, + cold at times, and again lit up with gleams of passion. The music itself + was fitful, now full of joy, now tender, and now sad: + </p> +<p class="poetry"> + “Look off, dear love, across the sallow sands, + And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea, + How long they kiss in sight of all the lands, + Ah! longer, longer we.” + </p> + <p> + “She has a genius for feeling, hasn't she?” Leroy whispered to me. + </p> + <p> + “A genius for feeling!” I repeated, angrily. “Man, she has a heart and a + soul and a brain, if that is what you mean! I shouldn't think you would be + able to look at her from the standpoint of a critic.” + </p> + <p> + Leroy shrugged his shoulders and went off. For a moment I almost hated him + for not feeling more resentful. I felt as if he owed it to his wife to + take offence at my foolish speech. + </p> + <p> + It was evident that the “mountain woman” had become the fashion. I read + reports in the papers about her unique receptions. I saw her name printed + conspicuously among the list of those who attended all sorts of dinners + and musicales and evenings among the set that affected intellectual + pursuits. She joined a number of women's clubs of an exclusive kind. + </p> + <p> + “She is doing whatever her husband tells her to,” said Jessica. “Why, the + other day I heard her ruining her voice on 'Siegfried'!” + </p> + <p> + But from day to day I noticed a difference in her. She developed a + terrible activity. She took personal charge of the affairs of her house; + she united with Leroy in keeping the house filled with guests; she got on + the board of a hospital for little children, and spent a part of every day + among the cots where the sufferers lay. Now and then when we spent a quiet + evening alone with her and Leroy, she sewed continually on little white + night-gowns for these poor babies. She used her carriage to take the most + extraordinary persons riding. + </p> + <p> + “In the cause of health,” Leroy used to say, “I ought to have the carriage + fumigated after every ride Judith takes, for she is always accompanied by + some one who looks as if he or she should go into quarantine.” + </p> + <p> + One night, when he was chaffing her in this way, she flung her sewing + suddenly from her and sprang to her feet, as if she were going to give way + to a burst of girlish temper. Instead of that, a stream of tears poured + from her eyes, and she held out her trembling hands toward Jessica. + </p> + <p> + “He does not know,” she sobbed. “He cannot understand.” + </p> + <p> + One memorable day Leroy hastened over to us while we were still at + breakfast to say that Judith was ill,—strangely ill. All night long + she had been muttering to herself as if in a delirium. Yet she answered + lucidly all questions that were put to her. + </p> + <p> + “She begs for Miss Grant. She says over and over that she 'knows,' + whatever that may mean.” + </p> + <p> + When Jessica came home she told me she did not know. She only felt that a + tumult of impatience was stirring in her friend. + </p> + <p> + “There is something majestic about her,-something epic. I feel as if she + were making me live a part in some great drama, the end of which I cannot + tell. She is suffering, but I cannot tell why she suffers.” + </p> + <p> + Weeks went on without an abatement in this strange illness. She did not + keep her bed. Indeed, she neglected few of her usual occupations. But her + hands were burning, and her eyes grew bright with that wild sort of lustre + one sees in the eyes of those who give themselves up to strange drugs or + manias. She grew whimsical, and formed capricious friendships, only to + drop them. + </p> + <p> + And then one day she closed her house to all acquaintances, and sat alone + continually in her room, with her hands clasped in her lap, and her eyes + swimming with the emotions that never found their way to her tongue. + </p> + <p> + Brainard came to the office to talk with me about her one day. “I am a + very miserable man, Grant,” he said. “I am afraid I have lost my wife's + regard. Oh, don't tell me it is partly my fault. I know it well enough. + And I know you haven't had a very good opinion of me lately. But I am + remorseful enough now, God knows. And I would give my life to see her as + she was when I found her first among the mountains. Why, she used to climb + them like a strong man, and she was forever shouting and singing. And she + had peopled every spot with strange modern mythological creatures. Her + father is an old dreamer, and she got the trick from him. They had a + little telescope on a great knoll in the centre of the valley, just where + it commanded a long path of stars, and they used to spend nights out there + when the frost literally fell in flakes. When I think how hardy and gay + she was, how full of courage and life, and look at her now, so feverish + and broken, I feel as if I should go mad. You know I never meant to do her + any harm. Tell me that much, Grant.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you were very egotistical for a while, Brainard, and that is a + fact. And you didn't appreciate how much her nature demanded. But I do not + think you are responsible for your wife's present condition. If there is + any comfort in that statement, you are welcome to it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't mean—” he got no further. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that your wife may have her reservations, just as we all have, and + I am paying her high praise when I say it. You are not so narrow, Leroy, + as to suppose for a moment that the only sort of passion a woman is + capable of is that which she entertains for a man. How do I know what is + going on in your wife's soul? But it is nothing which even an idealist of + women, such as I am, old fellow, need regret.” + </p> + <p> + How glad I was afterward that I spoke those words. They exercised a little + restraint, perhaps, on Leroy when the day of his terrible trial came. They + made him wrestle with the demon of suspicion that strove to possess him. I + was sitting in my office, lagging dispiritedly over my work one day, when + the door burst open and Brainard stood beside me. Brainard, I say, and yet + in no sense the man I had known,—not a hint in this pale creature, + whose breath struggled through chattering teeth, and whose hands worked in + uncontrollable spasms, of the nonchalant elegant I had known. Not a + glimpse to be seen in those angry and determined eyes of the gayly selfish + spirit of my holiday friend. + </p> + <p> + “She's gone!” he gasped. “Since yesterday. And I'm here to ask you what + you think now? And what you know.” + </p> + <p> + A panorama of all shameful possibilities for one black moment floated + before me. I remember this gave place to a wave, cold as death, that swept + from head to foot; then Brainard's hands fell heavily on my shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God at least for this much,” he said, hoarsely; “I didn't know at + first but I had lost both friend and wife. But I see you know nothing. And + indeed in my heart I knew all the time that you did not. Yet I had to come + to you with my anger. And I remembered how you defended her. What + explanation can you offer now?” + </p> + <p> + I got him to sit down after a while and tell me what little there was to + tell. He had been away for a day's shooting, and when he returned he found + only the perplexed servants at home. A note was left for him. He showed it + to me. + </p> + <p> + “There are times,” it ran, “when we must do as we must, not as we would. I + am going to do something I have been driven to do since I left my home. I + do not leave any message of love for you, because you would not care for + it from a woman so weak as I. But it is so easy for you to be happy that I + hope in a little while you will forget the wife who yielded to an + influence past resisting. It may be madness, but I am not great enough to + give it up. I tried to make the sacrifice, but I could not. I tried to be + as gay as you, and to live your sort of life; but I could not do it. Do + not make the effort to forgive me. You will be happier if you simply hold + me in the contempt I deserve.” + </p> + <p> + I read the letter over and over. I do not know that I believe that the + spirit of inanimate things can permeate to the intelligence of man. I am + sure I always laughed at such ideas. Yet holding that note with its + shameful seeming words, I felt a consciousness that it was written in + purity and love. And then before my eyes there came a scene so vivid that + for a moment the office with its familiar furniture was obliterated. What + I saw was a long firm road, green with midsummer luxuriance. The leisurely + thudding of my horse's feet sounded in my ears. Beside me was a tall, + black-robed figure. I saw her look back with that expression of + deprivation at the sky line. “It's like living after the world has begun + to die,” said the pensive minor voice. “It seems as if part of the world + had been taken down.” + </p> + <p> + “Brainard,” I yelled, “come here! I have it. Here's your explanation. I + can show you a new meaning for every line of this letter. Man, she has + gone to the mountains. She has gone to worship her own gods!” + </p> + <p> + Two weeks later I got a letter from Brainard, dated from Colorado. + </p> + <p> + “Old man,” it said, “you're right. She is here. I found my mountain woman + here where the four voices of her cataracts had been calling to her. I saw + her the moment our mules rounded the road that commands the valley. We had + been riding all night and were drenched with cold dew, hungry to + desperation, and my spirits were of lead. Suddenly we got out from behind + the granite wall, and there she was, standing, where I had seen her so + often, beside the little waterfall that she calls the happy one. She was + looking straight up at the billowing mist that dipped down the mountain, + mammoth saffron rolls of it, plunging so madly from the impetus of the + wind that one marvelled how it could be noiseless. Ah, you do not know + Judith! That strange, unsophisticated, sometimes awkward woman you saw + bore no more resemblance to my mountain woman than I to Hercules. How + strong and beautiful she looked standing there wrapped in an ecstasy! It + was my primitive woman back in her primeval world. How the blood leaped in + me! All my old romance, so different from the common love-histories of + most men, was there again within my reach! All the mystery, the poignant + happiness were mine again. Do not hold me in contempt because I show you + my heart. You saw my misery. Why should I grudge you a glimpse of my + happiness? She saw me when I touched her hand, not before, so wrapped was + she. But she did not seem surprised. Only in her splendid eyes there came + a large content. She pointed to the dancing little white fall. 'I thought + something wonderful was going to happen,' she whispered, 'for it has been + laughing so.' + </p> + <p> + “I shall not return to New York. I am going to stay here with my mountain + woman, and I think perhaps I shall find out what life means here sooner + than I would back there with you. I shall learn to see large things large + and small things small. Judith says to tell you and Miss Grant that the + four voices are calling for you every day in the valley. + </p> + <p> + “Yours in fullest friendship, + </p> + <p> + “LEROY BRAINARD.” + </p> + <p> + Jim Lancy's Waterloo + </p> + <p> + “WE must get married before time to put in crops,” he wrote. “We must make + a success of the farm the first year, for luck. Could you manage to be + ready to come out West by the last of February? After March opens there + will be no let-up, and I do not see how I could get away. Make it + February, Annie dear. A few weeks more or less can make no difference to + you, but they make a good deal of difference to me.” + </p> + <p> + The woman to whom this was written read it with something like anger. “I + don't believe he's so impatient for me!” she said to herself. “What he + wants is to get the crops in on time.” But she changed the date of their + wedding, and made it February. + </p> + <p> + Their wedding journey was only from the Illinois village where she lived + to their Nebraska farm. They had never been much together, and they had + much to say to each other. + </p> + <p> + “Farming won't come hard to you,” Jim assured her. “All one needs to farm + with is brains.” + </p> + <p> + “What a success you'll make of it!” she cried saucily. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had my farm clear,” Jim went on; “but that's more than any one + has around me. I'm no worse off than the rest. We've got to pay off the + mortgage, Annie.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course we must. We'll just do without till we get the mortgage lifted. + Hard work will do anything, I guess. And I'm not afraid to work, Jim, + though I've never had much experience.” + </p> + <p> + Jim looked out of the window a long time, at the gentle undulations of the + brown Iowa prairie. His eyes seemed to pierce beneath the sod, to the + swelling buds of the yet invisible grass. He noticed how disdainfully the + rains of the new year beat down the grasses of the year that was gone. It + opened to his mind a vision of the season's possibilities. For a moment, + even amid the smoke of the car, he seemed to scent clover, and hear the + stiff swishing of the corn and the dull burring of the bees. + </p> + <p> + “I wish sometimes,” he said, leaning forward to look at his bride, “that I + had been born something else than a farmer. But I can no more help + farming, Annie, than a bird can help singing, or a bee making honey. I + didn't take to farming. I was simply born with a hoe in my hand.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know a blessed thing about it,” Annie confessed. “But I made up + my mind that a farm with you was better than a town without you. That's + all there is to it, as far as I am concerned.” + </p> + <p> + Jim Lancy slid his arm softly about her waist, unseen by the other + passengers. Annie looked up apprehensively, to see if any one was + noticing. But they were eating their lunches. It was a common coach on + which they were riding. There was a Pullman attached to the train, and + Annie had secretly thought that, as it was their wedding journey, it might + be more becoming to take it. But Jim had made no suggestion about it. What + he said later explained the reason. + </p> + <p> + “I would have liked to have brought you a fine present,” he said. “It + seemed shabby to come with nothing but that little ring. But I put + everything I had on our home, you know. And yet, I'm sure you'll think it + poor enough after what you've been used to. You'll forgive me for only + bringing the ring, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “But you brought me something better,” Annie whispered. She was a foolish + little girl. “You brought me love, you know.” Then they rode in silence + for a long time. Both of them were new to the phraseology of love. Their + simple compliments to each other were almost ludicrous. But any one who + might have chanced to overhear them would have been charmed, for they + betrayed an innocence as beautiful as an unclouded dawn. + </p> + <p> + Annie tried hard not to be depressed by the treeless stretches of the + Nebraska plains. + </p> + <p> + “This is different from Illinois,” she ventured once, gently; “it is even + different from Iowa.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” cried Jim, enthusiastically, “it is different! It is the + finest country in the world! You never feel shut in. You can always see + off. I feel at home after I get in Nebraska. I'd choke back where you + live, with all those little gullies and the trees everywhere. It's a + mystery to me how farmers have patience to work there.” + </p> + <p> + Annie opened her eyes. There was evidently more than one way of looking at + a question. The farm-houses seemed very low and mean to her, as she looked + at them from the window. There were no fences, excepting now and then the + inhospitable barbed wire. The door-yards were bleak to her eyes, without + the ornamental shrubbery which every farmer in her part of the country was + used to tending. The cattle stood unshedded in their corrals. The reapers + and binders stood rusting in the dull drizzle. + </p> + <p> + “How shiftless!” cried Annie, indignantly. “What do these men mean by + letting their machinery lie out that way? I should think one winter of + lying out would hurt it more than three summers of using.” + </p> + <p> + “It does. But sheds are not easily had. Lumber is dear.” + </p> + <p> + “But I should think it would be economy even then.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “perhaps. But we all do that way out here. It takes some + money for a man to be economical with. Some of us haven't even that much.” + </p> + <p> + There was a six-mile ride from the station. The horses were waiting, + hitched up to a serviceable light wagon, and driven by the “help.” He was + a thin young man, with red hair, and he blushed vicariously for Jim and + Annie, who were really too entertained with each other, and at the idea of + the new life opening up before them, to think anything about blushing. At + the station, a number of men insisted on shaking hands with Jim, and being + introduced to his wife. They were all bearded, as if shaving were an + unnecessary labor, and their trousers were tucked in dusty top-boots, none + of which had ever seen blacking. Annie had a sense of these men seeming + unwashed, or as if they had slept in their clothes. But they had kind + voices, and their eyes were very friendly. So she shook hands with them + all with heartiness, and asked them to drive out and bring their + womenkind. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to make up my mind not to be lonesome,” she declared; “but, + all the same, I shall want to see some women.” + </p> + <p> + Annie had got safe on the high seat of the wagon, and was balancing her + little feet on the inclined foot-rest, when a woman came running across + the street, calling aloud,— + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Lancy! Mr. Lancy! You're not going to drive away without introducing + me to your wife!” + </p> + <p> + She was a thin little woman, with movements as nervous and as graceless as + those of a grasshopper. Her dun-colored garments seemed to have all the + hue bleached out of them with wind and weather. Her face was brown and + wrinkled, and her bright eyes flashed restlessly, deep in their sockets. + Two front teeth were conspicuously missing; and her faded hair was blown + in wisps about her face. Jim performed the introduction, and Annie held + out her hand. It was a pretty hand, delicately gloved in dove color. The + woman took it in her own, and after she had shaken it, held it for a + silent moment, looking at it. Then she almost threw it from her. The eyes + which she lifted to scan the bright young face above her had something + like agony in them. Annie blushed under this fierce scrutiny, and the + woman, suddenly conscious of her demeanor, forced a smile to her lips. + </p> + <p> + “I'll come out an' see yeh,” she said, in cordial tones. “May be, as a new + housekeeper, you'll like a little advice. You've a nice place, an' I wish + yeh luck.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. I'm sure I'll need advice,” cried Annie, as they drove off. + Then she said to Jim, “Who is that old woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Old woman? Why, she ain't a day over thirty, Mis' Dundy ain't.” + </p> + <p> + Annie looked at her husband blankly. But he was already talking of + something else, and she asked no more about the woman, though all the way + along the road the face seemed to follow her. It might have been this that + caused the tightening about her heart. For some way her vivacity had gone; + and the rest of the ride she asked no questions, but sat looking straight + before her at the northward stretching road, with eyes that felt rather + than saw the brown, bare undulations, rising every now and then clean to + the sky; at the side, little famished-looking houses, unacquainted with + paint, disorderly yards, and endless reaches of furrowed ground, where in + summer the corn had waved. + </p> + <p> + The horses needed no indication of the line to make them turn up a smooth + bit of road that curved away neatly 'mid the ragged grasses. At the end of + it, in a clump of puny scrub oaks, stood a square little house, in + uncorniced simplicity, with blank, uncurtained windows staring out at + Annie, and for a moment her eyes, blurred with the cold, seemed to see in + one of them the despairing face of the woman with the wisps of faded hair + blowing about her face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think of it?” Jim cried, heartily, swinging her down + from her high seat, and kissing her as he did so. “This is your home, my + girl, and you are as welcome to it as you would be to a palace, if I could + give it to you.” + </p> + <p> + Annie put up her hands to hide the trembling of her lips; and she let Jim + see there were tears in her eyes as an apology for not replying. The young + man with the red hair took away the horses, and Jim, with his arm around + his wife's waist, ran toward the house and threw open the door for her to + enter. The intense heat of two great stoves struck in their faces; and + Annie saw the big burner, erected in all its black hideousness in the + middle of the front room, like a sort of household hoodoo, to be + constantly propitiated, like the gods of Greece; and in the kitchen, the + new range, with a distracted tea-kettle leaping on it, as if it would like + to loose its fetters and race away over the prairie after its cousin, the + locomotive. + </p> + <p> + It was a house of four rooms, and a glance revealed the fact that it had + been provided with the necessaries. + </p> + <p> + “I think we can be very comfortable here,” said Jim, rather doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + Annie saw she must make some response. “I am sure we can be more than + comfortable, Jim,” she replied. “We can be happy. Show me, if you please, + where my room is. I must hang my cloak up in the right place so that I + shall feel as if I were getting settled.” + </p> + <p> + It was enough. Jim had no longer any doubts. He felt sure they were going + to be happy ever afterward. + </p> + <p> + It was Annie who got the first meal; she insisted on it, though both the + men wanted her to rest. And Jim hadn't the heart to tell her that, as a + general thing, it would not do to put two eggs in the corn-cake, and that + the beefsteak was a great luxury. When he saw her about to break an egg + for the coffee, however, he interfered. + </p> + <p> + “The shells of the ones you used for the cake will settle the coffee just + as well,” he said. “You see we have to be very careful of eggs out here at + this season.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Will the shells really settle it? This is what you must call prairie + lore. I suppose out here we find out what the real relations of invention + and necessity are—eh?” + </p> + <p> + Jim laughed disproportionately. He thought her wonderfully witty. And he + and the help ate so much that Annie opened her eyes. She had thought there + would be enough left for supper. But there was nothing left. + </p> + <p> + For the next two weeks Jim was able to be much with her; and they amused + themselves by decorating the house with the bright curtainings that Annie + had brought, and putting up shelves for a few pieces of china. She had two + or three pictures, also, which had come from her room in her old home, and + some of those useless dainty things with which some women like to litter + the room. + </p> + <p> + “Most folks,” Jim explained, “have to be content with one fire, and sit in + the kitchen; but I thought, as this was our honeymoon, we would put on + some lugs.” + </p> + <p> + Annie said nothing then; but a day or two after she ventured,— + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it would be as well now, dear, if we kept in the kitchen. I'll + keep it as bright and pleasant as I can. And, anyway, you can be more + about with me when I'm working then. We'll lay a fire in the front-room + stove, so that we can light it if anybody comes. We can just as well save + that much.” + </p> + <p> + Jim looked up brightly. “All right,” he said. “You're a sensible little + woman. You see, every cent makes a difference. And I want to be able to + pay off five hundred dollars of that mortgage this year.” + </p> + <p> + So, after that, they sat in the kitchen; and the fire was laid in the + front room, against the coming of company. But no one came, and it + remained unlighted. + </p> + <p> + Then the season began to show signs of opening,—bleak signs, hardly + recognizable to Annie; and after that Jim was not much in the house. The + weeks wore on, and spring came at last, dancing over the hills. The + ground-birds began building, and at four each morning awoke Annie with + their sylvan opera. The creek that ran just at the north of the house + worked itself into a fury and blustered along with much noise toward the + great Platte which, miles away, wallowed in its vast sandy bed. The hills + flushed from brown to yellow, and from mottled green to intensest emerald, + and in the superb air all the winds of heaven seemed to meet and frolic + with laughter and song. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes the mornings were so beautiful that, the men being afield and + Annie all alone, she gave herself up to an ecstasy and kneeled by the + little wooden bench outside the door, to say, “Father, I thank Thee,” and + then went about her work with all the poem of nature rhyming itself over + and over in her heart. + </p> + <p> + It was on such a day as this that Mrs. Dundy kept her promise and came + over to see if the young housekeeper needed any of the advice she had + promised her. She had walked, because none of the horses could be spared. + It had got so warm now that the fire in the kitchen heated the whole house + sufficiently, and Annie had the rooms clean to exquisiteness. Mrs. Dundy + looked about with envious eyes. + </p> + <p> + “How lovely!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” cried Annie, in surprise. “I like it, of course, + because it is home, but I don't see how you could call anything here + lovely.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you don't understand,” her visitor went on. “It's lovely because it + looks so happy. Some of us have—well, kind o' lost our grip.” + </p> + <p> + “It's easy to do that if you don't feel well,” Annie remarked + sympathetically. “I haven't felt as well as usual myself, lately. And I do + get lonesome and wonder what good it does to fix up every day when there + is no one to see. But that is all nonsense, and I put it out of my head.” + </p> + <p> + She smoothed out the clean lawn apron with delicate touch. Mrs. Dundy + followed the movement with her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear,” she cried, “you don't know nothin' about it yet! But you + will know! You will!” and those restless, hot eyes of hers seemed to grow + more restless and more hot as they looked with infinite pity at the young + woman before her. + </p> + <p> + Annie thought of these words often as the summer came on, and the heat + grew. Jim was seldom to be seen now. He was up at four each morning, and + the last chore was not completed till nine at night. Then he threw himself + in bed and lay there log-like till dawn. He was too weary to talk much, + and Annie, with her heart aching for his fatigue, forbore to speak to him. + She cooked the most strengthening things she could, and tried always to + look fresh and pleasant when he came in. But she often thought her pains + were in vain, for he hardly rested his sunburned eyes on her. His skin got + so brown that his face was strangely changed, especially as he no longer + had time to shave, and had let a rough beard straggle over his cheeks and + chin. On Sundays Annie would have liked to go to church, but the horses + were too tired to be taken out, and she did not feel well enough to walk + far; besides, Jim got no particular good out of walking over the hills + unless he had a plough in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Harvest came at length, and the crop was good. There were any way from + three to twenty men at the house then, and Annie cooked for all of them. + Jim had tried to get some one to help her, but he had not succeeded. Annie + strove to be brave, remembering that farm-women all over the country were + working in similar fashion. But in spite of all she could do, the days got + to seem like nightmares, and sleep between was but a brief pause in which + she was always dreaming of water, and thinking that she was stooping to + put fevered lips to a running brook. Some of these men were very + disgusting to Annie. Their manners were as bad as they could well be, and + a coarse word came naturally to their lips. + </p> + <p> + “To be master of the soil, that is one thing,” said she to herself in + sickness of spirit; “but to be the slave of it is another. These men seem + to have got their souls all covered with muck.” She noticed that they had + no idea of amusement. They had never played anything. They did not even + care for base-ball. Their idea of happiness appeared to be to do nothing; + and there was a good part of the year in which they were happy,—for + these were not for the most part men owning farms; they were men who hired + out to help the farmer. A good many of them had been farmers at one time + and another, but they had failed. They all talked politics a great deal,—politics + and railroads. Annie had not much patience with it all. She had great + confidence in the course of things. She believed that in this country all + men have a fair chance. So when it came about that the corn and the wheat, + which had been raised with such incessant toil, brought them no money, but + only a loss, Annie stood aghast. + </p> + <p> + “I said the rates were ruinous,” Jim said to her one night, after it was + all over, and he had found out that the year's slavish work had brought + him a loss of three hundred dollars; “it's been a conspiracy from the + first. The price of corn is all right. But by the time we set it down in + Chicago we are out eighteen cents a bushel. It means ruin. What are we + going to do? Here we had the best crop we've had for years—but + what's the use of talking! They have us in their grip.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how it is,” Annie protested. “I should think it would be for + the interest of the roads to help the people to be as prosperous as + possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we can't get out! And we're bound to stay and raise grain. And + they're bound to cart it. And that's all there is to it. They force us to + stand every loss, even to the shortage that is made in transportation. The + railroad companies own the elevators, and they have the cinch on us. Our + grain is at their mercy. God knows how I'm going to raise that interest. + As for the five hundred we were going to pay on the mortgage this year, + Annie, we're not in it.” + </p> + <p> + Autumn was well set in by this time, and the brilliant cold sky hung over + the prairies as young and fresh as if the world were not old and tired. + Annie no longer could look as trim as when she first came to the little + house. Her pretty wedding garments were beginning to be worn and there was + no money for more. Jim would not play chess now of evenings. He was + forever writing articles for the weekly paper in the adjoining town. They + talked of running him for the state legislature, and he was anxious for + the nomination. + </p> + <p> + “I think I might be able to stand it if I could fight 'em!” he declared; + “but to sit here idle, knowing that I have been cheated out of my year's + work, just as much as if I had been knocked down on the road and the money + taken from me, is enough to send me to the asylum with a strait-jacket + on!” + </p> + <p> + Life grew to take on tragic aspects. Annie used to find herself wondering + if anywhere in the world there were people with light hearts. For her + there was no longer anticipation of joy, or present companionship, or any + divertissement in the whole world. Jim read books which she did not + understand, and with a few of his friends, who dropped in now and then + evenings or Sundays, talked about these books in an excited manner. + </p> + <p> + She would go to her room to rest, and lying there in the darkness on the + bed, would hear them speaking together, sometimes all at once, in those + sternly vindictive tones men use when there is revolt in their souls. + </p> + <p> + “It is the government which is helping to impoverish us,” she would hear + Jim saying. “Work is money. That is to say, it is the active form of + money. The wealth of a country is estimated by its power of production. + And its power of production means work. It means there are so many men + with so much capacity. Now the government owes it to these men to have + money enough to pay them for their work; and if there is not enough money + in circulation to pay to each man for his honest and necessary work, then + I say that government is in league with crime. It is trying to make + defaulters of us. It has a hundred ways of cheating us. When I bought this + farm and put the mortgage on it, a day's work would bring twice the + results it will now. That is to say, the total at the end of the year + showed my profits to be twice what they would be now, even if the railway + did not stand in the way to rob us of more than we earn. So that it will + take just twice as many days' work now to pay off this mortgage as it + would have done at the time it was contracted. It's a conspiracy, I tell + you! Those Eastern capitalists make a science of ruining us.” + </p> + <p> + He got more eloquent as time went on, and Annie, who had known him first + as rather a careless talker, was astonished at the boldness of his + language. But conversation was a lost art with him. He no longer talked. + He harangued. + </p> + <p> + In the early spring Annie's baby was born,—a little girl with a + nervous cry, who never slept long at a time, and who seemed to wail merely + from distaste at living. It was Mrs. Dundy who came over to look after the + house till Annie got able to do so. Her eyes had that fever in them, as + ever. She talked but little, but her touch on Annie's head was more + eloquent than words. One day Annie asked for the glass, and Mrs. Dundy + gave it to her. She looked in it a long time. The color was gone from her + cheeks, and about her mouth there was an ugly tightening. But her eyes + flashed and shone with that same—no, no, it could not be that in her + face also was coming the look of half-madness! She motioned Mrs. Dundy to + come to her. + </p> + <p> + “You knew it was coming,” she said, brokenly, pointing to the reflection + in the glass. “That first day, you knew how it would be.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dundy took the glass away with a gentle hand. + </p> + <p> + “How could I help knowing?” she said simply. She went into the next room, + and when she returned Annie noticed that the handkerchief stuck in her + belt was wet, as if it had been wept on. + </p> + <p> + A woman cannot stay long away from her home on a farm at planting time, + even if it is a case of life and death. Mrs. Dundy had to go home, and + Annie crept about her work with the wailing baby in her arms. The house + was often disorderly now; but it could not be helped. The baby had to be + cared for. It fretted so much that Jim slept apart in the mow of the barn, + that his sleep might not be disturbed. It was a pleasant, dim place, full + of sweet scents, and he liked to be there alone. Though he had always been + an unusual worker, he worked now more like a man who was fighting off + fate, than a mere toiler for bread. + </p> + <p> + The corn came up beautifully, and far as the eye could reach around their + home it tossed its broad green leaves with an oceanlike swelling of + sibilant sound. Jim loved it with a sort of passion. Annie loved it, too. + Sometimes, at night, when her fatigue was unbearable, and her irritation + wearing out both body and soul, she took her little one in her arms and + walked among the corn, letting its rustling soothe the baby to sleep. + </p> + <p> + The heat of the summer was terrible. The sun came up in that blue sky like + a curse, and hung there till night came to comfort the blistering earth. + And one morning a terrible thing happened. Annie was standing out of doors + in the shade of those miserable little oaks, ironing, when suddenly a + blast of air struck her in the face, which made her look up startled. For + a moment she thought, perhaps, there was a fire near in the grass. But + there was none. Another blast came, hotter this time, and fifteen minutes + later that wind was sweeping straight across the plain, burning and + blasting. Annie went in the house to finish her ironing, and was working + there, when she heard Jim's footstep on the door-sill. He could not pale + because of the tan, but there was a look of agony and of anger-almost + brutish anger—in his eyes. Then he looked, for a moment, at Annie + standing there working patiently, and rocking the little crib with one + foot, and he sat down on the door-step and buried his face in his brown + arms. + </p> + <p> + The wind blew for three days. At the end of that time every ear was + withered in the stalk. The corn crop was ruined. + </p> + <p> + But there were the other crops which must be attended to, and Jim watched + those with the alertness of a despairing man; and so harvest came again, + and again the house was filled with men who talked their careless talk, + and who were not ashamed to gorge while this one woman cooked for them. + The baby lay on a quilt on the floor in the coolest part of the kitchen. + Annie fed it irregularly. Sometimes she almost forgot it. As for its + wailing, she had grown so used to it that she hardly heard it, any more + than she did the ticking of the clock. And yet, tighter than anything else + in life, was the hold that little thing had on her heart-strings. At + night, after the interminable work had been finished—though in + slovenly fashion—she would take it up and caress it with fierceness, + and worn as she was, would bathe it and soothe it, and give it warm milk + from the big tin pail. + </p> + <p> + “Lay the child down,” Jim would say impatiently, while the men would tell + how their wives always put the babies on the bed and let them cry if they + wanted to. Annie said nothing, but she hushed the little one with tender + songs. + </p> + <p> + One day, as usual, it lay on its quilt while Annie worked. It was a + terribly busy morning. She had risen at four to get the washing out of the + way before the men got on hand, and there were a dozen loaves of bread to + bake, and the meals to get, and the milk to attend to, and the chickens + and pigs to feed. So occupied was she that she never was able to tell how + long she was gone from the baby. She only knew that the heat of her own + body was so great that the blood seemed to be pounding at her ears, and + she staggered as she crossed the yard. But when she went at last with a + cup of milk to feed the little one, it lay with clenched fists and fixed + eyes, and as she lifted it, a last convulsion laid it back breathless, and + its heart had ceased to beat. + </p> + <p> + Annie ran with it to her room, and tried such remedies as she had. But + nothing could keep the chill from creeping over the wasted little form,—not + even the heat of the day, not even the mother's agonized embrace. Then, + suddenly, Annie looked at the clock. It was time to get the dinner. She + laid the piteous tiny shape straight on the bed, threw a sheet over it, + and went back to the weltering kitchen to cook for those men, who came at + noon and who must be fed—who must be fed. + </p> + <p> + When they were all seated at the table, Jim among them, and she had served + them, she said, standing at the head of the table, with her hands on her + hips:— + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose any of you have time to do anything about it; but I + thought you might like to know that the baby is dead. I wouldn't think of + asking you to spare the horses, for I know they have to rest. But I + thought, if you could make out on a cold supper, that I would go to the + town for a coffin.” + </p> + <p> + There was satire in the voice that stung even through the dull perceptions + of these men, and Jim arose with a cry and went to the room where his dead + baby lay. + </p> + <p> + About two months after this Annie insisted that she must go home to + Illinois. Jim protested in a way. + </p> + <p> + “You know, I'd like to send you,” he said; “but I don't see where the + money is to come from. And since I've got this nomination, I want to run + as well as I can. My friends expect me to do my best for them. It's a + duty, you know, and nothing less, for a few men, like me, to get in the + legislature. We're going to get a railroad bill through this session that + will straighten out a good many things. Be patient a little longer, + Annie.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to go home,” was the only reply he got. “You must get the money, + some way, for me to go home with.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't paid a cent of interest yet,” he cried angrily. “I don't see + what you mean by being so unreasonable!” + </p> + <p> + “You must get the money, some way,” she reiterated. + </p> + <p> + He did not speak to her for a week, except when he was obliged to. But she + did not seem to mind; and he gave her the money. He took her to the train + in the little wagon that had met her when she first came. At the station, + some women were gossiping excitedly, and Annie asked what they were + saying. + </p> + <p> + “It's Mis' Dundy,” they said. “She's been sent to th' insane asylum at + Lincoln. She's gone stark mad. All she said on the way out was, 'Th' + butter won't come! Th' butter won't come!'” Then they laughed a little—a + strange laugh; and Annie thought of a drinking-song she had once heard, + “Here's to the next who dies.” + </p> + <p> + Ten days after this Jim got a letter from her. “I am never coming back, + Jim,” it said. “It is hopeless. I don't think I would mind standing still + to be shot down if there was any good in it. But I'm not going back there + to work harder than any slave for those money-loaners and the railroads. I + guess they can all get along without me. And I am sure I can get along + without them. I do not think this will make you feel very bad. You haven't + seemed to notice me very much lately when I've been around, and I do not + think you will notice very much when I am gone. I know what this means. I + know I am breaking my word when I leave you. But remember, it is not you I + leave, but the soil, Jim! I will not be its slave any longer. If you care + to come for me here, and live another life—but no, there would be no + use. Our love, like our toil, has been eaten up by those rapacious acres. + Let us say goodby.” + </p> + <p> + Jim sat all night with this letter in his hand. Sometimes he dozed heavily + in his chair. But he did not go to bed; and the next morning he hitched up + his horses and rode to town. He went to the bank which held his notes. + </p> + <p> + “I'll confess judgment as soon as you like,” he said. “It's all up with + me.” + </p> + <p> + It was done as quickly as the law would allow. And the things in the house + were sold by auction. All the farmers were there with their wives. It made + quite an outing for them. Jim moved around impassively, and chatted, now + and then, with some of the men about what the horses ought to bring. + </p> + <p> + The auctioneer was a clever fellow. Between the putting up of the + articles, he sang comic songs, and the funnier the song, the livelier the + bidding that followed. The horses brought a decent price, and the + machinery a disappointing one; and then, after a delicious snatch about + Nell who rode the sway-backed mare at the county fair, he got down to the + furniture,—the furniture which Jim had bought when he was expecting + Annie. + </p> + <p> + Jim was walking around with his hands in his pockets, looking unconcerned, + and, as the furniture began to go off, he came and sat down in the midst + of it. Every one noticed his indifference. Some of them said that after + all he couldn't have been very ambitious. He didn't seem to take his + failure much to heart. Every one was concentrating attention on the + cookingstove, when Jim leaned forward, quickly, over a little wicker + work-stand. + </p> + <p> + There was a bit of unfinished sewing there, and it fell out as he lifted + the cover. It was a baby's linen shirt. Jim let it lie, and then lifted + from its receptacle a silver thimble. He put it in his vest-pocket. + </p> + <p> + The campaign came on shortly after this, and Jim Lancy was defeated. “I'm + going to Omaha,” said he to the station-master, “and I've got just enough + to buy a ticket with. There's a kind of satisfaction in giving the last + cent I have to the railroads.” + </p> + <p> + Two months later, a “plain drunk” was registered at the station in + Nebraska's metropolis. When they searched him they found nothing in his + pockets but a silver thimble, and Joe Benson, the policeman who had + brought in the “drunk,” gave it to the matron, with his compliments. But + she, when no one noticed, went softly to where the man was sleeping, and + slipped it back into his pocket, with a sigh. For she knew somehow—as + women do know things—that he had not stolen that thimble. + </p> + <p> + THE equinoctial line itself is not more imaginary than the line which + divided the estates of the three Johns. The herds of the three Johns + roamed at will, and nibbled the short grass far and near without let or + hindrance; and the three Johns themselves were utterly indifferent as to + boundary lines. Each of them had filed his application at the office of + the government land-agent; each was engaged in the tedious task of + “proving up;” and each owned one-third of the L-shaped cabin which stood + at the point where the three ranches touched. The hundred and sixty acres + which would have completed this quadrangle had not yet been “taken up.” + </p> + <p> + The three Johns were not anxious to have a neighbor. Indeed, they had made + up their minds that if one appeared on that adjoining “hun'erd an' sixty,” + it would go hard with him. For they did not deal in justice very much—the + three Johns. They considered it effete. It belonged in the East along with + other outgrown superstitions. And they had given it out widely that it + would be healthier for land applicants to give them elbow-room. It took a + good many miles of sunburnt prairie to afford elbow-room for the three + Johns. + </p> + <p> + They met by accident in Hamilton at the land-office. John Henderson, fresh + from Cincinnati, manifestly unused to the ways of the country, looked at + John Gillispie with a lurking smile. Gillispie wore a sombrero, fresh, + white, and expansive. His boots had high heels, and were of elegant + leather and finely arched at the instep. His corduroys disappeared in them + half-way up the thigh. About his waist a sash of blue held a laced shirt + of the same color in place. Henderson puffed at his cigarette, and + continued to look a trifle quizzical. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Gillispie walked up to him and said, in a voice of complete + suavity, “Damn yeh, smoke a pipe!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” said Henderson, stupidly. + </p> + <p> + “Smoke a pipe,” said the other. “That thing you have is bad for your + complexion.” + </p> + <p> + “I can take care of my complexion,” said Henderson, firmly. + </p> + <p> + The two looked each other straight in the eye. + </p> + <p> + “You don't go on smoking that thing till you have apologized for that grin + you had on your phiz a moment ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I laugh when I please, and I smoke what I please,” said Henderson, hotly, + his face flaming as he realized that he was in for his first “row.” + </p> + <p> + That was how it began. How it would have ended is not known—probably + there would have been only one John—if it had not been for the + almost miraculous appearance at this moment of the third John. For just + then the two belligerents found themselves prostrate, their pistols only + half-cocked, and between them stood a man all gnarled and squat, like one + of those wind-torn oaks which grow on the arid heights. He was no older + than the others, but the lines in his face were deep, and his large mouth + twitched as he said:— + </p> + <p> + “Hold on here, yeh fools! There's too much blood in you to spill. You'll + spile th' floor, and waste good stuff. We need blood out here!” + </p> + <p> + Gillispie bounced to his feet. Henderson arose suspiciously, keeping his + eyes on his assailants. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, get up!” cried the intercessor. “We don't shoot men hereabouts till + they git on their feet in fightin' trim.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about what we do here?” interrupted Gillispie. “This is + the first time I ever saw you around.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” the other admitted. “I'm just down from Montana. Came to take + up a quarter section. Where I come from we give men a show, an' I thought + perhaps yeh did th' same here.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” admitted Gillispie, “we do. But I don't want folks to laugh + too much—not when I'm around—unless they tell me what the joke + is. I was just mentioning it to the gentleman,” he added, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “So I saw,” said the other; “you're kind a emphatic in yer remarks. Yeh + ought to give the gentleman a chance to git used to the ways of th' + country. He'll be as tough as th' rest of us if you'll give him a chance. + I kin see it in him.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Henderson. “I'm glad you do me justice. I wish you + wouldn't let daylight through me till I've had a chance to get my quarter + section. I'm going to be one of you, either as a live man or a corpse. But + I prefer a hundred and sixty acres of land to six feet of it.” + </p> + <p> + “There, now!” triumphantly cried the squat man. “Didn't I tell yeh? Give + him a show! 'Tain't no fault of his that he's a tenderfoot. He'll get over + that.” + </p> + <p> + Gillispie shook hands with first one and then the other of the men. “It's + a square deal from this on,” he said. “Come and have a drink.” + </p> + <p> + That's how they met—John Henderson, John Gillispie, and John Waite. + And a week later they were putting up a shanty together for common use, + which overlapped each of their reservations, and satisfied the law with + its sociable subterfuge. + </p> + <p> + The life wasn't bad, Henderson decided; and he adopted all the ways of the + country in an astonishingly short space of time. There was a freedom about + it all which was certainly complete. The three alternated in the night + watch. Once a week one of them went to town for provisions. They were not + good at the making of bread, so they contented themselves with hot cakes. + Then there was salt pork for a staple, and prunes. They slept in + straw-lined bunks, with warm blankets for a covering. They made a point of + bringing reading-matter back from town every week, and there were always + cards to fall back on, and Waite sang songs for them with natural dramatic + talent. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, in spite of their contentment, none of them was sorry when + the opportunity offered for going to town. There was always a bit of + stirring gossip to be picked up, and now and then there was a “show” at + the “opera-house,” in which, it is almost unnecessary to say, no opera had + ever been sung. Then there was the hotel, at which one not only got good + fare, but a chat with the three daughters of Jim O'Neal, the proprietor—girls + with the accident of two Irish parents, who were, notwithstanding, as + typically American as they well could be. A half-hour's talk with these + cheerful young women was all the more to be desired for the reason that + within riding distance of the three Johns' ranch there were only two other + women. One was Minerva Fitch, who had gone out from Michigan accompanied + by an oil-stove and a knowledge of the English grammar, with the intention + of teaching school, but who had been unable to carry these good intentions + into execution for the reason that there were no children to teach,—at + least, none but Bow-legged Joe. He was a sad little fellow, who looked + like a prairie-dog, and who had very much the same sort of an outlook on + life. The other woman was the brisk and efficient wife of Mr. Bill Deems, + of “Missourah.” Mr. Deems had never in his life done anything, not even so + much as bring in a basket of buffalo chips to supply the scanty fire. That + is to say, he had done nothing strictly utilitarian. Yet he filled his + place. He was the most accomplished story-teller in the whole valley, and + this accomplishment of his was held in as high esteem as the + improvisations of a Welsh minstrel were among his reverencing people. His + wife alone deprecated his skill, and interrupted his spirited narratives + with sarcastic allusions concerning the empty cupboard, and the “state of + her back,” to which, as she confided to any who would listen, “there was + not a rag fit to wear.” + </p> + <p> + These two ladies had not, as may be surmised, any particular attraction + for John Henderson. Truth to tell, Henderson had not come West with the + intention of liking women, but rather with a determination to see and + think as little of them as possible. Yet even the most confirmed + misogynist must admit that it is a good thing to see a woman now and then, + and for this reason Henderson found it amusing to converse with the + amiable Misses O'Neal. At twenty-five one cannot be unyielding in one's + avoidance of the sex. + </p> + <p> + Henderson, with his pony at a fine lope, was on his way to town one day, + in that comfortable frame of mind adduced by an absence of any ideas + whatever, when he suddenly became conscious of a shiver that seemed to run + from his legs to the pony, and back again. The animal gave a startled + leap, and lifted his ears. There was a stirring in the coarse grasses; the + sky, which a moment before had been like sapphire, dulled with an + indescribable grayness. + </p> + <p> + Then came a little singing afar off, as if from a distant convocation of + cicadae, and before Henderson could guess what it meant, a cloud of dust + was upon him, blinding and bewildering, pricking with sharp particles at + eyes and nostrils. The pony was an ugly fellow, and when Henderson felt + him put his forefeet together, he knew what that meant, and braced himself + for the struggle. But it was useless; he had not yet acquired the knack of + staying on the back of a bucking bronco, and the next moment he was on the + ground, and around him whirled that saffron chaos of dust. The temperature + lowered every moment. Henderson instinctively felt that this was but the + beginning of the storm. He picked himself up without useless regrets for + his pony, and made his way on. + </p> + <p> + The saffron hue turned to blackness, and then out of the murk shot a + living green ball of fire, and ploughed into the earth. Then sheets of + water, that seemed to come simultaneously from earth and sky, swept the + prairie, and in the midst of it struggled Henderson, weak as a little + child, half bereft of sense by the strange numbness of head and dullness + of eye. Another of those green balls fell and burst, as it actually + appeared to him, before his horrified eyes, and the bellow and blare of + the explosion made him cry out in a madness of fright and physical pain. + In the illumination he had seen a cabin only a few feet in front of him, + and toward it he made frantically, with an animal's instinctive desire for + shelter. + </p> + <p> + The door did not yield at once to his pressure, and in the panic of his + fear he threw his weight against it. There was a cry from within, a fall, + and Henderson flung himself in the cabin and closed the door. + </p> + <p> + In the dusk of the storm he saw a woman half prostrate. It was she whom he + had pushed from the door. He caught the hook in its staple, and turned to + raise her. She was not trembling as much as he, but, like himself, she was + dizzy with the shock of the lightning. In the midst of all the clamor + Henderson heard a shrill crying, and looking toward the side of the room, + he dimly perceived three tiny forms crouched in one of the bunks. The + woman took the smallest of the children in her arms, and kissed and + soothed it; and Henderson, after he had thrown a blanket at the bottom of + the door to keep out the drifting rain, sat with his back to it, bracing + it against the wind, lest the frail staple should give way. He managed + some way to reach out and lay hold of the other little ones, and got them + in his arms,—a boy, so tiny he seemed hardly human, and a girl + somewhat sturdier. They cuddled in his arms, and clutched his clothes with + their frantic little hands, and the three sat so while the earth and the + heavens seemed to be meeting in angry combat. + </p> + <p> + And back and forth, back and forth, in the dimness swayed the body of the + woman, hushing her babe. + </p> + <p> + Almost as suddenly as the darkness had fallen, it lifted. The lightning + ceased to threaten, and almost frolicked,—little wayward flashes of + white and yellow dancing in mid-air. The wind wailed less frequently, like + a child who sobs in its sleep. And at last Henderson could make his voice + heard. + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything to build a fire with?” he shouted. “The children are + shivering so.” + </p> + <p> + The woman pointed to a basket of buffalo chips in the corner, and he + wrapped his little companions up in a blanket while he made a fire in the + cooking-stove. The baby was sleeping by this time, and the woman began + tidying the cabin, and when the fire was burning brightly, she put some + coffee on. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had some clothes to offer you,” she said, when the wind had + subsided sufficiently to make talking possible. “I'm afraid you'll have to + let them get dry on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's of no consequence at all! We're lucky to get off with our + lives. I never saw anything so terrible. Fancy! half an hour ago it was + summer; now it is winter!” + </p> + <p> + “It seems rather sudden when you're not used to it,” the woman admitted. + “I've lived in the West six years now; you can't frighten me any more. We + never die out here before our time comes.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to know that I haven't been here long,” said Henderson, with + some chagrin. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” admitted the woman; “you have the ear-marks of a man from the + East.” + </p> + <p> + She was a tall woman, with large blue eyes, and a remarkable quantity of + yellow hair braided on top of her head. Her gown was of calico, of such a + pattern as a widow might wear. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't been out of town a week yet,” she said. “We're not half + settled. Not having any one to help makes it harder; and the baby is + rather fretful.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're not alone with all these little codgers?” cried Henderson, in + dismay. + </p> + <p> + The woman turned toward him with a sort of defiance. “Yes, I am,” she + said; “and I'm as strong as a horse, and I mean to get through all right. + Here were the three children in my arms, you may say, and no way to get in + a cent. I wasn't going to stand it just to please other folk. I said, let + them talk if they want to, but I'm going to hold down a claim, and be + accumulating something while the children are getting up a bit. Oh, I'm + not afraid!” + </p> + <p> + In spite of this bold assertion of bravery, there was a sort of break in + her voice. She was putting dishes on the table as she talked, and turned + some ham in the skillet, and got the children up before the fire, and + dropped some eggs in water,—all with a rapidity that bewildered + Henderson. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been alone?” he asked, softly. + </p> + <p> + “Three months before baby was born, and he's five months old now. I—I—you + think I can get on here, don't you? There was nothing else to do.” + </p> + <p> + She was folding another blanket over the sleeping baby now, and the action + brought to her guest the recollection of a thousand tender moments of his + dimly remembered youth. + </p> + <p> + “You'll get on if we have anything to do with it,” he cried, suppressing + an oath with difficulty, just from pure emotion. + </p> + <p> + And he told her about the three Johns' ranch, and found it was only three + miles distant, and that both were on the same road; only her cabin, having + been put up during the past week, had of course been unknown to him. So it + ended in a sort of compact that they were to help each other in such ways + as they could. Meanwhile the fire got genial, and the coffee filled the + cabin with its comfortable scent, and all of them ate together quite + merrily, Henderson cutting up the ham for the youngsters; and he told how + he chanced to come out; and she entertained him with stories of what she + thought at first when she was brought a bride to Hamilton, the adjacent + village, and convulsed him with stories of the people, whom she saw with + humorous eyes. + </p> + <p> + Henderson marvelled how she could in those few minutes have rescued the + cabin from the desolation in which the storm had plunged it. Out of the + window he could see the stricken grasses dripping cold moisture, and the + sky still angrily plunging forward like a disturbed sea. Not a tree or a + house broke the view. The desolation of it swept over him as it never had + before. But within the little ones were chattering to themselves in odd + baby dialect, and the mother was laughing with them. + </p> + <p> + “Women aren't always useless,” she said, at parting; “and you tell your + chums that when they get hungry for a slice of homemade bread they can get + it here. And the next time they go by, I want them to stop in and look at + the children. It'll do them good. They may think they won't enjoy + themselves, but they will.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll answer for that!” cried he, shaking hands with her. “I'll tell + them we have just the right sort of a neighbor.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said she, heartily. “And you may tell them that her name is + Catherine Ford.” + </p> + <p> + Once at home, he told his story. + </p> + <p> + “H'm!” said Gillispie, “I guess I'll have to go to town myself to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Henderson looked at him blackly. “She's a woman alone, Gillispie,” said + he, severely, “trying to make her way with handicaps—” + </p> + <p> + “Shet up, can't ye, ye darned fool?” roared Gillispie. “What do yeh take + me fur?” + </p> + <p> + Waite was putting on his rubber coat preparatory to going out for his + night with the cattle. “Guess you're makin' a mistake, my boy,” he said, + gently. “There ain't no danger of any woman bein' treated rude in these + parts.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, by Jove!” cried Henderson, in quick contriteness. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” grunted Gillispie, in tacit acceptance of this apology. “I + guess you thought you was in civilized parts.” + </p> + <p> + Two days after this Waite came in late to his supper. “Well, I seen her,” + he announced. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! did you?” cried Henderson, knowing perfectly well whom he meant. + “What was she doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Killin' snakes, b'gosh! She says th' baby's crazy fur um, an' so she + takes aroun' a hoe on her shoulder wherever she goes, an' when she sees a + snake, she has it out with 'im then an' there. I says to 'er, 'Yer don't + expec' t' git all th' snakes outen this here country, d' yeh?' 'Well,' she + says, 'I'm as good a man as St. Patrick any day.' She is a jolly one, + Henderson. She tuk me in an' showed me th' kids, and give me a loaf of + gingerbread to bring home. Here it is; see?” + </p> + <p> + “Hu!” said Gillispie. “I'm not in it.” But for all of his scorn he was not + above eating the gingerbread. + </p> + <p> + It was gardening time, and the three Johns were putting in every spare + moment in the little paling made of willow twigs behind the house. It was + little enough time they had, though, for the cattle were new to each other + and to the country, and they were hard to manage. It was generally + conceded that Waite had a genius for herding, and he could take the “mad” + out of a fractious animal in a way that the others looked on as little + less than superhuman. Thus it was that one day, when the clay had been + well turned, and the seeds arranged on the kitchen table, and all things + prepared for an afternoon of busy planting, that Waite and Henderson, who + were needed out with the cattle, felt no little irritation at the + inexplicable absence of Gillispie, who was to look after the garden. It + was quite nightfall when he at last returned. Supper was ready, although + it had been Gillispie's turn to prepare it. + </p> + <p> + Henderson was sore from his saddle, and cross at having to do more than + his share of the work. “Damn yeh!” he cried, as Gillispie appeared. “Where + yeh been?” + </p> + <p> + “Making garden,” responded Gillispie, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Making garden!” Henderson indulged in some more harmless oaths. + </p> + <p> + Just then Gillispie drew from under his coat a large and friendly looking + apple-pie. “Yes,” he said, with emphasis; “I've bin a-makin' garden fur + Mis' Ford.” + </p> + <p> + And so it came about that the three Johns knew her and served her, and + that she never had a need that they were not ready to supply if they + could. Not one of them would have thought of going to town without + stopping to inquire what was needed at the village. As for Catherine Ford, + she was fighting her way with native pluck and maternal unselfishness. If + she had feared solitude she did not suffer from it. The activity of her + life stifled her fresh sorrow. She was pleasantly excited by the rumors + that a railroad was soon to be built near the place, which would raise the + value of the claim she was “holding down” many thousand dollars. + </p> + <p> + It is marvellous how sorrow shrinks when one is very healthy and very much + occupied. Although poverty was her close companion, Catherine had no + thought of it in this primitive manner of living. She had come out there, + with the independence and determination of a Western woman, for the + purpose of living at the least possible expense, and making the most she + could while the baby was “getting out of her arms.” That process has its + pleasures, which every mother feels in spite of burdens, and the mind is + happily dulled by nature's merciful provision. With a little child tugging + at the breast, care and fret vanish, not because of the happiness so much + as because of a certain mammal complacency, which is not at all + intellectual, but serves its purpose better than the profoundest method of + reasoning. + </p> + <p> + So without any very unbearable misery at her recent widowhood, this + healthy young woman worked in field and house, cared for her little ones, + milked the two cows out in the corral, sewed, sang, rode, baked, and was + happy for very wholesomeness. Sometimes she reproached herself that she + was not more miserable, remembering that long grave back in the unkempt + little prairie cemetery, and she sat down to coax her sorrow into proper + prominence. But the baby cooing at her from its bunk, the low of the + cattle from the corral begging her to relieve their heavy bags, the + familiar call of one of her neighbors from without, even the burning sky + of the summer dawns, broke the spell of this conjured sorrow, and in spite + of herself she was again a very hearty and happy young woman. Besides, if + one has a liking for comedy, it is impossible to be dull on a Nebraska + prairie. The people are a merrier divertissement than the theatre with its + hackneyed stories. Catherine Ford laughed a good deal, and she took the + three Johns into her confidence, and they laughed with her. There was + Minerva Fitch, who insisted on coming over to tell Catherine how to raise + her children, and who was almost offended that the children wouldn't die + of sunstroke when she predicted. And there was Bob Ackerman, who had + inflammatory rheumatism and a Past, and who confided the latter to Mrs. + Ford while she doctored the former with homoeopathic medicines. And there + were all the strange visionaries who came out prospecting, and quite + naturally drifted to Mrs. Ford's cabin for a meal, and paid her in + compliments of a peculiarly Western type. And there were the three Johns + themselves. Catherine considered it no treason to laugh at them a little. + </p> + <p> + Yet at Waite she did not laugh much. There had come to be something + pathetic in the constant service he rendered her. The beginning of his + more particular devotion had started in a particular way. Malaria was very + bad in the country. It had carried off some of the most vigorous on the + prairie, and twice that summer Catherine herself had laid out the cold + forms of her neighbors on ironing-boards, and, with the assistance of Bill + Deems of Missourah, had read the burial service over them. She had averted + several other fatal runs of fever by the contents of her little + medicine-case. These remedies she dealt out with an intelligence that + astonished her patients, until it was learned that she was studying + medicine at the time that she met her late husband, and was persuaded to + assume the responsibilities of matrimony instead of those of the medical + profession. + </p> + <p> + One day in midsummer, when the sun was focussing itself on the raw pine + boards of her shanty, and Catherine had the shades drawn for coolness and + the water-pitcher swathed in wet rags, East Indian fashion, she heard the + familiar halloo of Waite down the road. This greeting, which was usually + sent to her from the point where the dipping road lifted itself into the + first view of the house, did not contain its usual note of cheerfulness. + Catherine, wiping her hands on her checked apron, ran out to wave a + welcome; and Waite, his squat body looking more distorted than ever, his + huge shoulders lurching as he walked, came fairly plunging down the hill. + </p> + <p> + “It's all up with Henderson!” he cried, as Catherine approached. “He's got + the malery, an' he says he's dyin'.” + </p> + <p> + “That's no sign he's dying, because he says so,” retorted Catherine. + </p> + <p> + “He wants to see yeh,” panted Waite, mopping his big ugly head. “I think + he's got somethin' particular to say.” + </p> + <p> + “How long has he been down?” + </p> + <p> + “Three days; an' yeh wouldn't know 'im.” + </p> + <p> + The children were playing on the floor at that side of the house where it + was least hot. Catherine poured out three bowls of milk, and cut some + bread, meanwhile telling Kitty how to feed the baby. + </p> + <p> + “She's a sensible thing, is the little daughter,” said Catherine, as she + tied on her sunbonnet and packed a little basket with things from the + cupboard. She kissed the babies tenderly, flung her hoe—her only + weapon of defence—over her shoulder, and the two started off. + </p> + <p> + They did not speak, for their throats were soon too parched. The prairie + was burned brown with the sun; the grasses curled as if they had been on a + gridiron. A strong wind was blowing; but it brought no comfort, for it was + heavy with a scorching heat. The skin smarted and blistered under it, and + the eyes felt as if they were filled with sand. The sun seemed to swing + but a little way above the earth, and though the sky was intensest blue, + around about this burning ball there was a halo of copper, as if the very + ether were being consumed in yellow fire. + </p> + <p> + Waite put some big burdock-leaves on Catherine's head under her bonnet, + and now and then he took a bottle of water from his pocket and made her + swallow a mouthful. She staggered often as she walked, and the road was + black before her. Still, it was not very long before the oddly shaped + shack of the three Johns came in sight; and as he caught a glimpse of it, + Waite quickened his footsteps. + </p> + <p> + “What if he should be gone?” he said, under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come off!” said Catherine, angrily. “He's not gone. You make me + tired!” + </p> + <p> + But she was trembling when she stopped just before the door to compose + herself for a moment. Indeed, she trembled so very much that Waite put out + his sprawling hand to steady her. She gently felt the pressure tightening, + and Waite whispered in her ear: + </p> + <p> + “I guess I'd stand by him as well as anybody, excep' you, Mis' Ford. He's + been my bes' friend. But I guess you like him better, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Catherine raised her finger. She could hear Henderson's voice within; it + was pitiably querulous. He was half sitting up in his bunk, and Gillispie + had just handed him a plate on which two cakes were swimming in black + molasses and pork gravy. Henderson looked at it a moment; then over his + face came a look of utter despair. He dropped his head in his arms and + broke into uncontrolled crying. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God, Gillispie,” he sobbed, “I shall die out here in this wretched + hole! I want my mother. Great God, Gillispie, am I going to die without + ever seeing my mother?” + </p> + <p> + Gillispie, maddened at this anguish, which he could in no way alleviate, + sought comfort by first lighting his pipe and then taking his revolver out + of his hip-pocket and playing with it. Henderson continued to shake with + sobs, and Catherine, who had never before in her life heard a man cry, + leaned against the door for a moment to gather courage. Then she ran into + the house quickly, laughing as she came. She took Henderson's arms away + from his face and laid him back on the pillow, and she stooped over him + and kissed his forehead in the most matter-of-fact way. + </p> + <p> + “That's what your mother would do if she were here,” she cried, merrily. + “Where's the water?” + </p> + <p> + She washed his face and hands a long time, till they were cool and his + convulsive sobs had ceased. Then she took a slice of thin bread from her + basket and a spoonful of amber jelly. She beat an egg into some milk and + dropped a little liquor within it, and served them together on the first + clean napkin that had been in the cabin of the three Johns since it was + built. + </p> + <p> + At this the great fool on the bed cried again, only quietly, tears of weak + happiness running from his feverish eyes. And Catherine straightened the + disorderly cabin. She came every day for two weeks, and by that time + Henderson, very uncertain as to the strength of his legs, but once more + accoutred in his native pluck, sat up in a chair, for which she had made + clean soft cushions, writing a letter to his mother. The floor was + scrubbed; the cabin had taken to itself cupboards made of packing-boxes; + it had clothes-presses and shelves; curtains at the windows; boxes for all + sort of necessaries, from flour to tobacco; and a cook-book on the wall, + with an inscription within which was more appropriate than respectful. + </p> + <p> + The day that she announced that she would have no further call to come + back, Waite, who was looking after the house while Gillispie was afield, + made a little speech. + </p> + <p> + “After this here,” he said, “we four stands er falls together. Now look + here, there's lots of things can happen to a person on this cussed praira, + and no one be none th' wiser. So see here, Mis' Ford, every night one of + us is a-goin' to th' roof of this shack. From there we can see your place. + If anything is th' matter—it don't signify how little er how big—you + hang a lantern on th' stick that I'll put alongside th' house to-morrow. + Yeh can h'ist th' light up with a string, and every mornin' before we go + out we'll look too, and a white rag'll bring us quick as we can git there. + We don't say nothin' about what we owe yeh, fur that ain't our way, but we + sticks to each other from this on.” + </p> + <p> + Catherine's eyes were moist. She looked at Henderson. His face had no + expression in it at all. He did not even say good-by to her, and she + turned, with the tears suddenly dried under her lids, and walked down the + road in the twilight. + </p> + <p> + Weeks went by, and though Gillispie and Waite were often at Catherine's, + Henderson never came. Gillispie gave it out as his opinion that Henderson + was an ungrateful puppy; but Waite said nothing. This strange man, who + seemed like a mere untoward accident of nature, had changed during the + summer. His big ill-shaped body had grown more gaunt; his deep-set gray + eyes had sunk deeper; the gentleness which had distinguished him even on + the wild ranges of Montana became more marked. Late in August he + volunteered to take on himself the entire charge of the night watch. + </p> + <p> + “It's nicer to be out at night,” he said to Catherine. “Then you don't + keep looking off at things; you can look inside;” and he struck his breast + with his splay hand. + </p> + <p> + Cattle are timorous under the stars. The vastness of the plains, the sweep + of the wind under the unbroken arch, frighten them; they are made for the + close comforts of the barn-yard; and the apprehension is contagious, as + every ranchman knows. Waite realized the need of becoming good friends + with his animals. Night after night, riding up and down in the twilight of + the stars, or dozing, rolled in his blanket, in the shelter of a knoll, he + would hear a low roar; it was the cry of the alarmist. Then from every + direction the cattle would rise with trembling awkwardness on their knees, + and answer, giving out sullen bellowings. Some of them would begin to move + from place to place, spreading the baseless alarm, and then came the time + for action, else over the plain in mere fruitless frenzy would go the + whole frantic band, lashed to madness by their own fears, trampling each + other, heedless of any obstacle, in pitiable, deadly rout. Waite knew the + premonitory signs well, and at the first warning bellow he was on his + feet, alert and determined, his energy nerved for a struggle in which he + always conquered. + </p> + <p> + Waite had a secret which he told to none, knowing, in his unanalytical + fashion, that it would not be believed in. But soon as ever the dark heads + of the cattle began to lift themselves, he sent a resonant voice out into + the stillness. The songs he sang were hymns, and he made them into a sort + of imperative lullaby. Waite let his lungs and soul fill with the breath + of the night; he gave himself up to the exaltation of mastering those + trembling brutes. Mounting, melodious, with even and powerful swing he let + his full notes fall on the air in the confidence of power, and one by one + the reassured cattle would lie down again, lowing in soft contentment, and + so fall asleep with noses stretched out in mute attention, till their + presence could hardly be guessed except for the sweet aroma of their cuds. + </p> + <p> + One night in the early dusk, he saw Catherine Ford hastening across the + prairie with Bill Deems. He sent a halloo out to them, which they both + answered as they ran on. Waite knew on what errand of mercy Catherine was + bent, and he thought of the children over at the cabin alone. The cattle + were quiet, the night beautiful, and he concluded that it was safe enough, + since he was on his pony, to ride down there about midnight and see that + the little ones were safe. + </p> + <p> + The dark sky, pricked with points of intensest light, hung over him so + beneficently that in his heart there leaped a joy which even his + ever-present sorrow could not disturb. This sorrow Waite openly admitted + not only to himself, but to others. He had said to Catherine: “You see, + I'll always hev to love yeh. An' yeh'll not git cross with me; I'm not + goin' to be in th' way.” And Catherine had told him, with tears in her + eyes, that his love could never be but a comfort to any woman. And these + words, which the poor fellow had in no sense mistaken, comforted him + always, became part of his joy as he rode there, under those piercing + stars, to look after her little ones. He found them sleeping in their + bunks, the baby tight in Kitty's arms, the little boy above them in the + upper bunk, with his hand in the long hair of his brown spaniel. Waite + softly kissed each of them, so Kitty, who was half waking, told her mother + afterwards, and then, bethinking him that Catherine might not be able to + return in time for their breakfast, found the milk and bread, and set it + for them on the table. Catherine had been writing, and her unfinished + letter lay open beside the ink. He took up the pen and wrote, + </p> + <p> + “The childdren was all asleep at twelv. + </p> + <p> + “J. W.” + </p> + <p> + He had not more than got on his pony again before he heard an ominous + sound that made his heart leap. It was a frantic dull pounding of hoofs. + He knew in a second what it meant. There was a stampede among the cattle. + If the animals had all been his, he would not have lost his sense of + judgment. But the realization that he had voluntarily undertaken the care + of them, and that the larger part of them belonged to his friends, put him + in a passion of apprehension that, as a ranchman, was almost inexplicable. + He did the very thing of all others that no cattle-man in his right senses + would think of doing. Gillispie and Henderson, talking it over afterward, + were never able to understand it. It is possible—just barely + possible—that Waite, still drunk on his solitary dreams, knew what + he was doing, and chose to bring his little chapter to an end while the + lines were pleasant. At any rate, he rode straight forward, shouting and + waving his arms in an insane endeavor to head off that frantic mob. The + noise woke the children, and they peered from the window as the pawing and + bellowing herd plunged by, trampling the young steers under their feet. + </p> + <p> + In the early morning, Catherine Ford, spent both in mind and body, came + walking slowly home. In her heart was a prayer of thanksgiving. Mary Deems + lay sleeping back in her comfortless shack, with her little son by her + side. + </p> + <p> + “The wonder of God is in it,” said Catherine to herself as she walked + home. “All the ministers of all the world could not have preached me such + a sermon as I've had to-night.” + </p> + <p> + So dim had been the light and so perturbed her mind that she had not + noticed how torn and trampled was the road. But suddenly a bulk in her + pathway startled her. It was the dead and mangled body of a steer. She + stooped over it to read the brand on its flank. “It's one of the three + Johns',” she cried out, looking anxiously about her. “How could that have + happened?” + </p> + <p> + The direction which the cattle had taken was toward her house, and she + hastened homeward. And not a quarter of a mile from her door she found the + body of Waite beside that of his pony, crushed out of its familiar form + into something unspeakably shapeless. In her excitement she half dragged, + half carried that mutilated body home, and then ran up her signal of alarm + on the stick that Waite himself had erected for her convenience. She + thought it would be a long time before any one reached her, but she had + hardly had time to bathe the disfigured face and straighten the disfigured + body before Henderson was pounding at her door. Outside stood his pony + panting from its terrific exertions. Henderson had not seen her before for + six weeks. Now he stared at her with frightened eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? What is it?” he cried. “What has happened to you, my—my + love?” + </p> + <p> + At least afterward, thinking it over as she worked by day or tossed in her + narrow bunk at night, it seemed to Catherine that those were the words he + spoke. Yet she could never feel sure; nothing in his manner after that + justified the impassioned anxiety of his manner in those first few + uncertain moments; for a second later he saw the body of his friend and + learned the little that Catherine knew. They buried him the next day in a + little hollow where there was a spring and some wild aspens. + </p> + <p> + “He never liked the prairie,” Catherine said, when she selected the spot. + “And I want him to lie as sheltered as possible.” + </p> + <p> + After he had been laid at rest, and she was back, busy with tidying her + neglected shack, she fell to crying so that the children were scared. + </p> + <p> + “There's no one left to care what becomes of us,” she told them, bitterly. + “We might starve out here for all that any one cares.” + </p> + <p> + And all through the night her tears fell, and she told herself that they + were all for the man whose last thought was for her and her babies; she + told herself over and over again that her tears were all for him. After + this the autumn began to hurry on, and the snow fell capriciously, days of + biting cold giving place to retrospective glances at summer. The last of + the vegetables were taken out of the garden and buried in the cellar; and + a few tons of coal—dear almost as diamonds—were brought out to + provide against the severest weather. Ordinarily buffalo chips were the + fuel. Catherine was alarmed at the way her wretched little store of money + began to vanish. The baby was fretful with its teething, and was really + more care than when she nursed it. The days shortened, and it seemed to + her that she was forever working by lamp-light The prairies were brown and + forbidding, the sky often a mere gray pall. The monotony of the life began + to seem terrible. Sometimes her ears ached for a sound. For a time in the + summer so many had seemed to need her that she had been happy in spite of + her poverty and her loneliness. Now, suddenly, no one wanted her. She + could find no source of inspiration. She wondered how she was going to + live through the winter, and keep her patience and her good-nature. + </p> + <p> + “You'll love me,” she said, almost fiercely, one night to the children—“you'll + love mamma, no matter how cross and homely she gets, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + The cold grew day by day. A strong winter was setting in. Catherine took + up her study of medicine again, and sat over her books till midnight. It + occurred to her that she might fit herself for nursing by spring, and that + the children could be put with some one—she did not dare to think + with whom. But this was the only solution she could find to her problem of + existence. + </p> + <p> + November settled down drearily. Few passed the shack. Catherine, who had + no one to speak with excepting the children, continually devised + amusements for them. They got to living in a world of fantasy, and were + never themselves, but always wild Indians, or arctic explorers, or + Robinson Crusoes. Kitty and Roderick, young as they were, found a + never-ending source of amusement in these little grotesque dreams and + dramas. The fund of money was getting so low that Catherine was obliged to + economize even in the necessities. If it had not been for her two cows, + she would hardly have known how to find food for her little ones. But she + had a wonderful way of making things with eggs and milk, and she kept her + little table always inviting. The day before Thanksgiving she determined + that they should all have a frolic. + </p> + <p> + “By Christmas,” she said to Kitty, “the snow may be so bad that I cannot + get to town. We'll have our high old time now.” + </p> + <p> + There is no denying that Catherine used slang even in talking to the + children. The little pony had been sold long ago, and going to town meant + a walk of twelve miles. But Catherine started out early in the morning, + and was back by nightfall, not so very much the worse, and carrying in her + arms bundles which might have fatigued a bronco. + </p> + <p> + The next morning she was up early, and was as happy and ridiculously + excited over the prospect of the day's merrymaking as if she had been + Kitty. Busy as she was, she noticed a peculiar oppression in the air, + which intensified as the day went on. The sky seemed to hang but a little + way above the rolling stretch of frost-bitten grass. But Kitty laughing + over her new doll, Roderick startling the sullen silence with his drum, + the smell of the chicken, slaughtered to make a prairie holiday, browning + in the oven, drove all apprehensions from Catherine's mind. She was a + common creature. Such very little things could make her happy. She sang as + she worked; and what with the drumming of her boy, and the little exulting + shrieks of her baby, the shack was filled with a deafening and + exhilarating din. + </p> + <p> + It was a little past noon, when she became conscious that there was + sweeping down on her a gray sheet of snow and ice, and not till then did + she realize what those lowering clouds had signified. For one moment she + stood half paralyzed. She thought of everything,—of the cattle, of + the chance for being buried in this drift, of the stock of provisions, of + the power of endurance of the children. While she was still thinking, the + first ice-needles of the blizzard came peppering the windows. The cattle + ran bellowing to the lee side of the house and crouched there, and the + chickens scurried for the coop. Catherine seized such blankets and bits of + carpet as she could find, and crammed them at windows and doors. Then she + piled coal on the fire, and clothed the children in all they had that was + warmest, their out-door garments included; and with them close about her, + she sat and waited. The wind seemed to push steadily at the walls of the + house. The howling became horrible. She could see that the children were + crying with fright, but she could not hear them. The air was dusky; the + cold, in spite of the fire, intolerable. In every crevice of the wretched + structure the ice and snow made their way. It came through the roof, and + began piling up in little pointed strips under the crevices. Catherine put + the children all together in one bunk, covered them with all the + bedclothes she had, and then stood before them defiantly, facing the west, + from whence the wind was driving. Not suddenly, but by steady pressure, at + length the window-sash yielded, and the next moment that whirlwind was in + the house,—a maddening tumult of ice and wind, leaving no room for + resistance; a killing cold, against which it was futile to fight. + Catherine threw the bedclothes over the heads of the children, and then + threw herself across the bunk, gasping and choking for breath. Her body + would not have yielded to the suffering yet, so strongly made and + sustained was it; but her dismay stifled her. She saw in one horrified + moment the frozen forms of her babies, now so pink and pleasant to the + sense; and oblivion came to save her from further misery. + </p> + <p> + She was alive—just barely alive—when Gillispie and Henderson + got there, three hours later, the very balls of their eyes almost frozen + into blindness. But for an instinct stronger than reason they would never + have been able to have found their way across that trackless stretch. The + children lying unconscious under their coverings were neither dead nor + actually frozen, although the men putting their hands on their little + hearts could not at first discover the beating. Stiff and suffering as + these young fellows were, it was no easy matter to get the window back + into place and re-light the fire. They had tied flasks of liquor about + their waists; and this beneficent fluid they used with that sense of + appreciation which only a pioneer can feel toward whiskey. It was hours + before Catherine rewarded them with a gleam of consciousness. Her body had + been frozen in many places. Her arms, outstretched over her children and + holding the clothes down about them, were rigid. But consciousness came at + length, dimly struggling up through her brain; and over her she saw her + friends rubbing and rubbing those strong firm arms of hers with snow. + </p> + <p> + She half raised her head, with a horror of comprehension in her eyes, and + listened. A cry answered her,—a cry of dull pain from the baby. + Henderson dropped on his knees beside her. + </p> + <p> + “They are all safe,” he said. “And we will never leave you again. I have + been afraid to tell you how I love you. I thought I might offend you. I + thought I ought to wait—you know why. But I will never let you run + the risks of this awful life alone again. You must rename the baby. From + this day his name is John. And we will have the three Johns again back at + the old ranch. It doesn't matter whether you love me or not, Catherine, I + am going to take care of you just the same. Gillispie agrees with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Damme, yes,” muttered Gillispie, feeling of his hip-pocket for + consolation in his old manner. + </p> + <p> + Catherine struggled to find her voice, but it would not come. + </p> + <p> + “Do not speak,” whispered John. “Tell me with your eyes whether you will + come as my wife or only as our sister.” + </p> + <p> + Catherine told him. + </p> + <p> + “This is Thanksgiving day,” said he. “And we don't know much about + praying, but I guess we all have something in our hearts that does just as + well.” + </p> + <p> + “Damme, yes,” said Gillispie, again, as he pensively cocked and uncocked + his revolver. + </p> + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Resuscitation + </h2> + <h3> + AFTER being dead twenty years, he walked out into the sunshine. + </h3> + <p> + It was as if the bones of a bleached skeleton should join themselves on + some forgotten plain, and look about them for the vanished flesh. + </p> + <p> + To be dead it is not necessary to be in the grave. There are places where + the worms creep about the heart instead of the body. + </p> + <p> + The penitentiary is one of these. David Culross had been in the + penitentiary twenty years. Now, with that worm-eaten heart, he came out + into liberty and looked about him for the habiliments with which he had + formerly clothed himself,—for hope, self-respect, courage, + pugnacity, and industry. + </p> + <p> + But they had vanished and left no trace, like the flesh of the dead men on + the plains, and so, morally unapparelled, in the hideous skeleton of his + manhood, he walked on down the street under the mid-June sunshine. + </p> + <p> + You can understand, can you not, how a skeleton might wish to get back + into its comfortable grave? David Culross had not walked two blocks before + he was seized with an almost uncontrollable desire to beg to be shielded + once more in that safe and shameful retreat from which he had just been + released. A horrible perception of the largeness of the world swept over + him. Space and eternity could seem no larger to the usual man than earth—that + snug and insignificant planet—looked to David Culross. + </p> + <p> + “If I go back,” he cried, despairingly, looking up to the great building + that arose above the stony hills, “they will not take me in.” He was + absolutely without a refuge, utterly without a destination; he did not + have a hope. There was nothing he desired except the surrounding of those + four narrow walls between which he had lain at night and dreamed those + ever-recurring dreams,-dreams which were never prophecies or promises, but + always the hackneyed history of what he had sacrificed by his crime, and + relinquished by his pride. + </p> + <p> + The men who passed him looked at him with mingled amusement and pity. They + knew the “prison look,” and they knew the prison clothes. For though the + State gives to its discharged convicts clothes which are like those of + other men, it makes a hundred suits from the same sort of cloth. The + police know the fabric, and even the citizens recognize it. But, then, + were each man dressed in different garb he could not be disguised. Every + one knows in what dull school that sidelong glance is learned, that + aimless drooping of the shoulders, that rhythmic lifting of the heavy + foot. + </p> + <p> + David Culross wondered if his will were dead. He put it to the test. He + lifted up his head to a position which it had not held for many miserable + years. He put his hands in his pockets in a pitiful attempt at + nonchalance, and walked down the street with a step which was meant to be + brisk, but which was in fact only uncertain. In his pocket were ten + dollars. This much the State equips a man with when it sends him out of + its penal halls. It gives him also transportation to any point within + reasonable distance that he may desire to reach. Culross had requested a + ticket to Chicago. He naturally said Chicago. In the long colorless days + it had been in Chicago that all those endlessly repeated scenes had been + laid. Walking up the street now with that wavering ineffectual gait, these + scenes came back to surge in his brain like waters ceaselessly tossed in a + wind-swept basin. + </p> + <p> + There was the office, bare and clean, where the young stoop-shouldered + clerks sat writing. In their faces was a strange resemblance, just as + there was in the backs of the ledgers, and in the endless bills on the + spindles. If one of them laughed, it was not with gayety, but with + gratification at the discomfiture of another. None of them ate well. None + of them were rested after sleep. All of them rode on the stuffy one-horse + cars to and from their work. Sundays they lay in bed very late, and ate + more dinner than they could digest. There was a certain fellowship among + them,—such fellowship as a band of captives among cannibals might + feel, each of them waiting with vital curiosity to see who was the next to + be eaten. But of that fellowship that plans in unison, suffers in + sympathy, enjoys vicariously, strengthens into friendship and communion of + soul they knew nothing. Indeed, such camaraderie would have been + disapproved of by the Head Clerk. He would have looked on an emotion with + exactly the same displeasure that he would on an error in the footing of + the year's accounts. It was tacitly understood that one reached the proud + position of Head Clerk by having no emotions whatever. + </p> + <p> + Culross did not remember having been born with a pen in his hand, or even + with one behind his ear; but certainly from the day he had been let out of + knickerbockers his constant companion had been that greatly overestimated + article. His father dying at a time that cut short David's school-days, he + went out armed with his new knowledge of double-entry, determined to make + a fortune and a commercial name. Meantime, he lived in a suite of three + rooms on West Madison Street with his mother, who was a good woman, and + lived where she did that she might be near her favorite meeting-house. She + prayed, and cooked bad dinners, principally composed of dispiriting + pastry. Her idea of house-keeping was to keep the shades down, whatever + happened; and when David left home in the evening for any purpose of + pleasure, she wept. David persuaded himself that he despised amusement, + and went to bed each night at half-past nine in a folding bedstead in the + front room, and, by becoming absolutely stolid from mere vegetation, + imagined that he was almost fit to be a Head Clerk. + </p> + <p> + Walking down the street now after the twenty years, thinking of these dead + but innocent days, this was the picture he saw; and as he reflected upon + it, even the despoiled and desolate years just passed seemed richer by + contrast. + </p> + <p> + He reached the station thus dreaming, and found, as he had been told when + the warden bade him good-by, that a train was to be at hand directly bound + to the city. A few moments later he was on that train. Well back in the + shadow, and out of sight of the other passengers, he gave himself up to + the enjoyment of the comfortable cushion. He would willingly have looked + from the window,—green fields were new and wonderful; drifting + clouds a marvel; men, houses, horses, farms, all a revelation,—but + those haunting visions were at him again, and would not leave brain or eye + free for other things. + </p> + <p> + But the next scene had warmer tints. It was the interior of a rich room,—crimson + and amber fabrics, flowers, the gleam of a statue beyond the drapings; the + sound of a tender piano unflinging a familiar melody, and a woman. She was + just a part of all the luxury. + </p> + <p> + He himself, very timid and conscious of his awkwardness, sat near, trying + barrenly to get some of his thoughts out of his brain on to his tongue. + </p> + <p> + “Strange, isn't it,” the woman broke in on her own music, “that we have + seen each other so very often and never spoken? I've often thought + introductions were ridiculous. Fancy seeing a person year in and year out, + and really knowing all about him, and being perfectly acquainted with his + name—at least his or her name, you know—and then never + speaking! Some one comes along, and says, 'Miss Le Baron, this is Mr. + Culross,' just as if one didn't know that all the time! And there you are! + You cease to be dumb folks, and fall to talking, and say a lot of things + neither of you care about, and after five or six weeks of time and sundry + meetings, get down to honestly saying what you mean. I'm so glad we've got + through with that first stage, and can say what we think and tell what we + really like.” + </p> + <p> + Then the playing began again,—a harplike intermingling of soft + sounds. Zoe Le Baron's hands were very girlish. Everything about her was + unformed. Even her mind was so. But all promised a full completion. The + voice, the shoulders, the smile, the words, the lips, the arms, the whole + mind and body, were rounding to maturity. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you never come to church in the morning?” asks Miss Le Baron, + wheeling around on her piano-stool suddenly. “You are only there at night, + with your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “I go only on her account,” replies David, truthfully. “In the morning I + am so tired with the week's work that I rest at home. I ought to go, I + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you ought,” returns the young woman, gravely. “It doesn't really + rest one to lie in bed like that. I've tried it at boarding-school. It was + no good whatever.” + </p> + <p> + “Should you advise me,” asks David, in a confiding tone, “to arise early + on Sunday?” + </p> + <p> + The girl blushes a little. “By all means!” she cries, her eyes twinkling, + “and—and come to church. Our morning sermons are really very much + better than those in the evening.” And she plays a waltz, and what with + the music and the warmth of the room and the perfume of the roses, a + something nameless and mystical steals over the poor clerk, and swathes + him about like the fumes of opium. They are alone. The silence is made + deeper by that rhythmic unswelling of sound. As the painter flushes the + bare wall into splendor, these emotions illuminated his soul, and gave to + it that high courage that comes when men or women suddenly realize that + each life has its significance,-their own lives no less than the lives of + others. + </p> + <p> + The man sitting there in the shadow in that noisy train saw in his vision + how the lad arose and moved, like one under a spell, toward the piano. He + felt again the enchantment of the music-ridden quiet, of the perfume, and + the presence of the woman. + </p> + <p> + “Knowing you and speaking with you have not made much difference with me,” + he whispers, drunk on the new wine of passion, “for I have loved you since + I saw you first. And though it is so sweet to hear you speak, your voice + is no more beautiful than I thought it would be. I have loved you a long + time, and I want to know—” + </p> + <p> + The broken man in the shadow remembered how the lad stopped, astonished at + his boldness and his fluency, overcome suddenly at the thought of what he + was saying. The music stopped with a discord. The girl arose, trembling + and scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “I would not have believed it of you,” she cries, “to take advantage of me + like this, when I am alone—and—everything. You know very well + that nothing but trouble could come to either of us from your telling me a + thing like that.” + </p> + <p> + He puts his hands up to his face to keep off her anger. He is trembling + with confusion. + </p> + <p> + Then she broke in penitently, trying to pull his hands away from his hot + face: “Never mind! I know you didn't mean anything. Be good, do, and don't + spoil the lovely times we have together. You know very well father and + mother wouldn't let us see each other at all if they—if they thought + you were saying anything such as you said just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I can't help it!” cries the boy, despairingly. “I have never + loved anybody at all till now. I don't mean not another girl, you know. + But you are the first being I ever cared for. I sometimes think mother + cares for me because I pay the rent. And the office—you can't + imagine what that is like. The men in it are moving corpses. They're proud + to be that way, and so was I till I knew you and learned what life was + like. All the happy moments I have had have been here. Now, if you tell me + that we are not to care for each other—” + </p> + <p> + There was some one coming down the hall. The curtain lifted. A middle-aged + man stood there looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “Culross,” said he, “I'm disappointed in you. I didn't mean to listen, but + I couldn't help hearing what you said just now. I don't blame you + particularly. Young men will be fools. And I do not in any way mean to + insult you when I tell you to stop your coming here. I don't want to see + you inside this door again, and after a while you will thank me for it. + You have taken a very unfair advantage of my invitation. I make allowances + for your youth.” + </p> + <p> + He held back the curtain for the lad to pass out. David threw a miserable + glance at the girl. She was standing looking at her father with an + expression that David could not fathom. He went into the hall, picked up + his hat, and walked out in silence. + </p> + <p> + David wondered that night, walking the chilly streets after he quitted the + house, and often, often afterward, if that comfortable and prosperous + gentleman, safe beyond the perturbations of youth, had any idea of what he + had done. How COULD he know anything of the black monotony of the life of + the man he turned from his door? The “desk's dead wood” and all its + hateful slavery, the dull darkened rooms where his mother prosed through + endless evenings, the bookless, joyless, hopeless existence that had + cramped him all his days rose up before him, as a stretch of unbroken + plain may rise before a lost man till it maddens him. + </p> + <p> + The bowed man in the car-seat remembered with a flush of reminiscent + misery how the lad turned suddenly in his walk and entered the door of a + drinking-room that stood open. It was very comfortable within. The screens + kept out the chill of the autumn night, the sawdust-sprinkled floor was + clean, the tables placed near together, the bar glittering, the attendants + white-aproned and brisk. + </p> + <p> + David liked the place, and he liked better still the laughter that came + from a room within. It had a note in it a little different from anything + he had ever heard before in his life, and one that echoed his mood. He + ventured to ask if he might go into the farther room. + </p> + <p> + It does not mean much when most young men go to a place like this. They + take their bit of unwholesome dissipation quietly enough, and are a little + coarser and more careless each time they indulge in it, perhaps. But + certainly their acts, whatever gradual deterioration they may indicate, + bespeak no sudden moral revolution. With this young clerk it was + different. He was a worse man from the moment he entered the door, for he + did violence to his principles; he killed his self-respect. + </p> + <p> + He had been paid at the office that night, and he had the money—a + week's miserable pittance—in his pocket. His every action revealed + the fact that he was a novice in recklessness. His innocent face piqued + the men within. They gave him a welcome that amazed him. Of course the + rest of the evening was a chaos to him. The throat down which he poured + the liquor was as tender as a child's. The men turned his head with their + ironical compliments. Their boisterous good-fellowship was as intoxicating + to this poor young recluse as the liquor. + </p> + <p> + It was the revulsion from this feeling, when he came to a consciousness + that the men were laughing at him and not with him, that wrecked his life. + He had gone from beer to whiskey, and from whiskey to brandy, by this + time, at the suggestion of the men, and was making awkward lunges with a + billiard cue, spurred on by the mocking applause of the others. One young + fellow was particularly hilarious at his expense. His jokes became + insults, or so they seemed to David. + </p> + <p> + A quarrel followed, half a jest on the part of the other, all serious as + far as David was concerned. And then—Well, who could tell how it + happened? The billiard cue was in David's hand, and the skull of the + jester was split, a horrible gaping thing, revoltingly animal. + </p> + <p> + David never saw his home again. His mother gave it out in church that her + heart was broken, and she wrote a letter to David begging him to reform. + She said she would never cease to pray for him, that he might return to + grace. He had an attorney, an impecunious and very aged gentleman, whose + life was a venerable failure, and who talked so much about his personal + inconveniences from indigestion that he forgot to take a very keen + interest in the concerns of his client. David's trial made no sensation. + He did not even have the cheap sympathy of the morbid. The court-room was + almost empty the dull spring day when the east wind beat against the + window, jangling the loose panes all through the reading of the verdict. + </p> + <p> + Twenty years! + </p> + <p> + Twenty years in the penitentiary! + </p> + <p> + David looked up at the judge and smiled. Men have been known to smile that + way when the car-wheel crashes over their legs, or a bullet lets the air + through their lungs. + </p> + <p> + All that followed would have seemed more terrible if it had not appeared + to be so remote. David had to assure himself over and over that it was + really he who was put in that disgraceful dress, and locked in that + shameful walk from corridor to workroom, from work-room to chapel. The + work was not much more monotonous than that to which he had been + accustomed in the office. Here, as there, one was reproved for not doing + the required amount, but never praised for extraordinary efforts. Here, as + there, the workers regarded each other with dislike and suspicion. Here, + as there, work was a penalty and not a pleasure. + </p> + <p> + It is the nights that are to be dreaded in a penitentiary. Speech eases + the brain of free men; but the man condemned to eternal silence is bound + to endure torments. Thought, which might be a diversion, becomes a curse; + it is a painful disease which becomes chronic. It does not take long to + forget the days of the week and the months of the year when time brings no + variance. David drugged himself on dreams. He knew it was weakness, but it + was the wine of forgetfulness, and he indulged in it. He went over and + over, in endless repetition, every scene in which Zoe Le Baron had + figured. + </p> + <p> + He learned by a paper that she had gone to Europe. He was glad of that. + For there were hours in which he imagined that his fate might have caused + her distress—not much, of course, but perhaps an occasional hour of + sympathetic regret. But it was pleasanter not to think of that. He + preferred to remember the hours they had spent together while she was + teaching him the joy of life. + </p> + <p> + How lovely her gray eyes were! Deep, yet bright, and full of silent little + speeches. The rooms in which he imagined her as moving were always + splendid; the gowns she wore were of rustling silk. He never in any dream, + waking or sleeping, associated her with poverty or sorrow or pain. Gay and + beautiful, she moved from city to city, in these visions of David's, + looking always at wonderful things, and finding laughter in every + happening. + </p> + <p> + It was six months after his entrance into his silent abode that a letter + came for him. + </p> + <p> + “By rights, Culross,” said the warden, “I should not give this letter to + you. It isn't the sort we approve of. But you're in for a good spell, and + if there is anything that can make life seem more tolerable, I don't know + but you're entitled to it. At least, I'm not the man to deny it to you.” + </p> + <p> + This was the letter:— + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR FRIEND,—I hope you do not think that all these months, when + you have been suffering so terribly, I have been thinking of other things! + But I am sure you know the truth. You know that I could not send you word + or come to see you, or I would have done it. When I first heard of what + you had done, I saw it all as it happened,—that dreadful scene, I + mean, in the saloon. I am sure I have imagined everything just as it was. + I begged papa to help you, but he was very angry. You see, papa was so + peculiar. He thought more of the appearances of things, perhaps, than of + facts. It infuriated him to think of me as being concerned about you or + with you. I did not know he could be so angry, and his anger did not die, + but for days it cast such a shadow over me that I used to wish I was dead. + Only I would not disobey him, and now I am glad of that. We were in France + three months, and then, coming home, papa died. It was on the voyage. I + wish he had asked me to forgive him, for then I think I could have + remembered him with more tenderness. But he did nothing of the kind. He + did not seem to think he had done wrong in any way, though I feel that + some way we might have saved you. I am back here in Chicago in the old + home. But I shall not stay in this house. It is so large and lonesome, and + I always see you and father facing each other angrily there in the parlor + when I enter it. So I am going to get me some cosey rooms in another part + of the city, and take my aunt, who is a sweet old lady, to live with me; + and I am going to devote my time—all of it—and all of my + brains to getting you out of that terrible place. What is the use of + telling me that you are a murderer? Do I not know you could not be brought + to hurt anything? I suppose you must have killed that poor man, but then + it was not you, it was that dreadful drink—it was Me! That is what + continually haunts me. If I had been a braver girl, and spoken the words + that were in my heart, you would not have gone into that place. You would + be innocent to-day. It was I who was responsible for it all. I let father + kill your heart right there before me, and never said a word. Yet I knew + how it was with you, and—this is what I ought to have said then, and + what I must say now—and all the time I felt just as you did. I + thought I should die when I saw you go away, and knew you would never come + back again. Only I was so selfish, I was so wicked, I would say nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I have no right to be comfortable and hopeful, and to have friends, with + you shut up from liberty and happiness. I will not have those comfortable + rooms, after all. I will live as you do. I will live alone in a bare room. + For it is I who am guilty! And then I will feel that I also am being + punished. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hate me? Perhaps my telling you now all these things, and that I + felt toward you just as you did toward me, will not make you happy. For it + may be that you despise me. + </p> + <p> + “Anyway, I have told you the truth now. I will go as soon as I hear from + you to a lawyer, and try to find out how you may be liberated. I am sure + it can be done when the facts are known. + </p> + <p> + “Poor boy! How I do hope you have known in your heart that I was not + forgetting you. Indeed, day or night, I have thought of nothing else. Now + I am free to help you. And be sure, whatever happens, that I am working + for you. + </p> + <p> + “ZOE LE BARON.” + </p> + <p> + That was all. Just a girlish, constrained letter, hardly hinting at the + hot tears that had been shed for many weary nights, coyly telling of the + impatient young love and all the maidenly shame. + </p> + <p> + David permitted himself to read it only once. Then a sudden resolution was + born-a heroic one. Before he got the letter he was a crushed and + unsophisticated boy; when he had read it, and absorbed its full + significance, he became suddenly a man, capable of a great sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + “I return your letter,” he wrote, without superscription, “and thank you + for your anxiety about me. But the truth is, I had forgotten all about you + in my trouble. You were not in the least to blame for what happened. I + might have known I would come to such an end. You thought I was good, of + course; but it is not easy to find out the life of a young man. It is + rather mortifying to have a private letter sent here, because the warden + reads them all. I hope you will enjoy yourself this winter, and hasten to + forget one who had certainly forgotten you till reminded by your letter, + which I return. + </p> + <p> + “Respectfully, + </p> + <p> + “DAVID CULROSS.” + </p> + <p> + That night some deep lines came into his face which never left it, and + which made him look like a man of middle age. + </p> + <p> + He never doubted that his plan would succeed; that, piqued and indignant + at his ingratitude, she would hate him, and in a little time forget he + ever lived, or remember him only to blush with shame at her past + association with him. He saw her happy, loved, living the usual life of + women, with all those things that make life rich. + </p> + <p> + For there in the solitude an understanding of deep things came to him. He + who thought never to have a wife grew to know what the joy of it must be. + He perceived all the subtle rapture of wedded souls. He learned what the + love of children was, the pride of home, the unselfish ambition for + success that spurs men on. All the emotions passed in procession at night + before him, tricked out in palpable forms. + </p> + <p> + A burst of girlish tears would dissipate whatever lingering pity Zoe felt + for him. How often he said that! With her sensitiveness she would be sure + to hate a man who had mortified her. + </p> + <p> + So he fell to dreaming of her again as moving among happy and luxurious + scenes, exquisitely clothed, with flowers on her bosom and jewels on her + neck; and he saw men loving her, and was glad, and saw her at last loving + the best of them, and told himself in the silence of the night that it was + as he wished. + </p> + <p> + Yet always, always, from weary week to weary week, he rehearsed the + scenes. They were his theatre, his opera, his library, his lecture hall. + </p> + <p> + He rehearsed them again there on the cars. He never wearied of them. To be + sure, other thoughts had come to him at night. Much that to most men seems + complex and puzzling had grown to appear simple to him. In a way his brain + had quickened and deepened through the years of solitude. He had thought + out a great many things. He had read a few good books and digested them, + and the visions in his heart had kept him from being bitter. + </p> + <p> + Yet, suddenly confronted with liberty, turned loose like a pastured colt, + without master or rein, he felt only confusion and dismay. He might be + expected to feel exultation. He experienced only fright. It is precisely + the same with the liberated colt. + </p> + <p> + The train pulled into a bustling station, in which the multitudinous + noises were thrown back again from the arched iron roof. The relentless + haste of all the people was inexpressibly cruel to the man who looked from + the window wondering whither he would go, and if, among all the thousands + that made up that vast and throbbing city, he would ever find a friend. + </p> + <p> + For a moment David longed even for that unmaternal mother who had + forgotten him in the hour of his distress; but she had been dead for many + years. + </p> + <p> + The train stopped. Every one got out. David forced himself to his feet and + followed. He had been driven back into the world. It would have seemed + less terrible to have been driven into a desert. He walked toward the + great iron gates, seeing the people and hearing the noises confusedly. + </p> + <p> + As he entered the space beyond the grating some one caught him by the arm. + It was a little middle-aged woman in plain clothes, and with sad gray + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Is this David?” said she. + </p> + <p> + He did not speak, but his face answered her. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you were coming to-day. I've waited all these years, David. You + didn't think I believed what you said in that letter did you? This way, + David,—this is the way home.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Two Pioneers + </h2> + <p> + IT was the year of the small-pox. The Pawnees had died in their cold + tepees by the fifties, the soldiers lay dead in the trenches without the + fort, and many a gay French voyageur, who had thought to go singing down + the Missouri on his fur-laden raft in the springtime, would never again + see the lights of St. Louis, or the coin of the mighty Choteau company. + </p> + <p> + It had been a winter of tragedies. The rigors of the weather and the + scourge of the disease had been fought with Indian charm and with Catholic + prayer. Both were equally unavailing. If a man was taken sick at the fort + they put him in a warm room, brought him a jug of water once a day, and + left him to find out what his constitution was worth. Generally he + recovered; for the surgeon's supplies had been exhausted early in the + year. But the Indians, in their torment, rushed into the river through the + ice, and returned to roll themselves in their blankets and die in + ungroaning stoicism. + </p> + <p> + Every one had grown bitter and hard. The knives of the trappers were + sharp, and not one whit sharper than their tempers. Some one said that the + friendly Pawnees were conspiring with the Sioux, who were always + treacherous, to sack the settlement. The trappers doubted this. They and + the Pawnees had been friends many years, and they had together killed the + Sioux in four famous battles on the Platte. Yet—who knows? There was + pestilence in the air, and it had somehow got into men's souls as well as + their bodies. + </p> + <p> + So, at least, Father de Smet said. He alone did not despair. He alone + tried neither charm nor curse. He dressed him an altar in the wilderness, + and he prayed at it—but not for impossible things. When in a day's + journey you come across two lodges of Indians, sixty souls in each, lying + dead and distorted from the plague in their desolate tepees, you do not + pray, if you are a man like Father de Smet. You go on to the next lodge + where the living yet are, and teach them how to avoid death. + </p> + <p> + Besides, when you are young, it is much easier to act than to pray. When + the children cried for food, Father de Smet took down the rifle from the + wall and went out with it, coming back only when he could feed the hungry. + There were places where the prairie was black with buffalo, and the shy + deer showed their delicate heads among the leafless willows of the + Papillion. When they—the children—were cold, this young man + brought in baskets of buffalo chips from the prairie and built them a + fire, or he hung more skins up at the entrance to the tepees. If he wanted + to cross a river and had no boat at hand, he leaped the uncertain ice, or, + in clear current, swam, with his clothes on his head in a bundle. + </p> + <p> + A wonderful traveller for the time was Father de Smet. Twice he had gone + as far as the land of the Flathead nation, and he could climb mountain + passes as well as any guide of the Rockies. He had built a dozen missions, + lying all the way from the Columbia to the Kaw. He had always a jest at + his tongue's end, and served it out with as much readiness as a prayer; + and he had, withal, an arm trained to do execution. Every man on the + plains understood the art of self-preservation. Even in Cainsville, over + by the council ground of the western tribes, which was quite the most + civilized place for hundreds of miles, life was uncertain when the boats + came from St. Louis with bad whiskey in their holds. But no one dared take + liberties with the holy father. The thrust from his shoulder was straight + and sure, and his fist was hard. + </p> + <p> + Yet it was not the sinner that Father de Smet meant to crush. He always + supplemented his acts of physical prowess with that explanation. It was + the sin that he struck at from the shoulder—and may not even an + anointed one strike at sin? + </p> + <p> + Father de Smet could draw a fine line, too, between the things which were + bad in themselves, and the things which were only extrinsically bad. For + example, there were the soups of Mademoiselle Ninon. Mam'selle herself was + not above reproach, but her soups were. Mademoiselle Ninon was the only + Parisian thing in the settlement. And she was certainly to be avoided—which + was perhaps the reason that no one avoided her. It was four years since + she had seen Paris. She was sixteen then, and she followed the fortunes of + a certain adventurer who found it advisable to sail for Montreal. Ninon + had been bored back in Paris, it being dull in the mantua-making shop of + Madame Guittar. If she had been a man she would have taken to navigation, + and might have made herself famous by sailing to some unknown part of the + New World. Being a woman, she took a lover who was going to New France, + and forgot to weep when he found an early and violent death. And there + were others at hand, and Ninon sailed around the cold blue lakes, past + Sault St. Marie, and made her way across the portages to the Mississippi, + and so down to the sacred rock of St. Louis. That was a merry place. Ninon + had fault to find neither with the wine nor the dances. They were all that + one could have desired, and there was no limit to either of them. But + still, after a time, even this grew tiresome to one of Ninon's spirit, and + she took the first opportunity to sail up the Missouri with a certain + young trapper connected with the great fur company, and so found herself + at Cainsville, with the blue bluffs rising to the east of her, and the low + white stretches of the river flats undulating down to where the sluggish + stream wound its way southward capriciously. + </p> + <p> + Ninon soon tired of her trapper. For one thing she found out that he was a + coward. She saw him run once in a buffalo fight. That was when the Pawnee + stood still with a blanket stretched wide in a gaudy square, and caught + the head of the mad animal fairly in the tough fabric; his mustang's legs + trembled under him, but he did not move,—for a mustang is the soul + of an Indian, and obeys each thought; the Indian himself felt his heart + pounding at his ribs; but once with that garment fast over the baffled + eyes of the struggling brute, the rest was only a matter of judicious + knife-thrusts. Ninon saw this. She rode past her lover, and snatched the + twisted bullion cord from his hat that she had braided and put there, and + that night she tied it on the hat of the Pawnee who had killed the + buffalo. + </p> + <p> + The Pawnees were rather proud of the episode, and as for the Frenchmen, + they did not mind. The French have always been very adaptable in America. + Ninon was universally popular. + </p> + <p> + And so were her soups. + </p> + <p> + Every man has his price. Father de Smet's was the soups of Mademoiselle + Ninon. Fancy! If you have an educated palate and are obliged to eat the + strong distillation of buffalo meat, cooked in a pot which has been wiped + out with the greasy petticoat of a squaw! When Ninon came down from St. + Louis she brought with her a great box containing neither clothes, + furniture, nor trinkets, but something much more wonderful! It was a + marvellous compounding of spices and seasonings. The aromatic liquids she + set before the enchanted men of the settlement bore no more relation to + ordinary buffalo soup than Chateaubriand's Indian maidens did to one of the + Pawnee girls, who slouched about the settlement with noxious tresses and + sullen slavish coquetries. + </p> + <p> + Father de Smet would not at any time have called Ninon a scarlet woman. + But when he ate the dish of soup or tasted the hot corn-cakes that she + invariably invited him to partake of as he passed her little house, he + refrained with all the charity of a true Christian and an accomplished + epicure from even thinking her such. And he remembered the words of the + Saviour, “Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.” + </p> + <p> + To Father de Smet's healthy nature nothing seemed more superfluous than + sin. And he was averse to thinking that any committed deeds of which he + need be ashamed. So it was his habit, especially if the day was pleasant + and his own thoughts happy, to say to himself when he saw one of the wild + young trappers leaving the cabin of Mademoiselle Ninon: “He has been for + some of the good woman's hot cakes,” till he grew quite to believe that + the only attractions that the adroit Frenchwoman possessed were of a + gastronomic nature. + </p> + <p> + To tell the truth, the attractions of Mademoiselle Ninon were varied. To + begin with, she was the only thing in that wilderness to suggest home. + Ninon had a genius for home-making. Her cabin, in which she cooked, slept, + ate, lived, had become a boudoir. + </p> + <p> + The walls were hung with rare and beautiful skins; the very floor made + rich with huge bear robes, their permeating odors subdued by heavy + perfumes brought, like the spices, from St. Louis. The bed, in daytime, + was a couch of beaver-skins; the fireplace had branching antlers above it, + on which were hung some of the evidences of the fair Ninon's coquetry, + such as silken scarves, of the sort the voyageurs from the far north wore; + and necklaces made by the Indians of the Pacific coast and brought to + Ninon by—but it is not polite to inquire into these matters. There + were little moccasins also, much decorated with porcupine-quills, one pair + of which Father de Smet had brought from the Flathead nation, and + presented to Ninon that time when she nursed him through a frightful run + of fever. She would take no money for her patient services. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said she, gravely, when he offered it to her, “I am not myself + virtuous. But I have the distinction of having preserved the only virtuous + creature in the settlement for further usefulness. Sometimes, perhaps, you + will pray for Ninon.” + </p> + <p> + Father de Smet never forgot those prayers. + </p> + <p> + These were wild times, mind you. No use to keep your skirts coldly clean + if you wished to be of help. These men were subduing a continent. Their + primitive qualities came out. Courage, endurance, sacrifice, suffering + without complaint, friendship to the death, indomitable hatred, + unfaltering hope, deep-seated greed, splendid gayety—it takes these + things to subdue a continent. Vice is also an incidental,—that is to + say, what one calls vice. This is because it is the custom to measure + these men as if they were governed by the laws of civilization, where + there is neither law nor civilization. + </p> + <p> + This much is certain: gentlemen cannot conquer a country. They tried + gentlemen back in Virginia, and they died, partly from lack of intellect, + but mostly from lack of energy. After the yeomen have fought the + conquering fight, it is well enough to bring in gentlemen, who are + sometimes clever lawmakers, and who look well on thrones or in + presidential chairs. + </p> + <p> + But to return to the winter of the smallpox. It was then that the priest + and Ninon grew to know each other well. They became acquainted first in + the cabin where four of the trappers lay tossing in delirium. The horrible + smell of disease weighted the air. Outside wet snow fell continuously and + the clouds seemed to rest only a few feet above the sullen bluffs. The + room was bare of comforts, and very dirty. Ninon looked about with + disgust. + </p> + <p> + “You pray,” said she to the priest, “and I will clean the room.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so,” returned the broad-shouldered father, smilingly, “we will both + clean the room.” Thus it came that they scrubbed the floor together, and + made the chimney so that it would not smoke, and washed the blankets on + the beds, and kept the woodpile high. They also devised ventilators, and + let in fresh air without exposing the patients. They had no medicine, but + they continually rubbed the suffering men with bear's grease. + </p> + <p> + “It's better than medicine,” said Ninon, after the tenth day, as, wan with + watching, she held the cool hand of one of the recovering men in her own. + “If we had had medicines we should have killed these men.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a woman of remarkable sense,” said the holy father, who was + eating a dish of corn-meal and milk that Ninon had just prepared, “and a + woman also of Christian courage.” + </p> + <p> + “Christian courage?” echoed Ninon; “do you think that is what you call it? + I am not afraid, no, not I; but it is not Christian courage. You mistake + in calling it that.” There were tears in her eyes. The priest saw them. + </p> + <p> + “God lead you at last into peaceful ways,” said he, softly, lifting one + hand in blessing. “Your vigil is ended. Go to your home and sleep. You + know the value of the temporal life that God has given to man. In the + hours of the night, Ninon, think of the value of eternal life, which it is + also His to give.” + </p> + <p> + Ninon stared at him a moment with a dawning horror in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Then she pointed to the table. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever you do,” said she, “don't forget the bear's grease.” And she + went out laughing. The priest did not pause to recommend her soul to + further blessing. He obeyed her directions. + </p> + <p> + March was wearing away tediously. The river was not yet open, and the + belated boats with needed supplies were moored far down the river. Many of + the reduced settlers were dependent on the meat the Indians brought them + for sustenance. The mud made the roads almost impassable; for the frost + lay in a solid bed six inches below the surface, and all above that was + semiliquid muck. Snow and rain alternated, and the frightful disease did + not cease its ravages. + </p> + <p> + The priest got little sleep. Now he was at the bed of a little half-breed + child, smoothing the straight black locks from the narrow brow; now at the + cot of some hulking trapper, who wept at the pain, but died finally with a + grin of bravado on his lips; now in a foul tepee, where some grave Pawnee + wrapped his mantle about him, and gazed with prophetic and unflinching + eyes into the land of the hereafter. + </p> + <p> + The little school that the priest started had been long since abandoned. + It was only the preservation of life that one thought of in these days. + And recklessness had made the men desperate. To the ravages of disease + were added horrible murders. Moral health is always low when physical + health is so. + </p> + <p> + Give a nation two winters of grippe, and it will have an epidemic of + suicide. Give it starvation and small-pox, and it will have a contagion of + murders. There are subtle laws underlying these things,—laws which + the physicians think they can explain; but they are mistaken. The reason + is not so material as it seems. + </p> + <p> + But spring was near in spite of falling snow and the dirty ice in the + river. There was not even a flushing of the willow twigs to tell it by, + nor a clearing of the leaden sky,—only the almanac. Yet all men were + looking forward to it. The trappers put in the feeble days of + convalescence, making long rafts on which to pile the skins dried over + winter,—a fine variety, worth all but their weight in gold. Money + was easily got in those days; but there are circumstances under which + money is valueless. + </p> + <p> + Father de Smet thought of this the day before Easter, as he plunged + through the mud of the winding street in his bearskin gaiters. Stout were + his legs, firm his lungs, as he turned to breathe in the west wind; clear + his sharp and humorous eyes. He was going to the little chapel where the + mission school had previously been held. Here was a rude pulpit, and back + of it a much-disfigured virgin, dressed in turkey-red calico. Two cheap + candles in their tin sticks guarded this figure, and beneath, on the + floor, was spread an otter-skin of perfect beauty. The seats were of pine, + without backs, and the wind whistled through the chinks between the logs. + Moreover, the place was dirty. Lenten service had been out of the + question. The living had neither time nor strength to come to worship; and + the dead were not given the honor of a burial from church in these times + of terror. The priest looked about him in dismay, the place was so utterly + forsaken; yet to let Easter go by without recognition was not to his + liking. He had been the night before to every house in the settlement, + bidding the people to come to devotions on Sunday morning. He knew that + not one of them would refuse his invitation. There was no hero larger in + the eyes of these unfortunates than the simple priest who walked among + them with his unpretentious piety. The promises were given with whispered + blessings, and there were voices that broke in making them, and hands that + shook with honest gratitude. The priest, remembering these things, and all + the awful suffering of the winter, determined to make the service + symbolic, indeed, of the resurrection and the life,—the annual + resurrection and life that comes each year, a palpable miracle, to teach + the dullest that God reigns. + </p> + <p> + “How are you going to trim the altar?” cried a voice behind him. + </p> + <p> + He turned, startled, and in the doorway stood Mademoiselle Ninon, her + short skirt belted with a red silk scarf,—the token of some trapper,—her + ankles protected with fringed leggins, her head covered with a beribboned + hat of felt, such as the voyageurs wore. + </p> + <p> + “Our devotions will be the only decorations we can hang on it. But + gratitude is better than blossoms, and humanity more beautiful than green + wreaths,” said the father, gently. + </p> + <p> + It was a curious thing, and one that he had often noticed himself; he gave + this woman—unworthy as she was—the best of his simple + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Ninon tiptoed toward the priest with one finger coquettishly raised to + insure secrecy. + </p> + <p> + “You will never believe it,” she whispered, “no one would believe it! But + the fact is, father, I have two lilies.” + </p> + <p> + “Lilies,” cried the priest, incredulously, “two lilies?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I say, father—two marvellously fair lilies with little + sceptres of gold in them, and leaves as white as snow. The bulbs were + brought me last autumn by—; that is to say, they were brought from + St. Louis. Only now have they blossomed. Heavens, how I have watched the + buds! I have said to myself every morning for a fortnight: 'Will they open + in time for the good father's Easter morning service?' Then I said: 'They + will open too soon. Buds,' I have cried to them, 'do not dare to open yet, + or you will be horribly passee by Easter. Have the kindness, will you, to + save yourselves for a great event.' And they did it; yes, father, you may + not believe, but no later than this morning these sensible flowers opened + up their leaves boldly, quite conscious that they were doing the right + thing, and to-morrow, if you please, they will be here. And they will + perfume the whole place; yes.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped suddenly, and relaxed her vivacious expression for one of + pain. + </p> + <p> + “You are certainly ill,” cried the priest. “Rest yourself.” He tried to + push her on to one of the seats; but a sort of convulsive rigidity came + over her, very alarming to look at. + </p> + <p> + “You are worn out,” her companion said gravely. “And you are chilled.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm cold,” confessed Ninon. “But I had to come to tell you about the + lilies. But, do you see, I never could bring myself to put them in this + room as it is now. It would be too absurd to place them among this dirt. + We must clean the place.” + </p> + <p> + “The place will be cleaned. I will see to it. But as for you, go home and + care for yourself.” Ninon started toward the door with an uncertain step. + Suddenly she came back. + </p> + <p> + “It is too funny,” she said, “that red calico there on the Virgin. Father, + I have some laces which were my mother's, who was a good woman, and which + have never been worn by me. They are all I have to remember France by and + the days when I was—different. If I might be permitted—” she + hesitated and looked timidly at the priest. + </p> + <p> + “'She hath done what she could,'” murmured Father de Smet, softly. “Bring + your laces, Ninon.” He would have added: “Thy sins be forgiven thee.” But + unfortunately, at this moment, Pierre came lounging down the street, + through the mud, fresh from Fort Laramie. His rifle was slung across his + back, and a full game-bag revealed the fact that he had amused himself on + his way. His curly and wind-bleached hair blew out in time-torn banners + from the edge of his wide hat. His piercing, black eyes were those of a + man who drinks deep, fights hard, and lives always in the open air. Wild + animals have such eyes, only there is this difference: the viciousness of + an animal is natural; at least one-half of the viciousness of man is + artificial and devised. + </p> + <p> + When Ninon saw the frost-reddened face of this gallant of the plains, she + gave a little cry of delight, and the color rushed back into her face. The + trapper saw her, and gave a rude shout of welcome. The next moment, he had + swung her clear of the chapel steps; and then the two went down the street + together, Pierre pausing only long enough to doff his hat to the priest. + </p> + <p> + “The Virgin will wear no fresh laces,” said the priest, with some + bitterness; but he was mistaken. An hour later, Ninon was back, not only + with a box of laces, but also with a collection of cosmetics, with which + she proceeded to make startling the scratched and faded face of the wooden + Virgin, who wore, after the completion of Ninon's labors, a decidedly + piquant and saucy expression. The very manner in which the laces were + draped had a suggestion of Ninon's still unforgotten art as a maker of + millinery, and was really a very good presentment of Paris fashions four + years past. Pierre, meantime, amused himself by filling up the chinks in + the logs with fresh mud,—a commodity of which there was no lack,—and + others of the neighbors, incited by these extraordinary efforts, washed + the dirt from seats, floor, and windows, and brought furs with which to + make presentable the floor about the pulpit. + </p> + <p> + Father de Smet worked harder than any of them. In his happy enthusiasm he + chose to think this energy on the part of the others was prompted by + piety, though well he knew it was only a refuge from the insufferable + ennui that pervaded the place. Ninon suddenly came up to him with a white + face. + </p> + <p> + “I am not well,” she said. Her teeth were chattering, and her eyes had a + little blue glaze over them. “I am going home. In the morning I will send + the lilies.” + </p> + <p> + The priest caught her by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ninon,” he whispered, “it is on my soul not to let you go to-night. + Something tells me that the hour of your salvation is come. Women worse + than you, Ninon, have come to lead holy lives. Pray, Ninon, pray to the + Mother of Sorrows, who knows the sufferings and sins of the heart.” He + pointed to the befrilled and highly fashionable Virgin with her + rouge-stained cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Ninon shrank from him, and the same convulsive rigidity he had noticed + before, held her immovable. A moment later, she was on the street again, + and the priest, watching her down the street, saw her enter her cabin with + Pierre. + </p> + <p> + ....... + </p> + <p> + It was past midnight when the priest was awakened from his sleep by a + knock on the door. He wrapped his great buffalo-coat about him, and + answered the summons. Without in the damp darkness stood Pierre. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” he cried, “Ninon has sent for you. Since she left you, she has + been very ill. I have done what I could; but now she hardly speaks, but I + make out that she wants you.” Ten minutes later, they were in Ninon's + cabin. When Father de Smet looked at her he knew she was dying. He had + seen the Indians like that many times during the winter. It was the + plague, but driven in to prey upon the system by the exposure. The + Parisienne's teeth were set, but she managed to smile upon her visitor as + he threw off his coat and bent over her. He poured some whiskey for her; + but she could not get the liquid over her throat. + </p> + <p> + “Do not,” she said fiercely between those set white teeth, “do not forget + the lilies.” She sank back and fixed her glazing eyes on the antlers, and + kept them there watching those dangling silken scarves, while the priest, + in haste, spoke the words for the departing soul. + </p> + <p> + The next morning she lay dead among those half barbaric relics of her + coquetry, and two white lilies with hearts of gold shed perfume from an + altar in a wilderness. + </p> + <p> + Up the Gulch + </p> + <p> + “GO West?” sighed Kate. “Why, yes! I'd like to go West.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at the babies, who were playing on the floor with their father, + and sighed again. + </p> + <p> + “You've got to go somewhere, you know, Kate. It might as well be west as + in any other direction. And this is such a chance! We can't have mamma + lying around on sofas without any roses in her cheeks, can we?” He put + this last to the children, who, being yet at the age when they talked in + “Early English,” as their father called it, made a clamorous but + inarticulate reply. + </p> + <p> + Major Shelly, the grandfather of these very young persons, stroked his + mustache and looked indulgent. + </p> + <p> + “Show almost human intelligence, don't they?” said their father, as he lay + flat on his back and permitted the babies to climb over him. + </p> + <p> + “Ya-as,” drawled the major. “They do. Don't see how you account for it, + Jack.” + </p> + <p> + Jack roared, and the lips of the babies trembled with fear. + </p> + <p> + Their mother said nothing. She was on the sofa, her hands lying inert, her + eyes fixed on her rosy babies with an expression which her father-in-law + and her husband tried hard not to notice. + </p> + <p> + It was not easy to tell why Kate was ailing. Of course, the babies were + young, but there were other reasons. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you're too happy,” Jack sometimes said to her. “Try not to be + quite so happy, Kate. At least, try not to take your happiness so + seriously. Please don't adore me so; I'm only a commonplace fellow. And + the babies—they're not going to blow away.” + </p> + <p> + But Kate continued to look with intense eyes at her little world, and to + draw into it with loving and generous hands all who were willing to come. + </p> + <p> + “Kate is just like a kite,” Jack explained to his father, the major; “she + can't keep afloat without just so many bobs.” + </p> + <p> + Kate's “bobs” were the unfortunates she collected around her. These + absorbed her strength. She felt their misery with sympathies that were + abnormal. The very laborer in the streets felt his toil less keenly than + she, as she watched the drops gather on his brow. + </p> + <p> + “Is life worth keeping at the cost of a lot like that?” she would ask. She + felt ashamed of her own ease. She apologized for her own serene and + perfect happiness. She even felt sorry for those mothers who had not + children as radiantly beautiful as her own. + </p> + <p> + “Kate must have a change,” the major had given out. He was going West on + business and insisted on taking her with him. Jack looked doubtful. He + wasn't sure how he would get along without Kate to look after everything. + Secretly, he had an idea that servants were a kind of wild animal that had + to be fed by an experienced keeper. But when the time came, he kissed her + good-by in as jocular a manner as he could summon, and refused to see the + tears that gathered in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Until Chicago was reached, there was nothing very different from that + which Kate had been in the habit of seeing. After that, she set herself to + watch for Western characteristics. She felt that she would know them as + soon as she saw them. + </p> + <p> + “I expected to be stirred up and shocked,” she explained to the major. But + somehow, the Western type did not appear. Commonplace women with worn + faces—browned and seamed, though not aged—were at the + stations, waiting for something or some one. Men with a hurried, nervous + air were everywhere. Kate looked in vain for the gayety and heartiness + which she had always associated with the West. + </p> + <p> + After they got beyond the timber country and rode hour after hour on a + tract smooth as a becalmed ocean, she gave herself up to the feeling of + immeasurable vastness which took possession of her. The sun rolled out of + the sky into oblivion with a frantic, headlong haste. Nothing softened the + aspect of its wrath. Near, red, familiar, it seemed to visibly bowl along + the heavens. In the morning it rose as baldly as it had set. And back and + forth over the awful plain blew the winds,—blew from east to west + and back again, strong as if fresh from the chambers of their birth, full + of elemental scents and of mighty murmurings. + </p> + <p> + “This is the West!” Kate cried, again and again. + </p> + <p> + The major listened to her unsmilingly. It always seemed to him a waste of + muscular energy to smile. He did not talk much. Conversation had never + appealed to him in the light of an art. He spoke when there was a + direction or a command to be given, or an inquiry to be made. The major, + if the truth must be known, was material. Things that he could taste, + touch, see, appealed to him. He had been a volunteer in the civil war,—a + volunteer with a good record,—which he never mentioned; and, having + acquitted himself decently, let the matter go without asking reprisal or + payment for what he had freely given. He went into business and sold + cereal foods. + </p> + <p> + “I believe in useful things,” the major expressed himself. “Oatmeal, + wheat,-men have to have them. God intended they should. There's Jack—my + son-Jack Shelly—lawyer. What's the use of litigation? God didn't + design litigation. It doesn't do anybody any good. It isn't justice you + get. It's something entirely different,—a verdict according to law. + They say Jack's clever. But I'm mighty glad I sell wheat.” + </p> + <p> + He didn't sell it as a speculator, however. That wasn't his way. + </p> + <p> + “I earn what I make,” he often said; and he had grown rich in the selling + of his wholesome foods. + </p> + <p> + . . . . . . . + </p> + <p> + Helena lies among round, brown hills. Above it is a sky of deep and + illimitable blue. In the streets are crumbs of gold, but it no longer pays + to mine for these; because, as real estate, the property is more valuable. + It is a place of fictitious values. There is excitement in the air. Men + have the faces of speculators. Every laborer is patient at his task + because he cherishes a hope that some day he will be a millionnaire. There + is hospitality, and cordiality and good fellowship, and an undeniable + democracy. There is wealth and luxurious living. There is even culture,—but + it is obtruded as a sort of novelty; it is not accepted as a matter of + course. + </p> + <p> + Kate and the major were driven over two or three miles of dusty, hard road + to a distant hotel, which stands in the midst of greenness,—in an + oasis. Immediately above the green sward that surrounds it the brown hills + rise, the grass scorched by the sun. + </p> + <p> + Kate yielded herself to the almost absurd luxury of the place with ease + and complacency. She took kindly to the great verandas. She adapted + herself to the elaborate and ill-assorted meals. She bathed in the + marvellous pool, warm with the heat of eternal fires in mid-earth. This + pool was covered with a picturesque Moorish structure, and at one end a + cascade tumbled, over which the sun, coming through colored windows, made + a mimic prism in the white spray. The life was not unendurable. The major + was seldom with her, being obliged to go about his business; and Kate + amused herself by driving over the hills, by watching the inhabitants, by + wondering about the lives in the great, pretentious, unhomelike houses + with their treeless yards and their closed shutters. The sunlight, white + as the glare on Arabian sands, penetrated everywhere. It seemed to fairly + scorch the eye-balls. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we're West, now,” Kate said, exultantly. “I've seen a thousand types. + But yet—not quite THE type—not the impersonation of simplicity + and daring that I was looking for.” + </p> + <p> + The major didn't know quite what she was talking about. But he acquiesced. + All he cared about was to see her grow stronger; and that she was doing + every day. She was growing amazingly lovely, too,-at least the major + thought so. Every one looked at her; but that was, perhaps, because she + was such a sylph of a woman. Beside the stalwart major, she looked like a + fairy princess. + </p> + <p> + One day she suddenly realized the fact that she had had a companion on the + veranda for several mornings. Of course, there were a great many persons—invalids, + largely—sitting about, but one of them had been obtruding himself + persistently into her consciousness. It was not that he was rude; it was + only that he was thinking about her. A person with a temperament like + Kate's could not long be oblivious to a thing like that; and she furtively + observed the offender with that genius for psychological perception which + was at once her greatest danger and her charm. + </p> + <p> + The man was dressed with a childish attempt at display. His shirt-front + was decorated with a diamond, and his cuff-buttons were of onyx with + diamond settings. His clothes were expensive and perceptibly new, and he + often changed his costumes, but with a noticeable disregard for propriety. + He was very conscious of his silk hat, and frequently wiped it with a + handkerchief on which his monogram was worked in blue. + </p> + <p> + When the 'busses brought up their loads, he was always on hand to watch + the newcomers. He took a long time at his dinners, and appeared to order a + great deal and eat very little. There were card-rooms and a billiard-hall, + not to mention a bowling-alley and a tennis-court, where the other guests + of the hotel spent much time. But this man never visited them. He sat + often with one of the late reviews in his hand, looking as if he intended + giving his attention to it at any moment. But after he had scrupulously + cut the leaves with a little carved ivory paper-cutter, he sat staring + straight before him with the book open, but unread, in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Kate took more interest in this melancholy, middle-aged man than she would + have done if she had not been on the outlook for her Western type,—the + man who was to combine all the qualities of chivalry, daring, bombast, and + generosity, seasoned with piquant grammar, which she firmly believed to be + the real thing. But notwithstanding this kindly and somewhat curious + interest, she might never have made his acquaintance if it had not been + for a rather unpleasant adventure. + </p> + <p> + The major was “closing up a deal” and had hurried away after breakfast, + and Kate, in the luxury of convalescence, half-reclined in a great chair + on the veranda and watched the dusky blue mist twining itself around the + brown hills. She was not thinking of the babies; she was not worrying + about home; she was not longing for anything, or even indulging in a + dream. That vacuous content which engrosses the body after long + indisposition, held her imperatively. Suddenly she was aroused from this + happy condition of nothingness by the spectacle of an enormous bull-dog + approaching her with threatening teeth. She had noticed the monster often + in his kennel near the stables, and it was well understood that he was + never to be permitted his freedom. Now he walked toward her with a solid + step and an alarming deliberateness. Kate sat still and tried to assure + herself that he meant no mischief, but by the time the great body had made + itself felt on the skirt of her gown she could restrain her fear no + longer, and gave a nervous cry of alarm. The brute answered with a growl. + If he had lacked provocation before, he considered that he had it now. He + showed his teeth and flung his detestable body upon her; and Kate felt + herself growing dizzy with fear. But just then an arm was interposed and + the dog was flung back. There was a momentary struggle. Some gentlemen + came hurrying out of the office; and as they beat the dog back to its + retreat, Kate summoned words from her parched throat to thank her + benefactor. + </p> + <p> + It was the melancholy man with the new clothes. This morning he was + dressed in a suit of the lightest gray, with a white marseilles waistcoat, + over which his glittering chain shone ostentatiously. White tennis-shoes, + a white rose in his buttonhole, and a white straw hat in his hand + completed a toilet over which much time had evidently been spent. Kate + noted these details as she held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I may have been alarmed without cause,” she said; “but I was horribly + frightened. Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. And I think, if you + would add to your kindness by getting me a glass of water—” + </p> + <p> + When he came back, his hand was trembling a little; and as Kate looked up + to learn the cause, she saw that his face was flushed. He was embarrassed. + She decided that he was not accustomed to the society of ladies. “Brutes + like that dog ain't no place in th' world—that's my opinion. There + are some bad things we can't help havin' aroun'; but a bull-dog ain't one + of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “I quite agree with you,” Kate acquiesced, as she drank the water. “But as + this is the first unpleasant experience of any kind that I have had since + I came here, I don't feel that I have any right to complain.” + </p> + <p> + “You're here fur yur health?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And I am getting it. You're not an invalid, I imagine?” + </p> + <p> + “No—no-op. I'm here be—well, I've thought fur a long time I'd + like t' stay at this here hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I've been up th' gulch these fifteen years. Bin livin' on a shelf of + black rock. Th' sun got 'round 'bout ten. Couldn't make a thing grow.” The + man was looking off toward the hills, with an expression of deep sadness + in his eyes. “Didn't never live in a place where nothin' 'd grow, did you? + I took geraniums up thar time an' time agin. Red ones. Made me think of + mother; she's in Germany. Watered 'em mornin' an' night. Th' damned things + died.” + </p> + <p> + The oath slipped out with an artless unconsciousness, and there was a + little moisture in his eyes. Kate felt she ought to bring the conversation + to a close. She wondered what Jack would say if he saw her talking with a + perfect stranger who used oaths! She would have gone into the house but + for something that caught her eye. It was the hand of the man; that hand + was a bludgeon. All grace and flexibility had gone out of it, and it had + become a mere instrument of toil. It was seamed and misshapen; yet it had + been carefully manicured, and the pointed nails looked fantastic and + animal-like. A great seal-ring bore an elaborate monogram, while the + little finger displayed a collection of diamonds and emeralds truly + dazzling to behold. An impulse of humanity and a sort of artistic + curiosity, much stronger than her discretion, urged Kate to continue her + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “What were you doing up the gulch?” she said. + </p> + <p> + The man leaned back in his chair and regarded her a moment before + answering. He realized the significance of her question. He took it as a + sign that she was willing to be friendly. A look of gratitude, almost + tender, sprang into his eyes,—dull gray eyes, they were, with a + kindliness for their only recommendation. + </p> + <p> + “Makin' my pile,” he replied. “I've been in these parts twenty years. When + I come here, I thought I was goin' to make a fortune right off. I had all + th' money that mother could give me, and I lost everything I had in three + months. I went up th' gulch.” He paused, and wiped his forehead with his + handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + There was something in his remark and the intonation which made Kate say + softly: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you've had a hard time of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thar you were!” he cried. “Thar was th' rock—risin', risin', black! + At th' bottom wus th' creek, howlin' day an' night! Lonesome! Gee! No one + t' talk to. Of course, th' men. Had some with me always. They didn't talk. + It's too-too quiet t' talk much. They played cards. Curious, but I never + played cards. Don't think I'd find it amusin'. No, I worked. Came down + here once in six months or three months. Had t' come—grub-staked th' + men, you know. Did you ever eat salt pork?” He turned to Kate suddenly + with this question. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes; a few times. Did you have it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothin' else, much. I used t' think of th' things mother cooked. Mother + understood cookin', if ever a woman did. I'll never forget th' dinner she + gave me th' day I came away. A woman ought t' cook. I hear American women + don't go in much for cookin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I think that's a mistake,” Kate hastened to interrupt. “All that I + know understand how to serve excellent dinners. Of course, they may not + cook them themselves, but I think they could if it were necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum!” He picked up a long glove that had fallen from Kate's lap and + fingered it before returning it. + </p> + <p> + “I s'pose you cook?” + </p> + <p> + “I make a specialty of salads and sorbets,” smiled Kate. “I guess I could + roast meat and make bread; but circumstances have not yet compelled me to + do it. But I've a theory that an American woman can do anything she puts + her mind to.” + </p> + <p> + The man laughed out loud,—a laugh quite out of proportion to the + mild good humor of the remark; but it was evident that he could no longer + conceal his delight at this companionship. + </p> + <p> + “How about raisin' flowers?” he asked. “Are you strong on that?” + </p> + <p> + “I've only to look at a plant to make it grow,” Kate cried, with + enthusiasm. “When my friends are in despair over a plant, they bring it to + me, and I just pet it a little, and it brightens up. I've the most + wonderful fernery you ever saw. It's green, summer and winter. Hundreds of + people stop and look up at it, it is so green and enticing, there above + the city streets.” + </p> + <p> + “What city?” + </p> + <p> + “Philadelphia.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother's jest that way. She has a garden of roses. And the mignonette—” + </p> + <p> + But he broke off suddenly, and sat once more staring before him. + </p> + <p> + “But not a damned thing,” he added, with poetic pensiveness, “would grow + in that gulch.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you stay there so long?” asked Kate, after a little pause in + which she managed to regain her waning courage. + </p> + <p> + “Bad luck. You never see a place with so many false leads. To-day you'd + get a streak that looked big. To-morrow you'd find it a pocket. One night + I'd go t' bed with my heart goin' like a race-horse. Next night it would + be ploddin' along like a winded burro. Don't know what made me stick t' + it. It was hot there, too! And cold! Always roastin' ur freezin'. It'd + been different if I'd had any one t' help me stand it. But th' men were + always findin' fault. They blamed me fur everythin'. I used t' lie awake + at night an' hear 'em talkin' me over. It made me lonesome, I tell you! + Thar wasn't no one! Mother used t' write. But I never told her th' truth. + She ain't a suspicion of what I've been a-goin' through.” + </p> + <p> + Kate sat and looked at him in silence. His face was seamed, though far + from old. His body was awkward, but impressed her with a sense of + magnificent strength. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't ask no woman t' share my hard times,” he resumed after a time. + “I always said when I got a woman, it was goin' t' be t' make her happy. + It wer'n't t' be t' ask her t' drudge.” + </p> + <p> + There was another silence. This man out of the solitude seemed to be + elated past expression at his new companionship. He looked with + appreciation at the little pointed toes of Kate's slippers, as they + glanced from below the skirt of her dainty organdie. He noted the band of + pearls on her finger. His eyes rested long on the daisies at her waist. + The wind tossed up little curls of her warm brown hair. Her eyes suffused + with interest, her tender mouth seemed ready to lend itself to any + emotion, and withal she was so small, so compact, so exquisite. The man + wiped his forehead again, in mere exuberance. + </p> + <p> + “Here's my card,” he said, very solemnly, as he drew an engraved bit of + pasteboard from its leather case. Kate bowed and took it. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Peter Roeder,” she read. “I've no card,” she said. “My name is + Shelly. I'm here for my health, as I told you.” She rose at this point, + and held out her hand. “I must thank you once more for your kindness,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + His eyes fastened on hers with an appeal for a less formal word. There was + something almost terrible in their silent eloquence. + </p> + <p> + “I hope we may meet again,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Peter Roeder made a very low and awkward bow, and opened the door into + the corridor for her. + </p> + <p> + That evening the major announced that he was obliged to go to Seattle. The + journey was not an inviting one; Kate was well placed where she was, and + he decided to leave her. + </p> + <p> + She was well enough now to take longer drives; and she found strange, + lonely canyons, wild and beautiful, where yellow waters burst through + rocky barriers with roar and fury,—tortuous, terrible places, such + as she had never dreamed of. Coming back from one of these drives, two + days after her conversation on the piazza with Peter Roeder, she met him + riding a massive roan. He sat the animal with that air of perfect + unconsciousness which is the attribute of the Western man, and his attire, + even to his English stock, was faultless,—faultily faultless. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you won't object to havin' me ride beside you,” he said, wheeling + his horse. To tell the truth, Kate did not object. She was a little dull, + and had been conscious all the morning of that peculiar physical + depression which marks the beginning of a fit of homesickness. + </p> + <p> + “The wind gits a fine sweep,” said Roeder, after having obtained the + permission he desired. “Now in the gulch we either had a dead stagnation, + or else the wind was tearin' up and down like a wild beast.” + </p> + <p> + Kate did not reply, and they went on together, facing the riotous wind. + </p> + <p> + “You can't guess how queer it seems t' be here,” he said, confidentially. + “It seems t' me as if I had come from some other planet. Thar don't + rightly seem t' be no place fur me. I tell you what it's like. It's as if + I'd come down t' enlist in th' ranks, an' found 'em full,—every man + marchin' along in his place, an' no place left fur me.” + </p> + <p> + Kate could not find a reply. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't a friend,—not a friend! I ain't complainin'. It ain't th' + fault of any one—but myself. You don' know what a durned fool I've + bin. Someway, up thar in th' gulch I got t' seemin' so sort of important + t' myself, and my makin' my stake seemed such a big thing, that I thought + I had only t' come down here t' Helena t' have folks want t' know me. I + didn't particular want th' money because it wus money. But out here you + work fur it, jest as you work fur other things in other places,—jest + because every one is workin' fur it, and it's the man who gets th' most + that beats. It ain't that they are any more greedy than men anywhere else. + My pile's a pretty good-sized one. An' it's likely to be bigger; but no + one else seems t' care. Th' paper printed some pieces about it. Some of + th' men came round t' see me; but I saw their game. I said I guessed I'd + look further fur my acquaintances. I ain't spoken to a lady,—not a + real lady, you know,—t' talk with, friendly like, but you, fur—years.” + </p> + <p> + His face flushed in that sudden way again. They were passing some of those + pretentious houses which rise in the midst of Helena's ragged streets with + such an extraneous air, and Kate leaned forward to look at them. The + driver, seeing her interest, drew up the horses for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Fine, fine!” ejaculated Roeder. “But they ain't got no garden. A house + don't seem anythin' t' me without a garden. Do you know what I think would + be th' most beautiful thing in th' world? A baby in a rose-garden! Do you + know, I ain't had a baby in my hands, excep' Ned Ramsey's little kid, + once, for ten year!” + </p> + <p> + Kate's face shone with sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “How dreadful!” she cried. “I couldn't live without a baby about.” + </p> + <p> + “Like babies, do you? Well, well. Boys? Like boys?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit better than girls,” said Kate, stoutly. + </p> + <p> + “I like boys,” responded Roeder, with conviction. “My mother liked boys. + She had three girls, but she liked me a damned sight the best.” + </p> + <p> + Kate laughed outright. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you swear?” she said. “I never heard a man swear before,—at + least, not one with whom I was talking. That's one of your gulch habits. + You must get over it.” + </p> + <p> + Roeder's blond face turned scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me,” he pleaded. “I'll cure myself of it! Jest give me a + chance.” + </p> + <p> + This was a little more personal than Kate approved of, and she raised her + parasol to conceal her annoyance. It was a brilliant little fluff of a + thing which looked as if it were made of butterflies' wings. Roeder + touched it with awe. + </p> + <p> + “You have sech beautiful things,” he said. “I didn't know women wore sech + nice things. Now that dress—it's like—I don't know what it's + like.” It was a simple little taffeta, with warp and woof of azure and of + cream, and gay knots of ribbon about it. + </p> + <p> + “We have the advantage of men,” she said. “I often think one of the + greatest drawbacks to being a man would be the sombre clothes. I like to + wear the prettiest things that can be found.” + </p> + <p> + “Lace?” queried Roeder. “Do you like lace?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so! Did you ever see a woman who didn't?” + </p> + <p> + “Hu—um! These women I've known don't know lace,—these wives of + th' men out here. They're th' only kind I've seen this long time.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course, but I mean—” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you mean. My mother has a chest full of linen an' lace. She + showed it t' me th' day I left. 'Peter,' she said, 'some day you bring a + wife home with you, an' I'll give you that lace an' that linen.' An' I'm + goin' t' do it, too,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” said Kate, with her eyes moist. “I hope you will, and that + your mother will be very happy.” + </p> + <p> + . . . . . . . + </p> + <p> + There was a hop at the hotel that night, and it was almost a matter of + courtesy for Kate to go. Ladies were in demand, for there were not very + many of them at the hotel. Every one was expected to do his best to make + it a success; and Kate, not at all averse to a waltz or two, dressed + herself for the occasion with her habitual striving after artistic effect. + She was one of those women who make a picture of themselves as naturally + as a bird sings. She had an opal necklace which Jack had given her + because, he said, she had as many moods as an opal had colors; and she + wore this with a crepe gown, the tint of the green lights in her necklace. + A box of flowers came for her as she was dressing; they were Puritan + roses, and Peter Roeder's card was in the midst of them. She was used to + having flowers given her. It would have seemed remarkable if some one had + not sent her a bouquet when she was going to a ball. + </p> + <p> + “I shall dance but twice,” she said to those who sought her for a partner. + “Neither more nor less.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you goin' t' dance with me at all?” Roeder managed to say to her in + the midst of her laughing altercation with the gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + “Dance with you!” cried Kate. “How do men learn to dance when they are up + a gulch?” + </p> + <p> + “I ken dance,” he said stubbornly. He was mortified at her chaffing. + </p> + <p> + “Then you may have the second waltz,” she said, in quick contrition. “Now + you other gentlemen have been dancing any number of times these last + fifteen years. But Mr. Roeder is just back from a hard campaign,—a + campaign against fate. My second waltz is his. And I shall dance my best.” + </p> + <p> + It happened to be just the right sort of speech. The women tried + good-naturedly to make Roeder's evening a pleasant one. They were filled + with compassion for a man who had not enjoyed the society of their sex for + fifteen years. They found much amusement in leading him through the square + dances, the forms of which were utterly unknown to him. But he waltzed + with a sort of serious alertness that was not so bad as it might have + been. + </p> + <p> + Kate danced well. Her slight body seemed as full of the spirit of the + waltz as a thrush's body is of song. Peter Roeder moved along with her in + a maze, only half-answering her questions, his gray eyes full of mystery. + </p> + <p> + Once they stopped for a moment, and he looked down at her, as with flushed + face she stood smiling and waving her gossamer fan, each motion stirring + the frail leaves of the roses he had sent her. + </p> + <p> + “It's cur'ous,” he said softly, “but I keep thinkin' about that black + gulch.” + </p> + <p> + “Forget it,” she said. “Why do you think of a gulch when—” She + stopped with a sudden recollection that he was not used to persiflage. But + he anticipated what she was about to say. + </p> + <p> + “Why think of the gulch when you are here?” he said. “Why, because it is + only th' gulch that seems real. All this,—these pleasant, polite + people, this beautiful room, th' flowers everywhere, and you, and me as I + am, seem as if I was dreamin'. Thar ain't anything in it all that is like + what I thought it would be.” + </p> + <p> + “Not as you thought it would be?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Different. I thought it would be—well, I thought th' people + would not be quite so high-toned. I hope you don't mind that word.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least,” she said. “It's a musical term. It applies very well + to people.” + </p> + <p> + They took up the dance again and waltzed breathlessly till the close. Kate + was tired; the exertion had been a little more than she had bargained for. + She sat very still on the veranda under the white glare of an electric + ball, and let Roeder do the talking. Her thoughts, in spite of the + entertainment she was deriving from her present experiences, would go back + to the babies. She saw them tucked well in bed, each in a little iron + crib, with the muslin curtains shielding their rosy faces from the light. + She wondered if Jack were reading alone in the library or was at the club, + or perhaps at the summer concert, with the swell of the violins in his + ears. Jack did so love music. As she thought how delicate his perceptions + were, how he responded to everything most subtle in nature and in art, of + how life itself was a fine art with him, and joy a thing to be cultivated, + she turned with a sense of deep compassion to the simple man by her side. + His rough face looked a little more unattractive than usual. His evening + clothes were almost grotesque. His face wore a look of solitude, of + hunger. + </p> + <p> + “What were you saying?” she said, dreamily. “I beg your pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “I was sayin' how I used t' dream of sittin' on the steps of a hotel like + this, and not havin' a thing t' do. When I used t' come down here out of + the gulch, and see men who had had good dinners, an' good baths, sittin' + around smokin', with money t' go over there t' th' bookstan' an' get + anythin' they'd want, it used t' seem t' me about all a single man could + wish fur.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've got it all now.” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn't any of th' time suppose that would satisfy a man long. Only + I was so darned tired I couldn't help wantin' t' rest. But I'm not so + selfish ur s' narrow as to be satisfied with THAT. No, I'm not goin' t' + spend m' pile that way—quite!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed out loud, and then sat in silence watching Kate as she lay back + wearily in her chair. + </p> + <p> + “I've got t' have that there garden,” he said, laughingly. “Got t' get + them roses. An' I'll have a big bath-house,—plenty of springs in + this country. You ken have a bath here that won't freeze summer NOR + winter. An' a baby! I've got t' have a baby. He'll go with th' roses an' + th' bath.” He laughed again heartily. + </p> + <p> + “It's a queer joke, isn't it?” Roeder asked. “Talkin' about my baby, an' I + haven't even a wife.” His face flushed and he turned his eyes away. + </p> + <p> + “Have I shown you the pictures of my babies?” Kate inquired. “You'd like + my boy, I know. And my girl is just like me,—in miniature.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. She looked up after a moment. Roeder appeared to be + examining the monogram on his ring as if he had never seen it before. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't understand that you were married,” he said gently. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you? I don't think you ever called me by any name at all, or I + should have noticed your mistake and set you right. Yes, I'm married. I + came out here to get strong for the babies.” + </p> + <p> + “Got a boy an' a girl, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “How old's th' boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Five.” + </p> + <p> + “An' th' girl?” + </p> + <p> + “She'll soon be four.” + </p> + <p> + “An' yer husband—he's livin'?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so! I'm a very happy woman, Mr. Roeder. If only I were + stronger!” + </p> + <p> + “Yer lookin' much better,” he said, gravely, “than when you come. You'll + be all right.” + </p> + <p> + The moon began to come up scarlet beyond the eastern hills. The two + watched it in silence. Kate had a feeling of guilt, as if she had been + hurting some helpless thing. + </p> + <p> + “I was in hopes,” he said, suddenly, in a voice that seemed abrupt and + shrill, “thet you'd see fit t' stay here.” + </p> + <p> + “Here in Helena? Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinkin' I'd offer you that two hundred thousand dollars, if you'd + stay.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Roeder! You don't mean-surely—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. Why not?” He spoke rather doggedly. “I'll never see no other + woman like you. You're different from others. How good you've been t' me!” + </p> + <p> + “Good! I'm afraid I've been very bad—at least, very stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, now—your husband's good t' you, ain't he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is the kindest man that ever lived.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, I didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + A rather awkward pause followed which was broken by Roeder. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see jest what I'm goin' t' do with that thar two hundred thousand + dollars,” he said, mournfully. + </p> + <p> + “Do with it? Why, live with it! Send some to your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I've done that. Five thousand dollars. It don't seem much here; but + it'll seem a lot t' her. I'd send her more, only it would've bothered + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there is your house,—the house with the bath-room. But I + suppose you'll have other rooms?” + </p> + <p> + Peter laughed a little in spite of himself. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I won't have a house,” he said. “An' I couldn't make a garden + alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Hire a man to help you.” Kate was trembling, but she kept talking gayly. + She was praying that nothing very serious would happen. There was an + undercurrent of sombreness in the man's manner that frightened her. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I'll jest have t' keep on dreamin' of that boy playin' with th' + roses.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” cried Kate; “he will come true some day! I know he'll come + true.” + </p> + <p> + Peter got up and stood by her chair. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know nothin' about it,” he said. “You don't know, an' you can't + know what it's bin t' me t' talk with you. Here I come out of a place + where there ain't no sound but the water and the pines. Years come an' go. + Still no sound. Only thinkin', thinkin', thinkin'! Missin' all th' things + men care fur! Dreamin' of a time when I sh'd strike th' pile. Then I seed + home, wife, a boy, flowers, everythin'. You're so beautiful, an' you're so + good. You've a way of pickin' a man's heart right out of him. First time I + set my eyes on you I thought you were th' nicest thing I ever see! And how + little you are! That hand of yours,—look at it,—it's like a + leaf! An' how easy you smile. Up th' gulch we didn't smile; we laughed, + but gen'ly because some one got in a fix. Then your voice! Ah, I've + thought fur years that some day I might hear a voice like that! Don't you + go! Sit still! I'm not blamin' you fur anythin'; but I may never, 's + long's I live, find any one who will understand things th' way you + understand 'em. Here! I tell you about that gulch an' you see that gulch. + You know how th' rain sounded thar, an' how th' shack looked, an' th' life + I led, an' all th' thoughts I had, an' th' long nights, an' th' times when—but + never mind. I know you know it all. I saw it in yer eyes. I tell you of + mother, an' you see 'er. You know 'er old German face, an' 'er proud ways, + an' her pride in me, an' how she would think I wuz awfully rich. An' you + see how she would give out them linens, all marked fur my wife, an' how I + would sit an' watch her doin' it, an'—you see everything. I know you + do. I could feel you doin' it. Then I say to myself: 'Here is th' one + woman in th' world made fur me. Whatever I have, she shall have. I'll + spend my life waitin' on her. She'll tell me all th' things I ought t' + know, an' hev missed knowin'; she'll read t' me; she'll be patient when + she finds how dull I've grown. And thar'll be th' boy—'” + </p> + <p> + He seized her hand and wrung it, and was gone. Kate saw him no more that + night. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the major returned. Kate threw her arms around his neck + and wept. + </p> + <p> + “I want the babies,” she explained when the major showed his + consternation. “Don't mind my crying. You ought to be used to seeing me + cry by this time. I must get home, that's all. I must see Jack.” + </p> + <p> + So that night they started. + </p> + <p> + At the door of the carriage stood Peter Roeder, waiting. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going t' ride down with you,” he said. The major looked nonplussed. + </p> + <p> + Kate got in and the major followed. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” she said to Roeder. He sat opposite and looked at her as if he + would fasten her image on his mind. + </p> + <p> + “You remember,” he said after a time, “that I told you I used t' dream of + sittin' on the veranda of th' hotel and havin' nothin' t' do?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't think I care fur it. I've had a month of it. I'm goin' back + up th' gulch.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried Kate, instinctively reaching out her hands toward him. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? I guess you don't know me. I knew that somewhere I'd find a + friend. I found that friend; an' now I'm alone again. It's pretty quiet up + thar in the gulch; but I'll try it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. Go to Europe; go to see your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought about that a good deal, a while ago. But I don't seem t' have + no heart fur it now. I feel as if I'd be safer in th' gulch.” + </p> + <p> + “Safer?” + </p> + <p> + “The world looks pretty big. It's safe and close in th' gulch.” + </p> + <p> + At the station the major went to look after the trunks, and Roeder put + Kate in her seat. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted t' give you something,” he said, seating himself beside her, + “but I didn't dare.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear friend,” she cried, laying her little gloved hand on his red + and knotted one, “don't go back into the shadow. Do not return to that + terrible silence. Wait. Have patience. Fate has brought you wealth. It + will bring you love.” + </p> + <p> + “I've somethin' to ask,” he said, paying no attention to her appeal. “You + must answer it. If we 'a' met long ago, an' you hadn't a husband or—anythin'—do + you think you'd've loved me then?” + </p> + <p> + She felt herself turning white. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said softly. “I could never have loved you, my dear friend. We + are not the same. Believe me, there is a woman somewhere who will love + you; but I am not that woman—nor could I have ever been.” + </p> + <p> + The train was starting. The major came bustling in. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-by,” said Roeder, holding out his hand to Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” she cried. “Don't go back up the gulch.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he said, reassuringly, “don't you worry about me, my—don't + worry. The gulch is a nice, quiet place. An' you know what I told you + about th' ranks all bein' full. Good-by.” The train was well under way. He + sprang off, and stood on the platform waving his handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Kate,” said the major, seating himself down comfortably and + adjusting his travelling cap, “did you find the Western type?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't quite know,” said she, slowly. “But I have made the discovery + that a human soul is much the same wherever you meet it.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! You haven't been meeting a soul, have you?” the major said, + facetiously, unbuckling his travelling-bag. “I'll tell Jack.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'll tell Jack. And he'll feel quite as badly as I do to think that I + could do nothing for its proper adjustment.” + </p> + <p> + The major's face took on a look of comprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Was that the soul,” he asked, “that just came down in the carriage with + us?” + </p> + <p> + “That was it,” assented Kate. “It was born; it has had its mortal day; and + it has gone back up the gulch.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Michigan Man + </h2> + <p> + A PINE forest is nature's expression of solemnity and solitude. Sunlight, + rivers, cascades, people, music, laughter, or dancing could not make it + gay. With its unceasing reverberations and its eternal shadows, it is as + awful and as holy as a cathedral. + </p> + <p> + Thirty good fellows working together by day and drinking together by night + can keep up but a moody imitation of jollity. Spend twenty-five of your + forty years, as Luther Dallas did, in this perennial gloom, and your soul—that + which enjoys, aspires, competes—will be drugged as deep as if you + had quaffed the cup of oblivion. Luther Dallas was counted one of the most + experienced axe-men in the northern camps. He could fell a tree with the + swift surety of an executioner, and in revenge for his many arboral + murders the woodland had taken captive his mind, captured and chained it + as Prospero did Ariel. The resounding footsteps of Progress driven on so + mercilessly in this mad age could not reach his fastness. It did not + concern him that men were thinking, investigating, inventing. His senses + responded only to the sonorous music of the woods; a steadfast wind + ringing metallic melody from the pine-tops contented him as the sound of + the sea does the sailor; and dear as the odors of the ocean to the mariner + were the resinous scents of the forest to him. Like a sailor, too, he had + his superstitions. He had a presentiment that he was to die by one of + these trees,-that some day, in chopping, the tree would fall upon and + crush him as it did his father the day they brought him back to the camp + on a litter of pine boughs. + </p> + <p> + One day the gang-boss noticed a tree that Dallas had left standing in a + most unwoodmanlike manner in the section which was allotted to him. + </p> + <p> + “What in thunder is that standing there for?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Dallas raised his eyes to the pine, towering in stern dignity a hundred + feet above them. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said feebly, “I noticed it, but kind-a left it t' the last.” + </p> + <p> + “Cut it down to-morrow,” was the response. + </p> + <p> + The wind was rising, and the tree muttered savagely. Luther thought it + sounded like a menace, and turned pale. No trouble has yet been found that + will keep a man awake in the keen air of the pineries after he has been + swinging his axe all day, but the sleep of the chopper was so broken with + disturbing dreams that night that the beads gathered on his brow, and + twice he cried aloud. He ate his coarse flap-jacks in the morning and + escaped from the smoky shanty as soon as he could. + </p> + <p> + “It'll bring bad luck, I'm afraid,” he muttered as he went to get his axe + from the rack. He was as fond of his axe as a soldier of his musket, but + to-day he shouldered it with reluctance. He felt like a man with his + destiny before him. The tree stood like a sentinel. He raised his axe, + once, twice, a dozen times, but could not bring himself to make a cut in + the bark. He walked backwards a few steps and looked up. The funereal + green seemed to grow darker and darker till it became black. It was the + embodiment of sorrow. Was it not shaking giant arms at him? Did it not cry + out in angry challenge? Luther did not try to laugh at his fears; he had + never seen any humor in life. A gust of wind had someway crept through the + dense barricade of foliage that flanked the clearing, and struck him with + an icy chill. He looked at the sky; the day was advancing rapidly. He went + at his work with an energy as determined as despair. The axe in his + practised hand made clean straight cuts in the trunk, now on this side, + now on that. His task was not an easy one, but he finished it with + wonderful expedition. After the chopping was finished, the tree stood firm + a moment; then, as the tensely-strained fibres began a weird moaning, he + sprang aside, and stood waiting. In the distance he saw two men hewing a + log. The axe-man sent them a shout and threw up his arms for them to look. + The tree stood out clear and beautiful against the gray sky; the men + ceased their work and watched it. The vibrations became more violent, and + the sounds they produced grew louder and louder till they reached a shrill + wild cry. There came a pause, then a deep shuddering groan. The topmost + branches began to move slowly, the whole stately bulk swayed, and then + shot towards the ground. The gigantic trunk bounded from the stump, + recoiled like a cannon, crashed down, and lay conquered, with a roar as of + an earthquake, in a cloud of flying twigs and chips. + </p> + <p> + When the dust had cleared away, the men at the log on the outside of the + clearing could not see Luther. They ran to the spot, and found him lying + on the ground with his chest crushed in. His fearful eyes had not rightly + calculated the distance from the stump to the top of the pine, nor rightly + weighed the power of the massed branches, and so, standing spell-bound, + watching the descending trunk as one might watch his Nemesis, the rebound + came and left him lying worse than dead. + </p> + <p> + Three months later, when the logs, lopped of their branches, drifted down + the streams, the woodman, a human log lopped of his strength, drifted to a + great city. A change, the doctor said, might prolong his life. The + lumbermen made up a purse, and he started out, not very definitely knowing + his destination. He had a sister, much younger than himself, who at the + age of sixteen had married and gone, he believed, to Chicago. That was + years ago, but he had an idea that he might find her. He was not troubled + by his lack of resources; he did not believe that any man would want for a + meal unless he were “shiftless.” He had always been able to turn his hand + to something. + </p> + <p> + He felt too ill from the jostling of the cars to notice much of anything + on the journey. The dizzy scenes whirling past made him faint, and he was + glad to lie with closed eyes. He imagined that his little sister in her + pink calico frock and bare feet (as he remembered her) would be at the + station to meet him. “Oh, Lu!” she would call from some hiding-place, and + he would go and find her. + </p> + <p> + The conductor stopped by Luther's seat and said that they were in the city + at last; but it seemed to the sick man as if they went miles after that, + with a multitude of twinkling lights on one side and a blank darkness, + that they told him was the lake, on the other. The conductor again stopped + by his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my man,” said he, “how are you feeling?” + </p> + <p> + Luther, the possessor of the toughest muscles in the gang, felt a sick + man's irritation at the tone of pity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm all right!” he said, gruffly, and shook off the assistance the + conductor tried to offer with his overcoat. “I'm going to my sister's,” he + explained, in answer to the inquiry as to where he was going. The man, + somewhat piqued at the spirit in which his overtures were met, left him, + and Luther stepped on to the platform. There was a long vista of + semi-light, down which crowds of people walked and baggage-men rushed. The + building, if it deserved the name, seemed a ruin, and through the arched + doors Luther could see men—hackmen-dancing and howling like + dervishes. Trains were coming and going, and the whistles and bells kept + up a ceaseless clangor. Luther, with his small satchel and uncouth dress, + slouched by the crowd unnoticed, and reached the street. He walked amid + such an illumination as he had never dreamed of, and paused half blinded + in the glare of a broad sheet of electric light that filled a pillared + entrance into which many people passed. He looked about him. Above on + every side rose great, many-windowed buildings; on the street the cars and + carriages thronged, and jostling crowds dashed headlong among the + vehicles. After a time he turned down a street that seemed to him a + pandemonium filled with madmen. It went to his head like wine, and hardly + left him the presence of mind to sustain a quiet exterior. The wind was + laden with a penetrating moisture that chilled him as the dry icy breezes + from Huron never had done, and the pain in his lungs made him faint and + dizzy. He wondered if his red-cheeked little sister could live in one of + those vast, impregnable buildings. He thought of stopping some of those + serious-looking men and asking them if they knew her; but he could not + muster up the courage. The distressing experience that comes to almost + every one some time in life, of losing all identity in the universal + humanity, was becoming his. The tears began to roll down his wasted face + from loneliness and exhaustion. He grew hungry with longing for the dirty + but familiar cabins of the camp, and staggered along with eyes half + closed, conjuring visions of the warm interiors, the leaping fires, the + groups of laughing men seen dimly through clouds of tobacco-smoke. + </p> + <p> + A delicious scent of coffee met his hungry sense and made him really think + he was taking the savory black draught from his familiar tin cup; but the + muddy streets, the blinding lights, the cruel, rushing people, were still + there. The buildings, however, now became different. They were lower and + meaner, with dirty windows. Women laughing loudly crowded about the doors, + and the establishments seemed to be equally divided between + saloon-keepers, pawnbrokers, and dealers in second-hand clothes. Luther + wondered where they all drew their support from. Upon one signboard he + read, “Lodgings 10 cents to 50 cents. A Square Meal for 15 cents,” and, + thankful for some haven, entered. Here he spent his first night and other + nights, while his purse dwindled and his strength waned. At last he got a + man in a drug-store to search the directory for his sister's residence. + They found a name he took to be his brother-in-law's. It was two days + later when he found the address,—a great, many-storied mansion on + one of the southern boulevards,—and found also that his search had + been in vain. Sore and faint, he staggered back to his miserable shelter, + only to arise feverish and ill in the morning. He frequented the great + shop doors, thronged with brilliantly-dressed ladies, and watched to see + if his little sister might not dash up in one of those satin-lined coaches + and take him where he would be warm and safe and would sleep undisturbed + by drunken, ribald songs and loathsome surroundings. There were days when + he almost forgot his name, and, striving to remember, would lose his + senses for a moment and drift back to the harmonious solitudes of the + North and breathe the resin-scented frosty atmosphere. He grew terrified + at the blood he coughed from his lacerated lungs, and wondered bitterly + why the boys did not come to take him home. + </p> + <p> + One day, as he painfully dragged himself down a residence street, he tried + to collect his thoughts and form some plan for the future. He had no + trade, understood no handiwork; he could fell trees. He looked at the + gaunt, scrawny, transplanted specimens that met his eye, and gave himself + up to the homesickness that filled his soul. He slept that night in the + shelter of a stable, and spent his last money in the morning for a + biscuit. + </p> + <p> + He travelled many miles that afternoon looking for something to which he + might turn his hand. Once he got permission to carry a hod for half an + hour. At the end of that time he fainted. When he recovered, the foreman + paid him twenty-five cents. “For God's sake, man, go home,” he said. + Luther stared at him with a white face and went on. + </p> + <p> + There came days when he so forgot his native dignity as to beg. He seldom + received anything; he was referred to various charitable institutions the + existence of which he had never heard. + </p> + <p> + One morning, when a pall of smoke enveloped the city and the odors of + coal-gas refused to lift their nauseating poison through the heavy air, + Luther, chilled with dew and famished, awoke to a happier life. The + loneliness at his heart was gone. The feeling of hopeless imprisonment + that the miles and miles of streets had terrified him with gave place to + one of freedom and exaltation. Above him he heard the rasping of pine + boughs; his feet trod on a rebounding mat of decay; the sky was as coldly + blue as the bosom of Huron. He walked as if on ether, singing a senseless + jargon the woodmen had aroused the echoes with,— + </p> +<p class="poetry"> + “Hi yi halloo! + The owl sees you! + Look what you do! + Hi yi halloo!” + </p> + <p> + Swung over his shoulder was a stick he had used to assist his limping + gait, but now transformed into the beloved axe. He would reach the + clearing soon, he thought, and strode on like a giant, while people + hurried from his path. Suddenly a smooth trunk, stripped of its bark and + bleached by weather, arose before him. + </p> + <p> + “Hi yi halloo!” High went the wasted arm—crash!—a broken + staff, a jingle of wires, a maddened, shouting man the centre of a group + of amused spectators! A few moments later, four broad-shouldered men in + blue had him in their grasp, pinioned and guarded, clattering over the + noisy streets behind two spirited horses. They drew after them a troop of + noisy, jeering boys, who danced about the wagon like a swirl of autumn + leaves. Then came a halt, and Luther was dragged up the steps of a square + brick building with a belfry on the top. They entered a large bare room + with benches ranged about the walls, and brought him before a man at a + desk. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name?” asked the man at the desk. + </p> + <p> + “Hi yi halloo!” said Luther. + </p> + <p> + “He's drunk, sergeant,” said one of the men in blue, and the axe-man was + led into the basement. He was conscious of an involuntary resistance, a + short struggle, and a final shock of pain,—then oblivion. + </p> + <p> + The chopper awoke to the realization of three stone walls and an iron + grating in front. Through this he looked out upon a stone flooring across + which was a row of similar apartments. He neither knew nor cared where he + was. The feeling of imprisonment was no greater than he had felt on the + endless, cheerless streets. He laid himself on the bench that ran along a + side wall, and, closing his eyes, listened to the babble of the clear + stream and the thunder of the “drive” on its journey. How the logs hurried + and jostled! crushing, whirling, ducking, with the merry lads leaping + about them with shouts and laughter. Suddenly he was recalled by a voice. + Some one handed a narrow tin cup full of coffee and a thick slice of bread + through the grating. Across the way he dimly saw a man eating a similar + slice of bread. Men in other compartments were swearing and singing. He + knew these now for the voices he had heard in his dreams. He tried to + force some of the bread down his parched and swollen throat, but failed; + the coffee strangled him, and he threw himself upon the bench. + </p> + <p> + The forest again, the night-wind, the whistle of the axe through the air. + Once when he opened his eyes he found it dark. It would soon be time to go + to work. He fancied there would be hoar-frost on the trees in the morning. + How close the cabin seemed! Ha!—here came his little sister. Her + voice sounded like the wind on a spring morning. How loud it swelled now! + “Lu! Lu!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the lock-up keeper opened the cell door. Luther lay with + his head in a pool of blood. His soul had escaped from the thrall of the + forest. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” said the little fat police-justice, when he was told of it. + “We ought to have a doctor around to look after such cases.” + </p> + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Lady of Yesterday + </h2> + <p> + “A LIGHT wind blew from the gates of the sun,” the morning she first + walked down the street of the little Iowa town. Not a cloud flecked the + blue; there was a humming of happy insects; a smell of rich and moist loam + perfumed the air, and in the dusk of beeches and of oaks stood the quiet + homes. She paused now and then, looking in the gardens, or at a group of + children, then passed on, smiling in content. + </p> + <p> + Her accent was so strange, that the agent for real estate, whom she + visited, asked her, twice and once again, what it was she said. + </p> + <p> + “I want,” she had repeated smilingly, “an upland meadow, where clover will + grow, and mignonette.” + </p> + <p> + At the tea-tables that night, there was a mighty chattering. The brisk + village made a mystery of this lady with the slow step, the foreign trick + of speech, the long black gown, and the gentle voice. The men, concealing + their curiosity in presence of the women, gratified it secretly, by + sauntering to the tavern in the evening. There the keeper and his wife + stood ready to convey any neighborly intelligence. + </p> + <p> + “Elizabeth Astrado” was written in the register,—a name conveying + little, unaccompanied by title or by place of residence. + </p> + <p> + “She eats alone,” the tavern-keeper's wife confided to their eager ears, + “and asks for no service. Oh, she's a curiosity! She's got her story,—you'll + see!” + </p> + <p> + In a town where every man knew every other man, and whether or not he paid + his taxes on time, and what his standing was in church, and all the + skeletons of his home, a stranger alien to their ways disturbed their + peace of mind. + </p> + <p> + “An upland meadow where clover and mignonette will grow,” she had said, + and such an one she found, and planted thick with fine white clover and + with mignonette. Then, while the carpenters raised her cabin at the border + of the meadow, near the street, she passed among the villagers, mingling + with them gently, winning their good-will, in spite of themselves. + </p> + <p> + The cabin was of unbarked maple logs, with four rooms and a rustic + portico. Then all the villagers stared in very truth. They, living in + their trim and ugly little homes, accounted houses of logs as the + misfortune of their pioneer parents. A shed for wood, a barn for the + Jersey cow, a rustic fence, tall, with a high swinging gate, completed the + domain. In the front room of the cabin was a fireplace of rude brick. In + the bedrooms, cots as bare and hard as a nun's, and in the kitchen the + domestic necessaries; that was all. The poorest house-holder in the town + would not have confessed to such scant furnishing. Yet the richest man + might well have hesitated before he sent to France for hives and hives of + bees, as she did, setting them up along the southern border of her meadow. + </p> + <p> + Later there came strong boxes, marked with many marks of foreign + transportation lines, and the neighbor-gossips, seeing them, imagined + wealth of curious furniture; but the man who carted them told his wife, + who told her friend, who told her friend, that every box to the last one + was placed in the dry cemented cellar, and left there in the dark. + </p> + <p> + “An' a mighty ridic'lous expense a cellar like that is, t' put under a + house of that char'cter,” said the man to his wife—who repeated it + to her friend. + </p> + <p> + “But that ain't all,” the carpenter's wife had said when she heard about + it all, “Hank says there is one little room, not fit for buttery nor yet + fur closit, with a window high up—well, you ken see yourself-an' a + strong door. Jus' in passin' th' other day, when he was there, hangin' + some shelves, he tried it, an' it was locked!” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said the women who listened. + </p> + <p> + However, they were not unfriendly, these brisk gossips. Two of them, + plucking up tardy courage, did call one afternoon. Their hostess was out + among her bees, crooning to them, as it seemed, while they lighted all + about her, lit on the flower in her dark hair, buzzed vivaciously about + her snow-white linen gown, lighted on her long, dark hands. She came in + brightly when she saw her guests, and placed chairs for them, courteously, + steeped them a cup of pale and fragrant tea, and served them with little + cakes. Though her manner was so quiet and so kind, the women were shy + before her. She, turning to one and then the other, asked questions in her + quaint way. + </p> + <p> + “You have children, have you not?” + </p> + <p> + Both of them had. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she cried, clasping those slender hands, “but you are very + fortunate! Your little ones,—what are their ages?” + </p> + <p> + They told her, she listening smilingly. + </p> + <p> + “And you nurse your little babes—you nurse them at the breast?” + </p> + <p> + The modest women blushed. They were not used to speaking with such + freedom. But they confessed they did, not liking artificial means. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the lady, looking at them with a soft light in her eyes, “as + you say, there is nothing like the good mother Nature. The little ones God + sends should lie at the breast. 'Tis not the milk alone that they imbibe; + it is the breath of life,-it is the human magnetism, the power,-how shall + I say? Happy the mother who has a little babe to hold!” + </p> + <p> + They wanted to ask a question, but they dared not—wanted to ask a + hundred questions. But back of the gentleness was a hauteur, and they were + still. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she said, breaking her reverie, “of what your husbands do. Are + they carpenters? Do they build houses for men, like the blessed Jesus? Or + are they tillers of the soil? Do they bring fruits out of this bountiful + valley?” + </p> + <p> + They answered, with a reservation of approval. “The blessed Jesus!” It + sounded like popery. + </p> + <p> + She had gone from these brief personal matters to other things. + </p> + <p> + “How very strong you people seem,” she had remarked. “Both your men and + your women are large and strong. You should be, being appointed to subdue + a continent. Men think they choose their destinies, but indeed, good + neighbors, I think not so. Men are driven by the winds of God's will. They + are as much bidden to build up this valley, this storehouse for the + nations, as coral insects are bidden to make the reefs with their own + little bodies, dying as they build. Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + “We are the creatures of God's will, I suppose,” said one of her visitors, + piously. + </p> + <p> + She had given them little confidences in return. + </p> + <p> + “I make my bread,” she said, with childish pride, “pray see if you do not + think it excellent!” And she cut a flaky loaf to display its whiteness. + One guest summoned the bravado to inquire,— + </p> + <p> + “Then you are not used to doing housework?” + </p> + <p> + “I?” she said, with a slow smile, “I have never got used to anything,—not + even living.” And so she baffled them all, yet won them. + </p> + <p> + The weeks went by. Elizabeth Astrado attended to her bees, milked her cow, + fed her fowls, baked, washed, and cleaned, like the simple women about + her, saving that as she did it a look of ineffable content lighted up her + face, and she sang for happiness. Sometimes, amid the ballads that she + hummed, a strain slipped in of some great melody, which she, singing + unaware, as it were, corrected, shaking her finger in self-reproval, and + returning again to the ballads and the hymns. Nor was she remiss in + neighborly offices; but if any were ailing, or had a festivity, she was at + hand to assist, condole, or congratulate, carrying always some simple gift + in her hand, appropriate to the occasion. + </p> + <p> + She had her wider charities too, for all she kept close to her home. When, + one day, a story came to her of a laborer struck down with heat in putting + in a culvert on the railroad, and gossip said he could not speak English, + she hastened to him, caught dying words from his lips, whispered a reply, + and then what seemed to be a prayer, while he held fast her hand, and sank + to coma with wistful eyes upon her face. Moreover 'twas she who buried + him, raising a cross above his grave, and she who planted rose-bushes + about the mound. + </p> + <p> + “He spoke like an Italian,” said the physician to her warily. + </p> + <p> + “And so he was,” she had replied. + </p> + <p> + “A fellow-countryman of yours, no doubt?” + </p> + <p> + “Are not all men our countrymen, my friend?” she said, gently. “What are + little lines drawn in the imagination of men, dividing territory, that + they should divide our sympathies? The world is my country—and + yours, I hope. Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + Then there had also been a hapless pair of lovers, shamed before their + community, who, desperate, impoverished, and bewildered at the war between + nature and society, had been helped by her into a new part of the world. + There had been a widow with many children, who had found baskets of cooked + food and bundles of well-made clothing on her step. And as the days + passed, with these pleasant offices, the face of the strange woman glowed + with an ever-increasing content, and her dark, delicate beauty grew. + </p> + <p> + John Hartington spent his vacation at Des Moines, having a laudable desire + to see something of the world before returning to his native town, with + his college honors fresh upon him. Swiftest of the college runners was + John Hartington, famed for his leaping too, and measuring widest at the + chest and waist of all the hearty fellows at the university. His blond + curls clustered above a brow almost as innocent as a child's; his frank + and brave blue eyes, his free step, his mellow laugh, bespoke the perfect + animal, unharmed by civilization, unperplexed by the closing century's + fallacies and passions. The wholesome oak that spreads its roots deep in + the generous soil, could not be more a part of nature than he. + Conscientious, unimaginative, direct, sincere, industrious, he was the + ideal man of his kind, and his return to town caused a flutter among the + maidens which they did not even attempt to conceal. They told him all the + chat, of course, and, among other things, mentioned the great sensation of + the year,—the coming of the woman with her mystery, the purchase of + the sunny upland, the planting it with clover and with mignonette, the + building of the house of logs, the keeping of the bees, the barren rooms, + the busy, silent life, the charities, the never-ending wonder of it all. + And then the woman—kind, yet different from the rest, with the + foreign trick of tongue, the slow, proud walk, the delicate, slight hands, + the beautiful, beautiful smile, the air as of a creature from another + world. + </p> + <p> + Hartington, strolling beyond the village streets, up where the sunset died + in daffodil above the upland, saw the little cot of logs, and out before + it, among blood-red poppies, the woman of whom he had heard. Her gown of + white gleamed in that eerie radiance, glorified, her sad great eyes bent + on him in magnetic scrutiny. A peace and plenitude of power came radiating + from her, and reached him where he stood, suddenly, and for the first time + in his careless life, struck dumb and awed. She, too, seemed suddenly + abashed at this great bulk of youthful manhood, innocent and strong. She + gazed on him, and he on her, both chained with some mysterious + enchantment. Yet neither spoke, and he, turning in bewilderment at last, + went back to town, while she placed one hand on her lips to keep from + calling him. And neither slept that night, and in the morning when she + went with milking pail and stool out to the grassy field, there he stood + at the bars, waiting. Again they gazed, like creatures held in thrall by + some magician, till she held out her hand and said,— + </p> + <p> + “We must be friends, although we have not met. Perhaps we ARE old friends. + They say there have been worlds before this one. I have not seen you in + these habiliments of flesh and blood, and yet—we may be friends?” + </p> + <p> + John Hartington, used to the thin jests of the village girls, and all + their simple talk, rose, nevertheless, enlightened as he was with some + strange sympathy with her, to understand and answer what she said. + </p> + <p> + “I think perhaps it may be so. May I come in beside you in the field? Give + me the pail. I'll milk the cow for you.” + </p> + <p> + She threw her head back and laughed like a girl from school, and he + laughed too, and they shook hands. Then she sat near him while he milked, + both keeping silence, save for the p-rring noise he made with his lips to + the patient beast. Being through, she served him with a cupful of the + fragrant milk; but he bade her drink first, then drank himself, and then + they laughed again, as if they both had found something new and good in + life. + </p> + <p> + Then she,— + </p> + <p> + “Come see how well my bees are doing.” And they went. She served him with + the lucent syrup of the bees, perfumed with the mignonette,—such + honey as there never was before. He sat on the broad doorstep, near the + scarlet poppies, she on the grass, and then they talked—was it one + golden hour—or two? Ah, well, 'twas long enough for her to learn all + of his simple life, long enough for her to know that he was victor at the + races at the school, that he could play the pipe, like any shepherd of the + ancient days, and when he went he asked her if he might return. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” laughed she, “sometimes I am lonely. Come see me—in a week.” + </p> + <p> + Yet he was there that day at twilight, and he brought his silver pipe, and + piped to her under the stars, and she sung ballads to him,—songs of + Strephon and times when the hills were young, and flocks were fairer than + they ever be these days. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,” and still the intercourse, + still her dark loveliness waxing, still the weaving of the mystic spell, + still happiness as primitive and as sweet as ever Eden knew. + </p> + <p> + Then came a twilight when the sweet rain fell, and on the heavy air the + perfumes of the fields floated. The woman stood by the window of the cot, + looking out. Tall, graceful, full of that subtle power which drew his + soul; clothed in white linen, fragrant from her fields, with breath + freighted with fresh milk, with eyes of flame, she was there to be adored. + And he, being man of manliest type, forgot all that might have checked the + words, and poured his soul out at her feet. She drew herself up like a + queen, but only that she might look queenlier for his sake, and, bending, + kissed his brow, and whispered back his vows. + </p> + <p> + And they were married. + </p> + <p> + The villagers pitied Hartington. + </p> + <p> + “She's more than a match for him in years—an' in some other ways, as + like as not,” they said. “Besides, she ain't much inclined to mention + anything about her past. 'Twon't bear the tellin' probably.” + </p> + <p> + As for the lovers, they laughed as they went about their honest tasks, or + sat together arms encircling each at evening, now under the stars, and now + before their fire of wood. They talked together of their farm, added a + field for winter wheat, bought other cattle, and some horses, which they + rode out over the rolling prairies side by side. He never stopped to chat + about the town; she never ventured on the street without him by her side. + Truth to tell, their neighbors envied them, marvelling how one could + extract a heaven out of earth, and what such perfect joy could mean. + </p> + <p> + Yet, for all their prosperity, not one addition did they make to that most + simple home. It stood there, with its bare necessities, made beautiful + only with their love. But when the winter was most gone, he made a little + cradle of hard wood, in which she placed pillows of down, and over which + she hung linen curtains embroidered by her hand. + </p> + <p> + In the long evenings, by the flicker of the fire, they sat together, cheek + to cheek, and looked at this little bed, singing low songs together. + </p> + <p> + “This happiness is terrible, my John,” she said to him one night,—a + wondrous night, when the eastern wind had flung the tassels out on all the + budding trees of spring, and the air was throbbing with awakening life, + and balmy puffs of breeze, and odors of the earth. “And we are growing + young. Do you not think that we are very young and strong?” + </p> + <p> + He kissed her on the lips. “I know that you are beautiful,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we have lived at Nature's heart, you see, my love. The cattle and the + fowls, the honey and the wheat, the cot-the cradle, John, and you and me! + These things make happiness. They are nature. But then, you cannot + understand. You have never known the artificial—” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Elizabeth?” + </p> + <p> + “John, if you wish, you shall hear all I have to tell. 'Tis a long, long, + weary tale. Will you hear it now? Believe me, it will make us sad.” + </p> + <p> + She grasped his arm till he shrank with pain. + </p> + <p> + “Tell what you will and when you will, Elizabeth. Perhaps, some day—when—” + he pointed to the little crib. + </p> + <p> + “As you say.” And so it dropped. + </p> + <p> + There came a day when Hartington, sitting upon the portico, where perfumes + of the budding clover came to him, hated the humming of the happy bees, + hated the rustling of the trees, hated the sight of earth. + </p> + <p> + “The child is dead,” the nurse had said, “as for your wife, perhaps—” + but that was all. Finally he heard the nurse's step upon the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” she said, motioning him. And he had gone, laid cheek against that + dying cheek, whispered his love once more, saw it returned even then, in + those deep eyes, and laid her back upon her pillow, dead. + </p> + <p> + He buried her among the mignonette, levelled the earth, sowed thick the + seed again. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis as she wished,” he said. + </p> + <p> + With his strong hands he wrenched the little crib, laid it piece by piece + upon their hearth, and scattered then the sacred ashes on the wind. Then, + with hard-coming breath, broke open the locked door of that room which he + had never entered, thinking to find there, perhaps, some sign of that + unguessable life of hers, but found there only an altar, with votive lamps + before the Blessed Virgin, and lilies faded and fallen from their stems. + </p> + <p> + Then down into the cellar went he, to those boxes, with the foreign marks. + And then, indeed, he found a hint of that dead life. Gowns of velvet and + of silk, such as princesses might wear, wonders of lace, yellowed with + time, great cloaks of snowy fur, lustrous robes, jewels of worth,—a + vast array of brilliant trumpery. Then there were books in many tongues, + with rich old bindings and illuminated page, and in them written the dead + woman's name,—a name of many parts, with titles of impress, and in + the midst of all the name, “Elizabeth Astrado,” as she said. + </p> + <p> + And that was all, or if there were more he might have learned, following + trails that fell within his way, he never learned it, being content, and + thankful that he had held her for a time within his arms, and looked in + her great soul, which, wearying of life's sad complexities, had simplified + itself, and made his love its best adornment. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + + + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MOUNTAIN WOMAN AND OTHERS ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c8cb2f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #1877 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1877) diff --git a/old/1877.txt b/old/1877.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..66c7f45 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1877.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4958 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Mountain Woman and Others, by +(AKA Elia Wilkinson) Elia W. Peattie + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Mountain Woman and Others + +Author: (AKA Elia Wilkinson) Elia W. Peattie + +Posting Date: October 23, 2008 [EBook #1877] +Release Date: September, 1998 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MOUNTAIN WOMAN AND OTHERS *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss + + + + + +A MOUNTAIN WOMAN + +By Elia Wilkinson Peattie + + + + To + + My best Friend, and kindest Critic, + + My Husband. + + +Transcriber's Note: I have omitted signature designations and have +closed abbreviations, e.g., "do n't" becoming "don't," etc. In addition, +I have made the following changes to the text: + + PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 38 19 seem to seemed to + 47 9 beafsteak beefsteak + 56 4 divertisement divertissement + 91 19 divertisement divertissement + 155 17 scarfs. scarves. + 169 20 scarfs, scarves, + + + + +FOREWORD. + + +MOST of the tales in this little book have been printed before. "A +Mountain Woman" appeared in Harper's Weekly, as did "The Three Johns" +and "A Resuscitation." "Jim Lancy's Waterloo" was printed in the +Cosmopolitan, "A Michigan Man" in Lippincott's, and "Up the Gulch" in +Two Tales. The courtesy of these periodicals in permitting the stories +to be republished is cordially acknowledged. + +E. W. P. + + + + +Contents + + + A MOUNTAIN WOMAN + + JIM LANCY'S WATERLOO + + THE THREE JOHNS + + A RESUSCITATION + + TWO PIONEERS + + UP THE GULCH + + A MICHIGAN MAN + + A LADY OF YESTERDAY + + + + +A Mountain Woman + +IF Leroy Brainard had not had such a respect for literature, he would +have written a book. + +As it was, he played at being an architect--and succeeded in being a +charming fellow. My sister Jessica never lost an opportunity of laughing +at his endeavors as an architect. + +"You can build an enchanting villa, but what would you do with a +cathedral?" + +"I shall never have a chance at a cathedral," he would reply. "And, +besides, it always seems to me so material and so impertinent to build a +little structure of stone and wood in which to worship God!" + +You see what he was like? He was frivolous, yet one could never tell +when he would become eloquently earnest. + +Brainard went off suddenly Westward one day. I suspected that Jessica +was at the bottom of it, but I asked no questions; and I did not hear +from him for months. Then I got a letter from Colorado. + +"I have married a mountain woman," he wrote. "None of your puny breed +of modern femininity, but a remnant left over from the heroic ages,--a +primitive woman, grand and vast of spirit, capable of true and steadfast +wifehood. No sophistry about her; no knowledge even that there is +sophistry. Heavens! man, do you remember the rondeaux and triolets I +used to write to those pretty creatures back East? It would take a Saga +man of the old Norseland to write for my mountain woman. If I were an +artist, I would paint her with the north star in her locks and her feet +on purple cloud. I suppose you are at the Pier. I know you usually are +at this season. At any rate, I shall direct this letter thither, and +will follow close after it. I want my wife to see something of life. And +I want her to meet your sister." + +"Dear me!" cried Jessica, when I read the letter to her; "I don't know +that I care to meet anything quite so gigantic as that mountain woman. +I'm one of the puny breed of modern femininity, you know. I don't think +my nerves can stand the encounter." + +"Why, Jessica!" I protested. She blushed a little. + +"Don't think bad of me, Victor. But, you see, I've a little scrap-book +of those triolets upstairs." Then she burst into a peal of irresistible +laughter. "I'm not laughing because I am piqued," she said frankly. +"Though any one will admit that it is rather irritating to have a man +who left you in a blasted condition recover with such extraordinary +promptness. As a philanthropist, one of course rejoices, but as a woman, +Victor, it must be admitted that one has a right to feel annoyed. But, +honestly, I am not ungenerous, and I am going to do him a favor. I shall +write, and urge him not to bring his wife here. A primitive woman, with +the north star in her hair, would look well down there in the Casino +eating a pineapple ice, wouldn't she? It's all very well to have a soul, +you know; but it won't keep you from looking like a guy among women who +have good dressmakers. I shudder at the thought of what the poor thing +will suffer if he brings her here." + +Jessica wrote, as she said she would; but, for all that, a fortnight +later she was walking down the wharf with the "mountain woman," and I +was sauntering beside Leroy. At dinner Jessica gave me no chance to talk +with our friend's wife, and I only caught the quiet contralto tones of +her voice now and then contrasting with Jessica's vivacious soprano. A +drizzling rain came up from the east with nightfall. Little groups of +shivering men and women sat about in the parlors at the card-tables, +and one blond woman sang love songs. The Brainards were tired with their +journey, and left us early. When they were gone, Jessica burst into +eulogy. + +"That is the first woman," she declared, "I ever met who would make a +fit heroine for a book." + +"Then you will not feel under obligations to educate her, as you +insinuated the other day?" + +"Educate her! I only hope she will help me to unlearn some of the things +I know. I never saw such simplicity. It is antique!" + +"You're sure it's not mere vacuity?" "Victor! How can you? But you +haven't talked with her. You must to-morrow. Good-night." She gathered +up her trailing skirts and started down the corridor. Suddenly she +turned back. "For Heaven's sake!" she whispered, in an awed tone, "I +never even noticed what she had on!" + +The next morning early we made up a riding party, and I rode with +Mrs. Brainard. She was as tall as I, and sat in her saddle as if quite +unconscious of her animal. The road stretched hard and inviting under +our horses' feet. The wind smelled salt. The sky was ragged with gray +masses of cloud scudding across the blue. I was beginning to glow with +exhilaration, when suddenly my companion drew in her horse. + +"If you do not mind, we will go back," she said. + +Her tone was dejected. I thought she was tired. + +"Oh, no!" she protested, when I apologized for my thoughtlessness in +bringing her so far. "I'm not tired. I can ride all day. Where I come +from, we have to ride if we want to go anywhere; but here there seems to +be no particular place to--to reach." + +"Are you so utilitarian?" I asked, laughingly. "Must you always have +some reason for everything you do? I do so many things just for the mere +pleasure of doing them, I'm afraid you will have a very poor opinion of +me." + +"That is not what I mean," she said, flushing, and turning her large +gray eyes on me. "You must not think I have a reason for everything I +do." She was very earnest, and it was evident that she was unacquainted +with the art of making conversation. "But what I mean," she went on, +"is that there is no place--no end--to reach." She looked back over her +shoulder toward the west, where the trees marked the sky line, and an +expression of loss and dissatisfaction came over her face. "You +see," she said, apologetically, "I'm used to different things--to the +mountains. I have never been where I could not see them before in my +life." + +"Ah, I see! I suppose it is odd to look up and find them not there." + +"It's like being lost, this not having anything around you. At least, +I mean," she continued slowly, as if her thought could not easily put +itself in words,--"I mean it seems as if a part of the world had been +taken down. It makes you feel lonesome, as if you were living after the +world had begun to die." + +"You'll get used to it in a few days. It seems very beautiful to me +here. And then you will have so much life to divert you." + +"Life? But there is always that everywhere." + +"I mean men and women." + +"Oh! Still, I am not used to them. I think I might be not--not very +happy with them. They might think me queer. I think I would like to show +your sister the mountains." + +"She has seen them often." + +"Oh, she told me. But I don't mean those pretty green hills such as we +saw coming here. They are not like my mountains. I like mountains that +go beyond the clouds, with terrible shadows in the hollows, and belts +of snow lying in the gorges where the sun cannot reach, and the snow is +blue in the sunshine, or shining till you think it is silver, and the +mist so wonderful all about it, changing each moment and drifting up and +down, that you cannot tell what name to give the colors. These mountains +of yours here in the East are so quiet; mine are shouting all the time, +with the pines and the rivers. The echoes are so loud in the valley that +sometimes, when the wind is rising, we can hardly hear a man talk unless +he raises his voice. There are four cataracts near where I live, and +they all have different voices, just as people do; and one of them +is happy--a little white cataract--and it falls where the sun shines +earliest, and till night it is shining. But the others only get the sun +now and then, and they are more noisy and cruel. One of them is always +in the shadow, and the water looks black. That is partly because the +rocks all underneath it are black. It falls down twenty great ledges in +a gorge with black sides, and a white mist dances all over it at every +leap. I tell father the mist is the ghost of the waters. No man ever +goes there; it is too cold. The chill strikes through one, and makes +your heart feel as if you were dying. But all down the side of the +mountain, toward the south and the west, the sun shines on the granite +and draws long points of light out of it. Father tells me soldiers +marching look that way when the sun strikes on their bayonets. Those are +the kind of mountains I mean, Mr. Grant." + +She was looking at me with her face transfigured, as if it, like the +mountains she told me of, had been lying in shadow, and waiting for the +dazzling dawn. + +"I had a terrible dream once," she went on; "the most terrible dream +ever I had. I dreamt that the mountains had all been taken down, and +that I stood on a plain to which there was no end. The sky was burning +up, and the grass scorched brown from the heat, and it was twisting as +if it were in pain. And animals, but no other person save myself, only +wild things, were crouching and looking up at that sky. They could not +run because there was no place to which to go." + +"You were having a vision of the last man," I said. "I wonder myself +sometimes whether this old globe of ours is going to collapse suddenly +and take us with her, or whether we will disappear through slow +disastrous ages of fighting and crushing, with hunger and blight to help +us to the end. And then, at the last, perhaps, some luckless fellow, +stronger than the rest, will stand amid the ribs of the rotting earth +and go mad." + +The woman's eyes were fixed on me, large and luminous. "Yes," she said; +"he would go mad from the lonesomeness of it. He would be afraid to be +left alone like that with God. No one would want to be taken into God's +secrets." + +"And our last man," I went on, "would have to stand there on that +swaying wreck till even the sound of the crumbling earth ceased. And +he would try to find a voice and would fail, because silence would have +come again. And then the light would go out--" + +The shudder that crept over her made me stop, ashamed of myself. + +"You talk like father," she said, with a long-drawn breath. Then she +looked up suddenly at the sun shining through a rift in those reckless +gray clouds, and put out one hand as if to get it full of the headlong +rollicking breeze. "But the earth is not dying," she cried. "It is +well and strong, and it likes to go round and round among all the other +worlds. It likes the sun and moon; they are all good friends; and it +likes the people who live on it. Maybe it is they instead of the fire +within who keep it warm; or maybe it is warm just from always going, as +we are when we run. We are young, you and I, Mr. Grant, and Leroy, and +your beautiful sister, and the world is young too!" Then she laughed a +strong splendid laugh, which had never had the joy taken out of it +with drawing-room restrictions; and I laughed too, and felt that we had +become very good companions indeed, and found myself warming to the joy +of companionship as I had not since I was a boy at school. + +That afternoon the four of us sat at a table in the Casino together. The +Casino, as every one knows, is a place to amuse yourself. If you have a +duty, a mission, or an aspiration, you do not take it there with you, +it would be so obviously out of place; if poverty is ahead of you, you +forget it; if you have brains, you hasten to conceal them; they would be +a serious encumbrance. + +There was a bubbling of conversation, a rustle and flutter such as there +always is where there are many women. All the place was gay with flowers +and with gowns as bright as the flowers. I remembered the apprehensions +of my sister, and studied Leroy's wife to see how she fitted into this +highly colored picture. She was the only woman in the room who seemed +to wear draperies. The jaunty slash and cut of fashionable attire were +missing in the long brown folds of cloth that enveloped her figure. I +felt certain that even from Jessica's standpoint she could not be called +a guy. Picturesque she might be, past the point of convention, but she +was not ridiculous. + +"Judith takes all this very seriously," said Leroy, laughingly. "I +suppose she would take even Paris seriously." + +His wife smiled over at him. "Leroy says I am melancholy," she said, +softly; "but I am always telling him that I am happy. He thinks I am +melancholy because I do not laugh. I got out of the way of it by being +so much alone. You only laugh to let some one else know you are pleased. +When you are alone there is no use in laughing. It would be like +explaining something to yourself." + +"You are a philosopher, Judith. Mr. Max Mueller would like to know +you." + +"Is he a friend of yours, dear?" + +Leroy blushed, and I saw Jessica curl her lip as she noticed the blush. +She laid her hand on Mrs. Brainard's arm. + +"Have you always been very much alone?" she inquired. + +"I was born on the ranch, you know; and father was not fond of leaving +it. Indeed, now he says he will never again go out of sight of it. But +you can go a long journey without doing that; for it lies on a plateau +in the valley, and it can be seen from three different mountain passes. +Mother died there, and for that reason and others--father has had +a strange life--he never wanted to go away. He brought a lady from +Pennsylvania to teach me. She had wonderful learning, but she didn't +make very much use of it. I thought if I had learning I would not waste +it reading books. I would use it to--to live with. Father had a library, +but I never cared for it. He was forever at books too. Of course," +she hastened to add, noticing the look of mortification deepen on her +husband's face, "I like books very well if there is nothing better at +hand. But I always said to Mrs. Windsor--it was she who taught me--why +read what other folk have been thinking when you can go out and think +yourself? Of course one prefers one's own thoughts, just as one prefers +one's own ranch, or one's own father." + +"Then you are sure to like New York when you go there to live," cried +Jessica; "for there you will find something to make life entertaining +all the time. No one need fall back on books there." + +"I'm not sure. I'm afraid there must be such dreadful crowds of people. +Of course I should try to feel that they were all like me, with just the +same sort of fears, and that it was ridiculous for us to be afraid of +each other, when at heart we all meant to be kind." + +Jessica fairly wrung her hands. "Heavens!" she cried. "I said you would +like New York. I am afraid, my dear, that it will break your heart!" + +"Oh," said Mrs. Brainard, with what was meant to be a gentle jest, "no +one can break my heart except Leroy. I should not care enough about any +one else, you know." + +The compliment was an exquisite one. I felt the blood creep to my own +brain in a sort of vicarious rapture, and I avoided looking at Leroy +lest he should dislike to have me see the happiness he must feel. The +simplicity of the woman seemed to invigorate me as the cool air of her +mountains might if it blew to me on some bright dawn, when I had come, +fevered and sick of soul, from the city. + +When we were alone, Jessica said to me: "That man has too much vanity, +and he thinks it is sensitiveness. He is going to imagine that his wife +makes him suffer. There's no one so brutally selfish as your sensitive +man. He wants every one to live according to his ideas, or he +immediately begins suffering. That friend of yours hasn't the courage +of his convictions. He is going to be ashamed of the very qualities that +made him love his wife." + +There was a hop that night at the hotel, quite an unusual affair as to +elegance, given in honor of a woman from New York, who wrote a novel a +month. + +Mrs. Brainard looked so happy that night when she came in the parlor, +after the music had begun, that I felt a moisture gather in my eyes just +because of the beauty of her joy, and the forced vivacity of the women +about me seemed suddenly coarse and insincere. Some wonderful red +stones, brilliant as rubies, glittered in among the diaphanous black +driftings of her dress. She asked me if the stones were not very pretty, +and said she gathered them in one of her mountain river-beds. + +"But the gown?" I said. "Surely, you do not gather gowns like that in +river-beds, or pick them off mountain-pines?" + +"But you can get them in Denver. Father always sent to Denver for my +finery. He was very particular about how I looked. You see, I was all he +had--" She broke off, her voice faltering. + +"Come over by the window," I said, to change her thought. "I have +something to repeat to you. It is a song of Sydney Lanier's. I think he +was the greatest poet that ever lived in America, though not many agree +with me. But he is my dear friend anyway, though he is dead, and I never +saw him; and I want you to hear some of his words." + +I led her across to an open window. The dancers were whirling by us. +The waltz was one of those melancholy ones which speak the spirit of the +dance more eloquently than any merry melody can. The sound of the sea +booming beyond in the darkness came to us, and long paths of light, now +red, now green, stretched toward the distant light-house. These were the +lines I repeated:-- + + "What heartache--ne'er a hill! + Inexorable, vapid, vague, and chill + The drear sand levels drain my spirit low. + With one poor word they tell me all they know; + Whereat their stupid tongues, to tease my pain, + Do drawl it o'er and o'er again. + They hurt my heart with griefs I cannot name; + Always the same--the same." + + +But I got no further. I felt myself moved with a sort of passion which +did not seem to come from within, but to be communicated to me from her. +A certain unfamiliar happiness pricked through with pain thrilled me, +and I heard her whispering,-- + +"Do not go on, do not go on! I cannot stand it to-night!" + +"Hush," I whispered back; "come out for a moment!" We stole into the +dusk without, and stood there trembling. I swayed with her emotion. +There was a long silence. Then she said: "Father may be walking alone +now by the black cataract. That is where he goes when he is sad. I can +see how lonely he looks among those little twisted pines that grow from +the rock. And he will be remembering all the evenings we walked there +together, and all the things we said." I did not answer. Her eyes were +still on the sea. + +"What was the name of the man who wrote that verse you just said to me?" + +I told her. + +"And he is dead? Did they bury him in the mountains? No? I wish I could +have put him where he could have heard those four voices calling down +the canyon." + +"Come back in the house," I said; "you must come, indeed," I said, as +she shrank from re-entering. + +Jessica was dancing like a fairy with Leroy. They both saw us and smiled +as we came in, and a moment later they joined us. I made my excuses +and left my friends to Jessica's care. She was a sort of social +tyrant wherever she was, and I knew one word from her would insure the +popularity of our friends--not that they needed the intervention of any +one. Leroy had been a sort of drawing-room pet since before he stopped +wearing knickerbockers. + +"He is at his best in a drawing-room," said Jessica, "because there +he deals with theory and not with action. And he has such beautiful +theories that the women, who are all idealists, adore him." + +The next morning I awoke with a conviction that I had been idling too +long. I went back to the city and brushed the dust from my desk. Then +each morning, I, as Jessica put it, "formed public opinion" to the +extent of one column a day in the columns of a certain enterprising +morning journal. + +Brainard said I had treated him shabbily to leave upon the heels of his +coming. But a man who works for his bread and butter must put a limit to +his holiday. It is different when you only work to add to your general +picturesqueness. That is what I wrote Leroy, and it was the unkindest +thing I ever said to him; and why I did it I do not know to this day. I +was glad, though, when he failed to answer the letter. It gave me a more +reasonable excuse for feeling out of patience with him. + +The days that followed were very dull. It was hard to get back into the +way of working. I was glad when Jessica came home to set up our little +establishment and to join in the autumn gayeties. Brainard brought his +wife to the city soon after, and went to housekeeping in an odd sort of +a way. + +"I couldn't see anything in the place save curios," Jessica reported, +after her first call on them. "I suppose there is a cookingstove +somewhere, and maybe even a pantry with pots in it. But all I saw was +Alaska totems and Navajo blankets. They have as many skins around on +the floor and couches as would have satisfied an ancient Briton. And +everybody was calling there. You know Mr. Brainard runs to curios in +selecting his friends as well as his furniture. The parlors were full +this afternoon of abnormal people, that is to say, with folks one reads +about. I was the only one there who hadn't done something. I guess it's +because I am too healthy." + +"How did Mrs. Brainard like such a motley crew?" + +"She was wonderful--perfectly wonderful! Those insulting creatures were +all studying her, and she knew it. But her dignity was perfect, and she +looked as proud as a Sioux chief. She listened to every one, and they +all thought her so bright." + +"Brainard must have been tremendously proud of her." + +"Oh, he was--of her and his Chilcat portieres." + +Jessica was there often, but--well, I was busy. At length, however, I +was forced to go. Jessica refused to make any further excuses for me. +The rooms were filled with small celebrities. + +"We are the only nonentities," whispered Jessica, as she looked around; +"it will make us quite distinguished." + +We went to speak to our hostess. She stood beside her husband, looking +taller than ever; and her face was white. Her long red gown of clinging +silk was so peculiar as to give one the impression that she was dressed +in character. It was easy to tell that it was one of Leroy's fancies. I +hardly heard what she said, but I know she reproached me gently for not +having been to see them. I had no further word with her till some one +led her to the piano, and she paused to say,-- + +"That poet you spoke of to me--the one you said was a friend of +yours--he is my friend now too, and I have learned to sing some of his +songs. I am going to sing one now." She seemed to have no timidity at +all, but stood quietly, with a half smile, while a young man with a +Russian name played a strange minor prelude. Then she sang, her voice +a wonderful contralto, cold at times, and again lit up with gleams of +passion. The music itself was fitful, now full of joy, now tender, and +now sad: + + "Look off, dear love, across the sallow sands, + And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea, + How long they kiss in sight of all the lands, + Ah! longer, longer we." + +"She has a genius for feeling, hasn't she?" Leroy whispered to me. + +"A genius for feeling!" I repeated, angrily. "Man, she has a heart and a +soul and a brain, if that is what you mean! I shouldn't think you would +be able to look at her from the standpoint of a critic." + +Leroy shrugged his shoulders and went off. For a moment I almost hated +him for not feeling more resentful. I felt as if he owed it to his wife +to take offence at my foolish speech. + +It was evident that the "mountain woman" had become the fashion. I +read reports in the papers about her unique receptions. I saw her name +printed conspicuously among the list of those who attended all sorts +of dinners and musicales and evenings among the set that affected +intellectual pursuits. She joined a number of women's clubs of an +exclusive kind. + +"She is doing whatever her husband tells her to," said Jessica. "Why, +the other day I heard her ruining her voice on 'Siegfried'!" + +But from day to day I noticed a difference in her. She developed a +terrible activity. She took personal charge of the affairs of her house; +she united with Leroy in keeping the house filled with guests; she got +on the board of a hospital for little children, and spent a part of +every day among the cots where the sufferers lay. Now and then when we +spent a quiet evening alone with her and Leroy, she sewed continually on +little white night-gowns for these poor babies. She used her carriage to +take the most extraordinary persons riding. + +"In the cause of health," Leroy used to say, "I ought to have the +carriage fumigated after every ride Judith takes, for she is always +accompanied by some one who looks as if he or she should go into +quarantine." + +One night, when he was chaffing her in this way, she flung her sewing +suddenly from her and sprang to her feet, as if she were going to give +way to a burst of girlish temper. Instead of that, a stream of tears +poured from her eyes, and she held out her trembling hands toward +Jessica. + +"He does not know," she sobbed. "He cannot understand." + +One memorable day Leroy hastened over to us while we were still at +breakfast to say that Judith was ill,--strangely ill. All night long +she had been muttering to herself as if in a delirium. Yet she answered +lucidly all questions that were put to her. + +"She begs for Miss Grant. She says over and over that she 'knows,' +whatever that may mean." + +When Jessica came home she told me she did not know. She only felt that +a tumult of impatience was stirring in her friend. + +"There is something majestic about her,-something epic. I feel as if +she were making me live a part in some great drama, the end of which I +cannot tell. She is suffering, but I cannot tell why she suffers." + +Weeks went on without an abatement in this strange illness. She did not +keep her bed. Indeed, she neglected few of her usual occupations. But +her hands were burning, and her eyes grew bright with that wild sort of +lustre one sees in the eyes of those who give themselves up to strange +drugs or manias. She grew whimsical, and formed capricious friendships, +only to drop them. + +And then one day she closed her house to all acquaintances, and sat +alone continually in her room, with her hands clasped in her lap, and +her eyes swimming with the emotions that never found their way to her +tongue. + +Brainard came to the office to talk with me about her one day. "I am a +very miserable man, Grant," he said. "I am afraid I have lost my wife's +regard. Oh, don't tell me it is partly my fault. I know it well enough. +And I know you haven't had a very good opinion of me lately. But I am +remorseful enough now, God knows. And I would give my life to see her +as she was when I found her first among the mountains. Why, she used to +climb them like a strong man, and she was forever shouting and singing. +And she had peopled every spot with strange modern mythological +creatures. Her father is an old dreamer, and she got the trick from +him. They had a little telescope on a great knoll in the centre of the +valley, just where it commanded a long path of stars, and they used to +spend nights out there when the frost literally fell in flakes. When I +think how hardy and gay she was, how full of courage and life, and look +at her now, so feverish and broken, I feel as if I should go mad. You +know I never meant to do her any harm. Tell me that much, Grant." + +"I think you were very egotistical for a while, Brainard, and that is a +fact. And you didn't appreciate how much her nature demanded. But I +do not think you are responsible for your wife's present condition. If +there is any comfort in that statement, you are welcome to it." + +"But you don't mean--" he got no further. + +"I mean that your wife may have her reservations, just as we all have, +and I am paying her high praise when I say it. You are not so narrow, +Leroy, as to suppose for a moment that the only sort of passion a woman +is capable of is that which she entertains for a man. How do I know +what is going on in your wife's soul? But it is nothing which even an +idealist of women, such as I am, old fellow, need regret." + +How glad I was afterward that I spoke those words. They exercised a +little restraint, perhaps, on Leroy when the day of his terrible trial +came. They made him wrestle with the demon of suspicion that strove to +possess him. I was sitting in my office, lagging dispiritedly over my +work one day, when the door burst open and Brainard stood beside me. +Brainard, I say, and yet in no sense the man I had known,--not a hint +in this pale creature, whose breath struggled through chattering teeth, +and whose hands worked in uncontrollable spasms, of the nonchalant +elegant I had known. Not a glimpse to be seen in those angry and +determined eyes of the gayly selfish spirit of my holiday friend. + +"She's gone!" he gasped. "Since yesterday. And I'm here to ask you what +you think now? And what you know." + +A panorama of all shameful possibilities for one black moment floated +before me. I remember this gave place to a wave, cold as death, that +swept from head to foot; then Brainard's hands fell heavily on my +shoulders. + +"Thank God at least for this much," he said, hoarsely; "I didn't know at +first but I had lost both friend and wife. But I see you know nothing. +And indeed in my heart I knew all the time that you did not. Yet I had +to come to you with my anger. And I remembered how you defended her. +What explanation can you offer now?" + +I got him to sit down after a while and tell me what little there was +to tell. He had been away for a day's shooting, and when he returned he +found only the perplexed servants at home. A note was left for him. He +showed it to me. + +"There are times," it ran, "when we must do as we must, not as we would. +I am going to do something I have been driven to do since I left my +home. I do not leave any message of love for you, because you would not +care for it from a woman so weak as I. But it is so easy for you to be +happy that I hope in a little while you will forget the wife who yielded +to an influence past resisting. It may be madness, but I am not great +enough to give it up. I tried to make the sacrifice, but I could not. +I tried to be as gay as you, and to live your sort of life; but I could +not do it. Do not make the effort to forgive me. You will be happier if +you simply hold me in the contempt I deserve." + +I read the letter over and over. I do not know that I believe that the +spirit of inanimate things can permeate to the intelligence of man. I +am sure I always laughed at such ideas. Yet holding that note with its +shameful seeming words, I felt a consciousness that it was written in +purity and love. And then before my eyes there came a scene so +vivid that for a moment the office with its familiar furniture was +obliterated. What I saw was a long firm road, green with midsummer +luxuriance. The leisurely thudding of my horse's feet sounded in my +ears. Beside me was a tall, black-robed figure. I saw her look back with +that expression of deprivation at the sky line. "It's like living after +the world has begun to die," said the pensive minor voice. "It seems as +if part of the world had been taken down." + +"Brainard," I yelled, "come here! I have it. Here's your explanation. I +can show you a new meaning for every line of this letter. Man, she has +gone to the mountains. She has gone to worship her own gods!" + +Two weeks later I got a letter from Brainard, dated from Colorado. + +"Old man," it said, "you're right. She is here. I found my mountain +woman here where the four voices of her cataracts had been calling to +her. I saw her the moment our mules rounded the road that commands the +valley. We had been riding all night and were drenched with cold dew, +hungry to desperation, and my spirits were of lead. Suddenly we got out +from behind the granite wall, and there she was, standing, where I had +seen her so often, beside the little waterfall that she calls the happy +one. She was looking straight up at the billowing mist that dipped down +the mountain, mammoth saffron rolls of it, plunging so madly from the +impetus of the wind that one marvelled how it could be noiseless. Ah, +you do not know Judith! That strange, unsophisticated, sometimes awkward +woman you saw bore no more resemblance to my mountain woman than I to +Hercules. How strong and beautiful she looked standing there wrapped in +an ecstasy! It was my primitive woman back in her primeval world. How +the blood leaped in me! All my old romance, so different from the common +love-histories of most men, was there again within my reach! All the +mystery, the poignant happiness were mine again. Do not hold me in +contempt because I show you my heart. You saw my misery. Why should +I grudge you a glimpse of my happiness? She saw me when I touched her +hand, not before, so wrapped was she. But she did not seem surprised. +Only in her splendid eyes there came a large content. She pointed to the +dancing little white fall. 'I thought something wonderful was going to +happen,' she whispered, 'for it has been laughing so.' + +"I shall not return to New York. I am going to stay here with my +mountain woman, and I think perhaps I shall find out what life means +here sooner than I would back there with you. I shall learn to see large +things large and small things small. Judith says to tell you and Miss +Grant that the four voices are calling for you every day in the valley. + +"Yours in fullest friendship, + +"LEROY BRAINARD." + + + +Jim Lancy's Waterloo + + +"WE must get married before time to put in crops," he wrote. "We must +make a success of the farm the first year, for luck. Could you manage +to be ready to come out West by the last of February? After March opens +there will be no let-up, and I do not see how I could get away. Make it +February, Annie dear. A few weeks more or less can make no difference to +you, but they make a good deal of difference to me." + +The woman to whom this was written read it with something like anger. "I +don't believe he's so impatient for me!" she said to herself. "What he +wants is to get the crops in on time." But she changed the date of their +wedding, and made it February. + +Their wedding journey was only from the Illinois village where she lived +to their Nebraska farm. They had never been much together, and they had +much to say to each other. + +"Farming won't come hard to you," Jim assured her. "All one needs to +farm with is brains." + +"What a success you'll make of it!" she cried saucily. + +"I wish I had my farm clear," Jim went on; "but that's more than any one +has around me. I'm no worse off than the rest. We've got to pay off the +mortgage, Annie." + +"Of course we must. We'll just do without till we get the mortgage +lifted. Hard work will do anything, I guess. And I'm not afraid to work, +Jim, though I've never had much experience." + +Jim looked out of the window a long time, at the gentle undulations of +the brown Iowa prairie. His eyes seemed to pierce beneath the sod, +to the swelling buds of the yet invisible grass. He noticed how +disdainfully the rains of the new year beat down the grasses of the +year that was gone. It opened to his mind a vision of the season's +possibilities. For a moment, even amid the smoke of the car, he seemed +to scent clover, and hear the stiff swishing of the corn and the dull +burring of the bees. + +"I wish sometimes," he said, leaning forward to look at his bride, "that +I had been born something else than a farmer. But I can no more help +farming, Annie, than a bird can help singing, or a bee making honey. I +didn't take to farming. I was simply born with a hoe in my hand." + +"I don't know a blessed thing about it," Annie confessed. "But I made up +my mind that a farm with you was better than a town without you. That's +all there is to it, as far as I am concerned." + +Jim Lancy slid his arm softly about her waist, unseen by the other +passengers. Annie looked up apprehensively, to see if any one was +noticing. But they were eating their lunches. It was a common coach on +which they were riding. There was a Pullman attached to the train, and +Annie had secretly thought that, as it was their wedding journey, it +might be more becoming to take it. But Jim had made no suggestion about +it. What he said later explained the reason. + +"I would have liked to have brought you a fine present," he said. "It +seemed shabby to come with nothing but that little ring. But I put +everything I had on our home, you know. And yet, I'm sure you'll think +it poor enough after what you've been used to. You'll forgive me for +only bringing the ring, my dear?" + +"But you brought me something better," Annie whispered. She was a +foolish little girl. "You brought me love, you know." Then they rode +in silence for a long time. Both of them were new to the phraseology of +love. Their simple compliments to each other were almost ludicrous. But +any one who might have chanced to overhear them would have been charmed, +for they betrayed an innocence as beautiful as an unclouded dawn. + +Annie tried hard not to be depressed by the treeless stretches of the +Nebraska plains. + +"This is different from Illinois," she ventured once, gently; "it is +even different from Iowa." + +"Yes, yes," cried Jim, enthusiastically, "it is different! It is the +finest country in the world! You never feel shut in. You can always see +off. I feel at home after I get in Nebraska. I'd choke back where you +live, with all those little gullies and the trees everywhere. It's a +mystery to me how farmers have patience to work there." + +Annie opened her eyes. There was evidently more than one way of looking +at a question. The farm-houses seemed very low and mean to her, as she +looked at them from the window. There were no fences, excepting now +and then the inhospitable barbed wire. The door-yards were bleak to her +eyes, without the ornamental shrubbery which every farmer in her part +of the country was used to tending. The cattle stood unshedded in their +corrals. The reapers and binders stood rusting in the dull drizzle. + +"How shiftless!" cried Annie, indignantly. "What do these men mean by +letting their machinery lie out that way? I should think one winter of +lying out would hurt it more than three summers of using." + +"It does. But sheds are not easily had. Lumber is dear." + +"But I should think it would be economy even then." + +"Yes," he said, "perhaps. But we all do that way out here. It takes +some money for a man to be economical with. Some of us haven't even that +much." + +There was a six-mile ride from the station. The horses were waiting, +hitched up to a serviceable light wagon, and driven by the "help." He +was a thin young man, with red hair, and he blushed vicariously for Jim +and Annie, who were really too entertained with each other, and at the +idea of the new life opening up before them, to think anything about +blushing. At the station, a number of men insisted on shaking hands +with Jim, and being introduced to his wife. They were all bearded, as +if shaving were an unnecessary labor, and their trousers were tucked in +dusty top-boots, none of which had ever seen blacking. Annie had a sense +of these men seeming unwashed, or as if they had slept in their clothes. +But they had kind voices, and their eyes were very friendly. So she +shook hands with them all with heartiness, and asked them to drive out +and bring their womenkind. + +"I am going to make up my mind not to be lonesome," she declared; "but, +all the same, I shall want to see some women." + +Annie had got safe on the high seat of the wagon, and was balancing her +little feet on the inclined foot-rest, when a woman came running across +the street, calling aloud,-- + +"Mr. Lancy! Mr. Lancy! You're not going to drive away without +introducing me to your wife!" + +She was a thin little woman, with movements as nervous and as graceless +as those of a grasshopper. Her dun-colored garments seemed to have all +the hue bleached out of them with wind and weather. Her face was brown +and wrinkled, and her bright eyes flashed restlessly, deep in their +sockets. Two front teeth were conspicuously missing; and her faded hair +was blown in wisps about her face. Jim performed the introduction, and +Annie held out her hand. It was a pretty hand, delicately gloved in dove +color. The woman took it in her own, and after she had shaken it, held +it for a silent moment, looking at it. Then she almost threw it from +her. The eyes which she lifted to scan the bright young face above +her had something like agony in them. Annie blushed under this fierce +scrutiny, and the woman, suddenly conscious of her demeanor, forced a +smile to her lips. + +"I'll come out an' see yeh," she said, in cordial tones. "May be, as a +new housekeeper, you'll like a little advice. You've a nice place, an' I +wish yeh luck." + +"Thank you. I'm sure I'll need advice," cried Annie, as they drove off. +Then she said to Jim, "Who is that old woman?" + +"Old woman? Why, she ain't a day over thirty, Mis' Dundy ain't." + +Annie looked at her husband blankly. But he was already talking of +something else, and she asked no more about the woman, though all the +way along the road the face seemed to follow her. It might have been +this that caused the tightening about her heart. For some way her +vivacity had gone; and the rest of the ride she asked no questions, but +sat looking straight before her at the northward stretching road, with +eyes that felt rather than saw the brown, bare undulations, rising +every now and then clean to the sky; at the side, little famished-looking +houses, unacquainted with paint, disorderly yards, and endless reaches +of furrowed ground, where in summer the corn had waved. + +The horses needed no indication of the line to make them turn up a +smooth bit of road that curved away neatly 'mid the ragged grasses. +At the end of it, in a clump of puny scrub oaks, stood a square little +house, in uncorniced simplicity, with blank, uncurtained windows staring +out at Annie, and for a moment her eyes, blurred with the cold, seemed +to see in one of them the despairing face of the woman with the wisps of +faded hair blowing about her face. + +"Well, what do you think of it?" Jim cried, heartily, swinging her down +from her high seat, and kissing her as he did so. "This is your home, +my girl, and you are as welcome to it as you would be to a palace, if I +could give it to you." + +Annie put up her hands to hide the trembling of her lips; and she let +Jim see there were tears in her eyes as an apology for not replying. The +young man with the red hair took away the horses, and Jim, with his arm +around his wife's waist, ran toward the house and threw open the door +for her to enter. The intense heat of two great stoves struck in +their faces; and Annie saw the big burner, erected in all its black +hideousness in the middle of the front room, like a sort of household +hoodoo, to be constantly propitiated, like the gods of Greece; and in +the kitchen, the new range, with a distracted tea-kettle leaping on it, +as if it would like to loose its fetters and race away over the prairie +after its cousin, the locomotive. + +It was a house of four rooms, and a glance revealed the fact that it had +been provided with the necessaries. + +"I think we can be very comfortable here," said Jim, rather doubtfully. + +Annie saw she must make some response. "I am sure we can be more than +comfortable, Jim," she replied. "We can be happy. Show me, if you +please, where my room is. I must hang my cloak up in the right place so +that I shall feel as if I were getting settled." + +It was enough. Jim had no longer any doubts. He felt sure they were +going to be happy ever afterward. + +It was Annie who got the first meal; she insisted on it, though both the +men wanted her to rest. And Jim hadn't the heart to tell her that, as +a general thing, it would not do to put two eggs in the corn-cake, and +that the beefsteak was a great luxury. When he saw her about to break an +egg for the coffee, however, he interfered. + +"The shells of the ones you used for the cake will settle the coffee +just as well," he said. "You see we have to be very careful of eggs out +here at this season." + +"Oh! Will the shells really settle it? This is what you must call +prairie lore. I suppose out here we find out what the real relations of +invention and necessity are--eh?" + +Jim laughed disproportionately. He thought her wonderfully witty. And +he and the help ate so much that Annie opened her eyes. She had thought +there would be enough left for supper. But there was nothing left. + +For the next two weeks Jim was able to be much with her; and they amused +themselves by decorating the house with the bright curtainings that +Annie had brought, and putting up shelves for a few pieces of china. She +had two or three pictures, also, which had come from her room in her old +home, and some of those useless dainty things with which some women like +to litter the room. + +"Most folks," Jim explained, "have to be content with one fire, and sit +in the kitchen; but I thought, as this was our honeymoon, we would put +on some lugs." + +Annie said nothing then; but a day or two after she ventured,-- + +"Perhaps it would be as well now, dear, if we kept in the kitchen. I'll +keep it as bright and pleasant as I can. And, anyway, you can be more +about with me when I'm working then. We'll lay a fire in the front-room +stove, so that we can light it if anybody comes. We can just as well +save that much." + +Jim looked up brightly. "All right," he said. "You're a sensible little +woman. You see, every cent makes a difference. And I want to be able to +pay off five hundred dollars of that mortgage this year." + +So, after that, they sat in the kitchen; and the fire was laid in the +front room, against the coming of company. But no one came, and it +remained unlighted. + +Then the season began to show signs of opening,--bleak signs, hardly +recognizable to Annie; and after that Jim was not much in the house. +The weeks wore on, and spring came at last, dancing over the hills. The +ground-birds began building, and at four each morning awoke Annie with +their sylvan opera. The creek that ran just at the north of the house +worked itself into a fury and blustered along with much noise toward +the great Platte which, miles away, wallowed in its vast sandy bed. The +hills flushed from brown to yellow, and from mottled green to intensest +emerald, and in the superb air all the winds of heaven seemed to meet +and frolic with laughter and song. + +Sometimes the mornings were so beautiful that, the men being afield and +Annie all alone, she gave herself up to an ecstasy and kneeled by the +little wooden bench outside the door, to say, "Father, I thank Thee," +and then went about her work with all the poem of nature rhyming itself +over and over in her heart. + +It was on such a day as this that Mrs. Dundy kept her promise and came +over to see if the young housekeeper needed any of the advice she +had promised her. She had walked, because none of the horses could be +spared. It had got so warm now that the fire in the kitchen heated +the whole house sufficiently, and Annie had the rooms clean to +exquisiteness. Mrs. Dundy looked about with envious eyes. + +"How lovely!" she said. + +"Do you think so?" cried Annie, in surprise. "I like it, of course, +because it is home, but I don't see how you could call anything here +lovely." + +"Oh, you don't understand," her visitor went on. "It's lovely because it +looks so happy. Some of us have--well, kind o' lost our grip." + +"It's easy to do that if you don't feel well," Annie remarked +sympathetically. "I haven't felt as well as usual myself, lately. And +I do get lonesome and wonder what good it does to fix up every day when +there is no one to see. But that is all nonsense, and I put it out of my +head." + +She smoothed out the clean lawn apron with delicate touch. Mrs. Dundy +followed the movement with her eyes. + +"Oh, my dear," she cried, "you don't know nothin' about it yet! But you +will know! You will!" and those restless, hot eyes of hers seemed to +grow more restless and more hot as they looked with infinite pity at the +young woman before her. + +Annie thought of these words often as the summer came on, and the heat +grew. Jim was seldom to be seen now. He was up at four each morning, +and the last chore was not completed till nine at night. Then he threw +himself in bed and lay there log-like till dawn. He was too weary to +talk much, and Annie, with her heart aching for his fatigue, forbore to +speak to him. She cooked the most strengthening things she could, and +tried always to look fresh and pleasant when he came in. But she often +thought her pains were in vain, for he hardly rested his sunburned +eyes on her. His skin got so brown that his face was strangely changed, +especially as he no longer had time to shave, and had let a rough beard +straggle over his cheeks and chin. On Sundays Annie would have liked to +go to church, but the horses were too tired to be taken out, and she did +not feel well enough to walk far; besides, Jim got no particular good +out of walking over the hills unless he had a plough in his hand. + +Harvest came at length, and the crop was good. There were any way from +three to twenty men at the house then, and Annie cooked for all of them. +Jim had tried to get some one to help her, but he had not succeeded. +Annie strove to be brave, remembering that farm-women all over the +country were working in similar fashion. But in spite of all she could +do, the days got to seem like nightmares, and sleep between was but a +brief pause in which she was always dreaming of water, and thinking that +she was stooping to put fevered lips to a running brook. Some of these +men were very disgusting to Annie. Their manners were as bad as they +could well be, and a coarse word came naturally to their lips. + +"To be master of the soil, that is one thing," said she to herself in +sickness of spirit; "but to be the slave of it is another. These men +seem to have got their souls all covered with muck." She noticed that +they had no idea of amusement. They had never played anything. They did +not even care for base-ball. Their idea of happiness appeared to be to +do nothing; and there was a good part of the year in which they were +happy,--for these were not for the most part men owning farms; they +were men who hired out to help the farmer. A good many of them had been +farmers at one time and another, but they had failed. They all talked +politics a great deal,--politics and railroads. Annie had not much +patience with it all. She had great confidence in the course of things. +She believed that in this country all men have a fair chance. So when it +came about that the corn and the wheat, which had been raised with such +incessant toil, brought them no money, but only a loss, Annie stood +aghast. + +"I said the rates were ruinous," Jim said to her one night, after it was +all over, and he had found out that the year's slavish work had brought +him a loss of three hundred dollars; "it's been a conspiracy from the +first. The price of corn is all right. But by the time we set it down in +Chicago we are out eighteen cents a bushel. It means ruin. What are we +going to do? Here we had the best crop we've had for years--but what's +the use of talking! They have us in their grip." + +"I don't see how it is," Annie protested. "I should think it would be +for the interest of the roads to help the people to be as prosperous as +possible." + +"Oh, we can't get out! And we're bound to stay and raise grain. And +they're bound to cart it. And that's all there is to it. They force +us to stand every loss, even to the shortage that is made in +transportation. The railroad companies own the elevators, and they have +the cinch on us. Our grain is at their mercy. God knows how I'm going to +raise that interest. As for the five hundred we were going to pay on the +mortgage this year, Annie, we're not in it." + +Autumn was well set in by this time, and the brilliant cold sky hung +over the prairies as young and fresh as if the world were not old and +tired. Annie no longer could look as trim as when she first came to the +little house. Her pretty wedding garments were beginning to be worn and +there was no money for more. Jim would not play chess now of evenings. +He was forever writing articles for the weekly paper in the adjoining +town. They talked of running him for the state legislature, and he was +anxious for the nomination. + +"I think I might be able to stand it if I could fight 'em!" he declared; +"but to sit here idle, knowing that I have been cheated out of my year's +work, just as much as if I had been knocked down on the road and +the money taken from me, is enough to send me to the asylum with a +strait-jacket on!" + +Life grew to take on tragic aspects. Annie used to find herself +wondering if anywhere in the world there were people with light +hearts. For her there was no longer anticipation of joy, or present +companionship, or any divertissement in the whole world. Jim read books +which she did not understand, and with a few of his friends, who dropped +in now and then evenings or Sundays, talked about these books in an +excited manner. + +She would go to her room to rest, and lying there in the darkness on the +bed, would hear them speaking together, sometimes all at once, in those +sternly vindictive tones men use when there is revolt in their souls. + +"It is the government which is helping to impoverish us," she would hear +Jim saying. "Work is money. That is to say, it is the active form of +money. The wealth of a country is estimated by its power of production. +And its power of production means work. It means there are so many men +with so much capacity. Now the government owes it to these men to have +money enough to pay them for their work; and if there is not enough +money in circulation to pay to each man for his honest and necessary +work, then I say that government is in league with crime. It is trying +to make defaulters of us. It has a hundred ways of cheating us. When I +bought this farm and put the mortgage on it, a day's work would bring +twice the results it will now. That is to say, the total at the end of +the year showed my profits to be twice what they would be now, even if +the railway did not stand in the way to rob us of more than we earn. +So that it will take just twice as many days' work now to pay off this +mortgage as it would have done at the time it was contracted. It's a +conspiracy, I tell you! Those Eastern capitalists make a science of +ruining us." + +He got more eloquent as time went on, and Annie, who had known him +first as rather a careless talker, was astonished at the boldness of his +language. But conversation was a lost art with him. He no longer talked. +He harangued. + +In the early spring Annie's baby was born,--a little girl with a nervous +cry, who never slept long at a time, and who seemed to wail merely from +distaste at living. It was Mrs. Dundy who came over to look after the +house till Annie got able to do so. Her eyes had that fever in them, +as ever. She talked but little, but her touch on Annie's head was more +eloquent than words. One day Annie asked for the glass, and Mrs. Dundy +gave it to her. She looked in it a long time. The color was gone from +her cheeks, and about her mouth there was an ugly tightening. But her +eyes flashed and shone with that same--no, no, it could not be that in +her face also was coming the look of half-madness! She motioned Mrs. +Dundy to come to her. + +"You knew it was coming," she said, brokenly, pointing to the reflection +in the glass. "That first day, you knew how it would be." + +Mrs. Dundy took the glass away with a gentle hand. + +"How could I help knowing?" she said simply. She went into the next +room, and when she returned Annie noticed that the handkerchief stuck in +her belt was wet, as if it had been wept on. + +A woman cannot stay long away from her home on a farm at planting time, +even if it is a case of life and death. Mrs. Dundy had to go home, and +Annie crept about her work with the wailing baby in her arms. The house +was often disorderly now; but it could not be helped. The baby had to +be cared for. It fretted so much that Jim slept apart in the mow of +the barn, that his sleep might not be disturbed. It was a pleasant, dim +place, full of sweet scents, and he liked to be there alone. Though he +had always been an unusual worker, he worked now more like a man who was +fighting off fate, than a mere toiler for bread. + +The corn came up beautifully, and far as the eye could reach around +their home it tossed its broad green leaves with an oceanlike swelling +of sibilant sound. Jim loved it with a sort of passion. Annie loved +it, too. Sometimes, at night, when her fatigue was unbearable, and her +irritation wearing out both body and soul, she took her little one in +her arms and walked among the corn, letting its rustling soothe the baby +to sleep. + +The heat of the summer was terrible. The sun came up in that blue sky +like a curse, and hung there till night came to comfort the blistering +earth. And one morning a terrible thing happened. Annie was standing +out of doors in the shade of those miserable little oaks, ironing, when +suddenly a blast of air struck her in the face, which made her look up +startled. For a moment she thought, perhaps, there was a fire near in +the grass. But there was none. Another blast came, hotter this time, and +fifteen minutes later that wind was sweeping straight across the plain, +burning and blasting. Annie went in the house to finish her ironing, and +was working there, when she heard Jim's footstep on the door-sill. He +could not pale because of the tan, but there was a look of agony and of +anger-almost brutish anger--in his eyes. Then he looked, for a moment, +at Annie standing there working patiently, and rocking the little crib +with one foot, and he sat down on the door-step and buried his face in +his brown arms. + +The wind blew for three days. At the end of that time every ear was +withered in the stalk. The corn crop was ruined. + +But there were the other crops which must be attended to, and Jim +watched those with the alertness of a despairing man; and so harvest +came again, and again the house was filled with men who talked their +careless talk, and who were not ashamed to gorge while this one woman +cooked for them. The baby lay on a quilt on the floor in the coolest +part of the kitchen. Annie fed it irregularly. Sometimes she almost +forgot it. As for its wailing, she had grown so used to it that she +hardly heard it, any more than she did the ticking of the clock. And +yet, tighter than anything else in life, was the hold that little thing +had on her heart-strings. At night, after the interminable work had been +finished--though in slovenly fashion--she would take it up and caress it +with fierceness, and worn as she was, would bathe it and soothe it, and +give it warm milk from the big tin pail. + +"Lay the child down," Jim would say impatiently, while the men would +tell how their wives always put the babies on the bed and let them cry +if they wanted to. Annie said nothing, but she hushed the little one +with tender songs. + +One day, as usual, it lay on its quilt while Annie worked. It was a +terribly busy morning. She had risen at four to get the washing out of +the way before the men got on hand, and there were a dozen loaves of +bread to bake, and the meals to get, and the milk to attend to, and the +chickens and pigs to feed. So occupied was she that she never was able +to tell how long she was gone from the baby. She only knew that the heat +of her own body was so great that the blood seemed to be pounding at her +ears, and she staggered as she crossed the yard. But when she went at +last with a cup of milk to feed the little one, it lay with clenched +fists and fixed eyes, and as she lifted it, a last convulsion laid it +back breathless, and its heart had ceased to beat. + +Annie ran with it to her room, and tried such remedies as she had. +But nothing could keep the chill from creeping over the wasted little +form,--not even the heat of the day, not even the mother's agonized +embrace. Then, suddenly, Annie looked at the clock. It was time to get +the dinner. She laid the piteous tiny shape straight on the bed, threw a +sheet over it, and went back to the weltering kitchen to cook for those +men, who came at noon and who must be fed--who must be fed. + +When they were all seated at the table, Jim among them, and she had +served them, she said, standing at the head of the table, with her hands +on her hips:-- + +"I don't suppose any of you have time to do anything about it; but I +thought you might like to know that the baby is dead. I wouldn't think +of asking you to spare the horses, for I know they have to rest. But I +thought, if you could make out on a cold supper, that I would go to the +town for a coffin." + +There was satire in the voice that stung even through the dull +perceptions of these men, and Jim arose with a cry and went to the room +where his dead baby lay. + +About two months after this Annie insisted that she must go home to +Illinois. Jim protested in a way. + +"You know, I'd like to send you," he said; "but I don't see where the +money is to come from. And since I've got this nomination, I want to run +as well as I can. My friends expect me to do my best for them. It's a +duty, you know, and nothing less, for a few men, like me, to get in the +legislature. We're going to get a railroad bill through this session +that will straighten out a good many things. Be patient a little longer, +Annie." + +"I want to go home," was the only reply he got. "You must get the money, +some way, for me to go home with." + +"I haven't paid a cent of interest yet," he cried angrily. "I don't see +what you mean by being so unreasonable!" + +"You must get the money, some way," she reiterated. + +He did not speak to her for a week, except when he was obliged to. But +she did not seem to mind; and he gave her the money. He took her to the +train in the little wagon that had met her when she first came. At the +station, some women were gossiping excitedly, and Annie asked what they +were saying. + +"It's Mis' Dundy," they said. "She's been sent to th' insane asylum at +Lincoln. She's gone stark mad. All she said on the way out was, +'Th' butter won't come! Th' butter won't come!'" Then they laughed a +little--a strange laugh; and Annie thought of a drinking-song she had +once heard, "Here's to the next who dies." + +Ten days after this Jim got a letter from her. "I am never coming back, +Jim," it said. "It is hopeless. I don't think I would mind standing +still to be shot down if there was any good in it. But I'm not going +back there to work harder than any slave for those money-loaners and the +railroads. I guess they can all get along without me. And I am sure I +can get along without them. I do not think this will make you feel very +bad. You haven't seemed to notice me very much lately when I've been +around, and I do not think you will notice very much when I am gone. I +know what this means. I know I am breaking my word when I leave you. But +remember, it is not you I leave, but the soil, Jim! I will not be its +slave any longer. If you care to come for me here, and live another +life--but no, there would be no use. Our love, like our toil, has been +eaten up by those rapacious acres. Let us say goodby." + +Jim sat all night with this letter in his hand. Sometimes he dozed +heavily in his chair. But he did not go to bed; and the next morning he +hitched up his horses and rode to town. He went to the bank which held +his notes. + +"I'll confess judgment as soon as you like," he said. "It's all up with +me." + +It was done as quickly as the law would allow. And the things in the +house were sold by auction. All the farmers were there with their wives. +It made quite an outing for them. Jim moved around impassively, and +chatted, now and then, with some of the men about what the horses ought +to bring. + +The auctioneer was a clever fellow. Between the putting up of the +articles, he sang comic songs, and the funnier the song, the livelier +the bidding that followed. The horses brought a decent price, and the +machinery a disappointing one; and then, after a delicious snatch about +Nell who rode the sway-backed mare at the county fair, he got down to +the furniture,--the furniture which Jim had bought when he was expecting +Annie. + +Jim was walking around with his hands in his pockets, looking +unconcerned, and, as the furniture began to go off, he came and sat down +in the midst of it. Every one noticed his indifference. Some of them +said that after all he couldn't have been very ambitious. He didn't seem +to take his failure much to heart. Every one was concentrating attention +on the cookingstove, when Jim leaned forward, quickly, over a little +wicker work-stand. + +There was a bit of unfinished sewing there, and it fell out as he lifted +the cover. It was a baby's linen shirt. Jim let it lie, and then lifted +from its receptacle a silver thimble. He put it in his vest-pocket. + +The campaign came on shortly after this, and Jim Lancy was defeated. +"I'm going to Omaha," said he to the station-master, "and I've got just +enough to buy a ticket with. There's a kind of satisfaction in giving +the last cent I have to the railroads." + +Two months later, a "plain drunk" was registered at the station in +Nebraska's metropolis. When they searched him they found nothing in +his pockets but a silver thimble, and Joe Benson, the policeman who had +brought in the "drunk," gave it to the matron, with his compliments. But +she, when no one noticed, went softly to where the man was sleeping, and +slipped it back into his pocket, with a sigh. For she knew somehow--as +women do know things--that he had not stolen that thimble. + + + +THE equinoctial line itself is not more imaginary than the line which +divided the estates of the three Johns. The herds of the three Johns +roamed at will, and nibbled the short grass far and near without let or +hindrance; and the three Johns themselves were utterly indifferent as to +boundary lines. Each of them had filed his application at the office +of the government land-agent; each was engaged in the tedious task of +"proving up;" and each owned one-third of the L-shaped cabin which stood +at the point where the three ranches touched. The hundred and sixty +acres which would have completed this quadrangle had not yet been "taken +up." + +The three Johns were not anxious to have a neighbor. Indeed, they had +made up their minds that if one appeared on that adjoining "hun'erd an' +sixty," it would go hard with him. For they did not deal in justice very +much--the three Johns. They considered it effete. It belonged in the +East along with other outgrown superstitions. And they had given it +out widely that it would be healthier for land applicants to give them +elbow-room. It took a good many miles of sunburnt prairie to afford +elbow-room for the three Johns. + +They met by accident in Hamilton at the land-office. John Henderson, +fresh from Cincinnati, manifestly unused to the ways of the country, +looked at John Gillispie with a lurking smile. Gillispie wore a +sombrero, fresh, white, and expansive. His boots had high heels, and +were of elegant leather and finely arched at the instep. His corduroys +disappeared in them half-way up the thigh. About his waist a sash of +blue held a laced shirt of the same color in place. Henderson puffed at +his cigarette, and continued to look a trifle quizzical. + +Suddenly Gillispie walked up to him and said, in a voice of complete +suavity, "Damn yeh, smoke a pipe!" + +"Eh?" said Henderson, stupidly. + +"Smoke a pipe," said the other. "That thing you have is bad for your +complexion." + +"I can take care of my complexion," said Henderson, firmly. + +The two looked each other straight in the eye. + +"You don't go on smoking that thing till you have apologized for that +grin you had on your phiz a moment ago." + +"I laugh when I please, and I smoke what I please," said Henderson, +hotly, his face flaming as he realized that he was in for his first +"row." + +That was how it began. How it would have ended is not known--probably +there would have been only one John--if it had not been for the almost +miraculous appearance at this moment of the third John. For just then +the two belligerents found themselves prostrate, their pistols only +half-cocked, and between them stood a man all gnarled and squat, like +one of those wind-torn oaks which grow on the arid heights. He was no +older than the others, but the lines in his face were deep, and his +large mouth twitched as he said:-- + +"Hold on here, yeh fools! There's too much blood in you to spill. You'll +spile th' floor, and waste good stuff. We need blood out here!" + +Gillispie bounced to his feet. Henderson arose suspiciously, keeping his +eyes on his assailants. + +"Oh, get up!" cried the intercessor. "We don't shoot men hereabouts till +they git on their feet in fightin' trim." + +"What do you know about what we do here?" interrupted Gillispie. "This +is the first time I ever saw you around." + +"That's so," the other admitted. "I'm just down from Montana. Came to +take up a quarter section. Where I come from we give men a show, an' I +thought perhaps yeh did th' same here." + +"Why, yes," admitted Gillispie, "we do. But I don't want folks to laugh +too much--not when I'm around--unless they tell me what the joke is. I +was just mentioning it to the gentleman," he added, dryly. + +"So I saw," said the other; "you're kind a emphatic in yer remarks. +Yeh ought to give the gentleman a chance to git used to the ways of +th' country. He'll be as tough as th' rest of us if you'll give him a +chance. I kin see it in him." + +"Thank you," said Henderson. "I'm glad you do me justice. I wish you +wouldn't let daylight through me till I've had a chance to get my +quarter section. I'm going to be one of you, either as a live man or a +corpse. But I prefer a hundred and sixty acres of land to six feet of +it." + +"There, now!" triumphantly cried the squat man. "Didn't I tell yeh? Give +him a show! 'Tain't no fault of his that he's a tenderfoot. He'll get +over that." + +Gillispie shook hands with first one and then the other of the men. +"It's a square deal from this on," he said. "Come and have a drink." + +That's how they met--John Henderson, John Gillispie, and John Waite. +And a week later they were putting up a shanty together for common use, +which overlapped each of their reservations, and satisfied the law with +its sociable subterfuge. + +The life wasn't bad, Henderson decided; and he adopted all the ways of +the country in an astonishingly short space of time. There was a freedom +about it all which was certainly complete. The three alternated in the +night watch. Once a week one of them went to town for provisions. They +were not good at the making of bread, so they contented themselves with +hot cakes. Then there was salt pork for a staple, and prunes. They slept +in straw-lined bunks, with warm blankets for a covering. They made a +point of bringing reading-matter back from town every week, and there +were always cards to fall back on, and Waite sang songs for them with +natural dramatic talent. + +Nevertheless, in spite of their contentment, none of them was sorry when +the opportunity offered for going to town. There was always a bit of +stirring gossip to be picked up, and now and then there was a "show" at +the "opera-house," in which, it is almost unnecessary to say, no opera +had ever been sung. Then there was the hotel, at which one not only +got good fare, but a chat with the three daughters of Jim O'Neal, the +proprietor--girls with the accident of two Irish parents, who were, +notwithstanding, as typically American as they well could be. A +half-hour's talk with these cheerful young women was all the more to be +desired for the reason that within riding distance of the three Johns' +ranch there were only two other women. One was Minerva Fitch, who had +gone out from Michigan accompanied by an oil-stove and a knowledge of +the English grammar, with the intention of teaching school, but who had +been unable to carry these good intentions into execution for the reason +that there were no children to teach,--at least, none but Bow-legged +Joe. He was a sad little fellow, who looked like a prairie-dog, and who +had very much the same sort of an outlook on life. The other woman was +the brisk and efficient wife of Mr. Bill Deems, of "Missourah." Mr. +Deems had never in his life done anything, not even so much as bring in +a basket of buffalo chips to supply the scanty fire. That is to say, he +had done nothing strictly utilitarian. Yet he filled his place. He +was the most accomplished story-teller in the whole valley, and this +accomplishment of his was held in as high esteem as the improvisations +of a Welsh minstrel were among his reverencing people. His wife alone +deprecated his skill, and interrupted his spirited narratives with +sarcastic allusions concerning the empty cupboard, and the "state of her +back," to which, as she confided to any who would listen, "there was not +a rag fit to wear." + +These two ladies had not, as may be surmised, any particular attraction +for John Henderson. Truth to tell, Henderson had not come West with the +intention of liking women, but rather with a determination to see +and think as little of them as possible. Yet even the most confirmed +misogynist must admit that it is a good thing to see a woman now and +then, and for this reason Henderson found it amusing to converse with +the amiable Misses O'Neal. At twenty-five one cannot be unyielding in +one's avoidance of the sex. + +Henderson, with his pony at a fine lope, was on his way to town one day, +in that comfortable frame of mind adduced by an absence of any ideas +whatever, when he suddenly became conscious of a shiver that seemed +to run from his legs to the pony, and back again. The animal gave a +startled leap, and lifted his ears. There was a stirring in the coarse +grasses; the sky, which a moment before had been like sapphire, dulled +with an indescribable grayness. + +Then came a little singing afar off, as if from a distant convocation +of cicadae, and before Henderson could guess what it meant, a cloud +of dust was upon him, blinding and bewildering, pricking with sharp +particles at eyes and nostrils. The pony was an ugly fellow, and when +Henderson felt him put his forefeet together, he knew what that meant, +and braced himself for the struggle. But it was useless; he had not yet +acquired the knack of staying on the back of a bucking bronco, and the +next moment he was on the ground, and around him whirled that saffron +chaos of dust. The temperature lowered every moment. Henderson +instinctively felt that this was but the beginning of the storm. He +picked himself up without useless regrets for his pony, and made his way +on. + +The saffron hue turned to blackness, and then out of the murk shot a +living green ball of fire, and ploughed into the earth. Then sheets of +water, that seemed to come simultaneously from earth and sky, swept the +prairie, and in the midst of it struggled Henderson, weak as a little +child, half bereft of sense by the strange numbness of head and dullness +of eye. Another of those green balls fell and burst, as it actually +appeared to him, before his horrified eyes, and the bellow and blare of +the explosion made him cry out in a madness of fright and physical pain. +In the illumination he had seen a cabin only a few feet in front of him, +and toward it he made frantically, with an animal's instinctive desire +for shelter. + +The door did not yield at once to his pressure, and in the panic of +his fear he threw his weight against it. There was a cry from within, a +fall, and Henderson flung himself in the cabin and closed the door. + +In the dusk of the storm he saw a woman half prostrate. It was she +whom he had pushed from the door. He caught the hook in its staple, +and turned to raise her. She was not trembling as much as he, but, like +himself, she was dizzy with the shock of the lightning. In the midst of +all the clamor Henderson heard a shrill crying, and looking toward the +side of the room, he dimly perceived three tiny forms crouched in one of +the bunks. The woman took the smallest of the children in her arms, and +kissed and soothed it; and Henderson, after he had thrown a blanket at +the bottom of the door to keep out the drifting rain, sat with his back +to it, bracing it against the wind, lest the frail staple should give +way. He managed some way to reach out and lay hold of the other little +ones, and got them in his arms,--a boy, so tiny he seemed hardly human, +and a girl somewhat sturdier. They cuddled in his arms, and clutched his +clothes with their frantic little hands, and the three sat so while the +earth and the heavens seemed to be meeting in angry combat. + +And back and forth, back and forth, in the dimness swayed the body of +the woman, hushing her babe. + +Almost as suddenly as the darkness had fallen, it lifted. The lightning +ceased to threaten, and almost frolicked,--little wayward flashes of +white and yellow dancing in mid-air. The wind wailed less frequently, +like a child who sobs in its sleep. And at last Henderson could make his +voice heard. + +"Is there anything to build a fire with?" he shouted. "The children are +shivering so." + +The woman pointed to a basket of buffalo chips in the corner, and he +wrapped his little companions up in a blanket while he made a fire in +the cooking-stove. The baby was sleeping by this time, and the woman +began tidying the cabin, and when the fire was burning brightly, she put +some coffee on. + +"I wish I had some clothes to offer you," she said, when the wind had +subsided sufficiently to make talking possible. "I'm afraid you'll have +to let them get dry on you." + +"Oh, that's of no consequence at all! We're lucky to get off with our +lives. I never saw anything so terrible. Fancy! half an hour ago it was +summer; now it is winter!" + +"It seems rather sudden when you're not used to it," the woman admitted. +"I've lived in the West six years now; you can't frighten me any more. +We never die out here before our time comes." + +"You seem to know that I haven't been here long," said Henderson, with +some chagrin. + +"Yes," admitted the woman; "you have the ear-marks of a man from the +East." + +She was a tall woman, with large blue eyes, and a remarkable quantity of +yellow hair braided on top of her head. Her gown was of calico, of such +a pattern as a widow might wear. + +"I haven't been out of town a week yet," she said. "We're not half +settled. Not having any one to help makes it harder; and the baby is +rather fretful." + +"But you're not alone with all these little codgers?" cried Henderson, +in dismay. + +The woman turned toward him with a sort of defiance. "Yes, I am," she +said; "and I'm as strong as a horse, and I mean to get through all +right. Here were the three children in my arms, you may say, and no way +to get in a cent. I wasn't going to stand it just to please other folk. +I said, let them talk if they want to, but I'm going to hold down a +claim, and be accumulating something while the children are getting up a +bit. Oh, I'm not afraid!" + +In spite of this bold assertion of bravery, there was a sort of break in +her voice. She was putting dishes on the table as she talked, and turned +some ham in the skillet, and got the children up before the fire, +and dropped some eggs in water,--all with a rapidity that bewildered +Henderson. + +"How long have you been alone?" he asked, softly. + +"Three months before baby was born, and he's five months old now. +I--I--you think I can get on here, don't you? There was nothing else to +do." + +She was folding another blanket over the sleeping baby now, and the +action brought to her guest the recollection of a thousand tender +moments of his dimly remembered youth. + +"You'll get on if we have anything to do with it," he cried, suppressing +an oath with difficulty, just from pure emotion. + +And he told her about the three Johns' ranch, and found it was only +three miles distant, and that both were on the same road; only her +cabin, having been put up during the past week, had of course been +unknown to him. So it ended in a sort of compact that they were to help +each other in such ways as they could. Meanwhile the fire got genial, +and the coffee filled the cabin with its comfortable scent, and all of +them ate together quite merrily, Henderson cutting up the ham for the +youngsters; and he told how he chanced to come out; and she entertained +him with stories of what she thought at first when she was brought a +bride to Hamilton, the adjacent village, and convulsed him with stories +of the people, whom she saw with humorous eyes. + +Henderson marvelled how she could in those few minutes have rescued the +cabin from the desolation in which the storm had plunged it. Out of the +window he could see the stricken grasses dripping cold moisture, and the +sky still angrily plunging forward like a disturbed sea. Not a tree or +a house broke the view. The desolation of it swept over him as it never +had before. But within the little ones were chattering to themselves in +odd baby dialect, and the mother was laughing with them. + +"Women aren't always useless," she said, at parting; "and you tell your +chums that when they get hungry for a slice of homemade bread they can +get it here. And the next time they go by, I want them to stop in and +look at the children. It'll do them good. They may think they won't +enjoy themselves, but they will." + +"Oh, I'll answer for that!" cried he, shaking hands with her. "I'll tell +them we have just the right sort of a neighbor." + +"Thank you," said she, heartily. "And you may tell them that her name is +Catherine Ford." + +Once at home, he told his story. + +"H'm!" said Gillispie, "I guess I'll have to go to town myself +to-morrow." + +Henderson looked at him blackly. "She's a woman alone, Gillispie," said +he, severely, "trying to make her way with handicaps--" + +"Shet up, can't ye, ye darned fool?" roared Gillispie. "What do yeh take +me fur?" + +Waite was putting on his rubber coat preparatory to going out for his +night with the cattle. "Guess you're makin' a mistake, my boy," he said, +gently. "There ain't no danger of any woman bein' treated rude in these +parts." + +"I know it, by Jove!" cried Henderson, in quick contriteness. + +"All right," grunted Gillispie, in tacit acceptance of this apology. "I +guess you thought you was in civilized parts." + +Two days after this Waite came in late to his supper. "Well, I seen +her," he announced. + +"Oh! did you?" cried Henderson, knowing perfectly well whom he meant. +"What was she doing?" + +"Killin' snakes, b'gosh! She says th' baby's crazy fur um, an' so she +takes aroun' a hoe on her shoulder wherever she goes, an' when she sees +a snake, she has it out with 'im then an' there. I says to 'er, 'Yer +don't expec' t' git all th' snakes outen this here country, d' yeh?' +'Well,' she says, 'I'm as good a man as St. Patrick any day.' She is a +jolly one, Henderson. She tuk me in an' showed me th' kids, and give me +a loaf of gingerbread to bring home. Here it is; see?" + +"Hu!" said Gillispie. "I'm not in it." But for all of his scorn he was +not above eating the gingerbread. + +It was gardening time, and the three Johns were putting in every spare +moment in the little paling made of willow twigs behind the house. It +was little enough time they had, though, for the cattle were new to each +other and to the country, and they were hard to manage. It was generally +conceded that Waite had a genius for herding, and he could take the +"mad" out of a fractious animal in a way that the others looked on as +little less than superhuman. Thus it was that one day, when the clay had +been well turned, and the seeds arranged on the kitchen table, and +all things prepared for an afternoon of busy planting, that Waite +and Henderson, who were needed out with the cattle, felt no little +irritation at the inexplicable absence of Gillispie, who was to look +after the garden. It was quite nightfall when he at last returned. +Supper was ready, although it had been Gillispie's turn to prepare it. + +Henderson was sore from his saddle, and cross at having to do more than +his share of the work. "Damn yeh!" he cried, as Gillispie appeared. +"Where yeh been?" + +"Making garden," responded Gillispie, slowly. + +"Making garden!" Henderson indulged in some more harmless oaths. + +Just then Gillispie drew from under his coat a large and friendly +looking apple-pie. "Yes," he said, with emphasis; "I've bin a-makin' +garden fur Mis' Ford." + +And so it came about that the three Johns knew her and served her, and +that she never had a need that they were not ready to supply if they +could. Not one of them would have thought of going to town without +stopping to inquire what was needed at the village. As for Catherine +Ford, she was fighting her way with native pluck and maternal +unselfishness. If she had feared solitude she did not suffer from it. +The activity of her life stifled her fresh sorrow. She was pleasantly +excited by the rumors that a railroad was soon to be built near the +place, which would raise the value of the claim she was "holding down" +many thousand dollars. + +It is marvellous how sorrow shrinks when one is very healthy and very +much occupied. Although poverty was her close companion, Catherine had +no thought of it in this primitive manner of living. She had come out +there, with the independence and determination of a Western woman, for +the purpose of living at the least possible expense, and making the most +she could while the baby was "getting out of her arms." That process +has its pleasures, which every mother feels in spite of burdens, and +the mind is happily dulled by nature's merciful provision. With a little +child tugging at the breast, care and fret vanish, not because of the +happiness so much as because of a certain mammal complacency, which +is not at all intellectual, but serves its purpose better than the +profoundest method of reasoning. + +So without any very unbearable misery at her recent widowhood, this +healthy young woman worked in field and house, cared for her little +ones, milked the two cows out in the corral, sewed, sang, rode, baked, +and was happy for very wholesomeness. Sometimes she reproached herself +that she was not more miserable, remembering that long grave back in +the unkempt little prairie cemetery, and she sat down to coax her sorrow +into proper prominence. But the baby cooing at her from its bunk, the +low of the cattle from the corral begging her to relieve their heavy +bags, the familiar call of one of her neighbors from without, even +the burning sky of the summer dawns, broke the spell of this conjured +sorrow, and in spite of herself she was again a very hearty and happy +young woman. Besides, if one has a liking for comedy, it is +impossible to be dull on a Nebraska prairie. The people are a merrier +divertissement than the theatre with its hackneyed stories. Catherine +Ford laughed a good deal, and she took the three Johns into her +confidence, and they laughed with her. There was Minerva Fitch, who +insisted on coming over to tell Catherine how to raise her children, and +who was almost offended that the children wouldn't die of sunstroke +when she predicted. And there was Bob Ackerman, who had inflammatory +rheumatism and a Past, and who confided the latter to Mrs. Ford while +she doctored the former with homoeopathic medicines. And there were all +the strange visionaries who came out prospecting, and quite naturally +drifted to Mrs. Ford's cabin for a meal, and paid her in compliments of +a peculiarly Western type. And there were the three Johns themselves. +Catherine considered it no treason to laugh at them a little. + +Yet at Waite she did not laugh much. There had come to be something +pathetic in the constant service he rendered her. The beginning of his +more particular devotion had started in a particular way. Malaria was +very bad in the country. It had carried off some of the most vigorous +on the prairie, and twice that summer Catherine herself had laid out the +cold forms of her neighbors on ironing-boards, and, with the assistance +of Bill Deems of Missourah, had read the burial service over them. She +had averted several other fatal runs of fever by the contents of her +little medicine-case. These remedies she dealt out with an intelligence +that astonished her patients, until it was learned that she was studying +medicine at the time that she met her late husband, and was persuaded to +assume the responsibilities of matrimony instead of those of the medical +profession. + +One day in midsummer, when the sun was focussing itself on the raw pine +boards of her shanty, and Catherine had the shades drawn for coolness +and the water-pitcher swathed in wet rags, East Indian fashion, she +heard the familiar halloo of Waite down the road. This greeting, which +was usually sent to her from the point where the dipping road lifted +itself into the first view of the house, did not contain its usual note +of cheerfulness. Catherine, wiping her hands on her checked apron, ran +out to wave a welcome; and Waite, his squat body looking more distorted +than ever, his huge shoulders lurching as he walked, came fairly +plunging down the hill. + +"It's all up with Henderson!" he cried, as Catherine approached. "He's +got the malery, an' he says he's dyin'." + +"That's no sign he's dying, because he says so," retorted Catherine. + +"He wants to see yeh," panted Waite, mopping his big ugly head. "I think +he's got somethin' particular to say." + +"How long has he been down?" + +"Three days; an' yeh wouldn't know 'im." + +The children were playing on the floor at that side of the house where +it was least hot. Catherine poured out three bowls of milk, and cut some +bread, meanwhile telling Kitty how to feed the baby. + +"She's a sensible thing, is the little daughter," said Catherine, as she +tied on her sunbonnet and packed a little basket with things from the +cupboard. She kissed the babies tenderly, flung her hoe--her only weapon +of defence--over her shoulder, and the two started off. + +They did not speak, for their throats were soon too parched. The prairie +was burned brown with the sun; the grasses curled as if they had been on +a gridiron. A strong wind was blowing; but it brought no comfort, for +it was heavy with a scorching heat. The skin smarted and blistered under +it, and the eyes felt as if they were filled with sand. The sun seemed +to swing but a little way above the earth, and though the sky was +intensest blue, around about this burning ball there was a halo of +copper, as if the very ether were being consumed in yellow fire. + +Waite put some big burdock-leaves on Catherine's head under her bonnet, +and now and then he took a bottle of water from his pocket and made her +swallow a mouthful. She staggered often as she walked, and the road was +black before her. Still, it was not very long before the oddly shaped +shack of the three Johns came in sight; and as he caught a glimpse of +it, Waite quickened his footsteps. + +"What if he should be gone?" he said, under his breath. + +"Oh, come off!" said Catherine, angrily. "He's not gone. You make me +tired!" + +But she was trembling when she stopped just before the door to compose +herself for a moment. Indeed, she trembled so very much that Waite +put out his sprawling hand to steady her. She gently felt the pressure +tightening, and Waite whispered in her ear: + +"I guess I'd stand by him as well as anybody, excep' you, Mis' Ford. +He's been my bes' friend. But I guess you like him better, eh?" + +Catherine raised her finger. She could hear Henderson's voice within; +it was pitiably querulous. He was half sitting up in his bunk, and +Gillispie had just handed him a plate on which two cakes were swimming +in black molasses and pork gravy. Henderson looked at it a moment; then +over his face came a look of utter despair. He dropped his head in his +arms and broke into uncontrolled crying. + +"Oh, my God, Gillispie," he sobbed, "I shall die out here in this +wretched hole! I want my mother. Great God, Gillispie, am I going to die +without ever seeing my mother?" + +Gillispie, maddened at this anguish, which he could in no way alleviate, +sought comfort by first lighting his pipe and then taking his revolver +out of his hip-pocket and playing with it. Henderson continued to shake +with sobs, and Catherine, who had never before in her life heard a man +cry, leaned against the door for a moment to gather courage. Then she +ran into the house quickly, laughing as she came. She took Henderson's +arms away from his face and laid him back on the pillow, and she stooped +over him and kissed his forehead in the most matter-of-fact way. + +"That's what your mother would do if she were here," she cried, merrily. +"Where's the water?" + +She washed his face and hands a long time, till they were cool and his +convulsive sobs had ceased. Then she took a slice of thin bread from her +basket and a spoonful of amber jelly. She beat an egg into some milk and +dropped a little liquor within it, and served them together on the first +clean napkin that had been in the cabin of the three Johns since it was +built. + +At this the great fool on the bed cried again, only quietly, tears +of weak happiness running from his feverish eyes. And Catherine +straightened the disorderly cabin. She came every day for two weeks, and +by that time Henderson, very uncertain as to the strength of his legs, +but once more accoutred in his native pluck, sat up in a chair, for +which she had made clean soft cushions, writing a letter to his mother. +The floor was scrubbed; the cabin had taken to itself cupboards made +of packing-boxes; it had clothes-presses and shelves; curtains at the +windows; boxes for all sort of necessaries, from flour to tobacco; and +a cook-book on the wall, with an inscription within which was more +appropriate than respectful. + +The day that she announced that she would have no further call to come +back, Waite, who was looking after the house while Gillispie was afield, +made a little speech. + +"After this here," he said, "we four stands er falls together. Now +look here, there's lots of things can happen to a person on this cussed +praira, and no one be none th' wiser. So see here, Mis' Ford, every +night one of us is a-goin' to th' roof of this shack. From there we can +see your place. If anything is th' matter--it don't signify how little +er how big--you hang a lantern on th' stick that I'll put alongside th' +house to-morrow. Yeh can h'ist th' light up with a string, and every +mornin' before we go out we'll look too, and a white rag'll bring us +quick as we can git there. We don't say nothin' about what we owe yeh, +fur that ain't our way, but we sticks to each other from this on." + +Catherine's eyes were moist. She looked at Henderson. His face had no +expression in it at all. He did not even say good-by to her, and she +turned, with the tears suddenly dried under her lids, and walked down +the road in the twilight. + +Weeks went by, and though Gillispie and Waite were often at Catherine's, +Henderson never came. Gillispie gave it out as his opinion that +Henderson was an ungrateful puppy; but Waite said nothing. This strange +man, who seemed like a mere untoward accident of nature, had changed +during the summer. His big ill-shaped body had grown more gaunt; +his deep-set gray eyes had sunk deeper; the gentleness which had +distinguished him even on the wild ranges of Montana became more marked. +Late in August he volunteered to take on himself the entire charge of +the night watch. + +"It's nicer to be out at night," he said to Catherine. "Then you don't +keep looking off at things; you can look inside;" and he struck his +breast with his splay hand. + +Cattle are timorous under the stars. The vastness of the plains, the +sweep of the wind under the unbroken arch, frighten them; they are +made for the close comforts of the barn-yard; and the apprehension is +contagious, as every ranchman knows. Waite realized the need of becoming +good friends with his animals. Night after night, riding up and down +in the twilight of the stars, or dozing, rolled in his blanket, in the +shelter of a knoll, he would hear a low roar; it was the cry of the +alarmist. Then from every direction the cattle would rise with trembling +awkwardness on their knees, and answer, giving out sullen bellowings. +Some of them would begin to move from place to place, spreading the +baseless alarm, and then came the time for action, else over the plain +in mere fruitless frenzy would go the whole frantic band, lashed to +madness by their own fears, trampling each other, heedless of any +obstacle, in pitiable, deadly rout. Waite knew the premonitory signs +well, and at the first warning bellow he was on his feet, alert +and determined, his energy nerved for a struggle in which he always +conquered. + +Waite had a secret which he told to none, knowing, in his unanalytical +fashion, that it would not be believed in. But soon as ever the dark +heads of the cattle began to lift themselves, he sent a resonant voice +out into the stillness. The songs he sang were hymns, and he made them +into a sort of imperative lullaby. Waite let his lungs and soul fill +with the breath of the night; he gave himself up to the exaltation of +mastering those trembling brutes. Mounting, melodious, with even and +powerful swing he let his full notes fall on the air in the confidence +of power, and one by one the reassured cattle would lie down again, +lowing in soft contentment, and so fall asleep with noses stretched out +in mute attention, till their presence could hardly be guessed except +for the sweet aroma of their cuds. + +One night in the early dusk, he saw Catherine Ford hastening across the +prairie with Bill Deems. He sent a halloo out to them, which they both +answered as they ran on. Waite knew on what errand of mercy Catherine +was bent, and he thought of the children over at the cabin alone. The +cattle were quiet, the night beautiful, and he concluded that it was +safe enough, since he was on his pony, to ride down there about midnight +and see that the little ones were safe. + +The dark sky, pricked with points of intensest light, hung over him +so beneficently that in his heart there leaped a joy which even his +ever-present sorrow could not disturb. This sorrow Waite openly admitted +not only to himself, but to others. He had said to Catherine: "You see, +I'll always hev to love yeh. An' yeh'll not git cross with me; I'm not +goin' to be in th' way." And Catherine had told him, with tears in her +eyes, that his love could never be but a comfort to any woman. And these +words, which the poor fellow had in no sense mistaken, comforted him +always, became part of his joy as he rode there, under those piercing +stars, to look after her little ones. He found them sleeping in their +bunks, the baby tight in Kitty's arms, the little boy above them in the +upper bunk, with his hand in the long hair of his brown spaniel. Waite +softly kissed each of them, so Kitty, who was half waking, told her +mother afterwards, and then, bethinking him that Catherine might not be +able to return in time for their breakfast, found the milk and bread, +and set it for them on the table. Catherine had been writing, and her +unfinished letter lay open beside the ink. He took up the pen and wrote, + +"The childdren was all asleep at twelv. + +"J. W." + + +He had not more than got on his pony again before he heard an ominous +sound that made his heart leap. It was a frantic dull pounding of +hoofs. He knew in a second what it meant. There was a stampede among +the cattle. If the animals had all been his, he would not have lost +his sense of judgment. But the realization that he had voluntarily +undertaken the care of them, and that the larger part of them belonged +to his friends, put him in a passion of apprehension that, as a +ranchman, was almost inexplicable. He did the very thing of all others +that no cattle-man in his right senses would think of doing. Gillispie +and Henderson, talking it over afterward, were never able to understand +it. It is possible--just barely possible--that Waite, still drunk on his +solitary dreams, knew what he was doing, and chose to bring his little +chapter to an end while the lines were pleasant. At any rate, he rode +straight forward, shouting and waving his arms in an insane endeavor to +head off that frantic mob. The noise woke the children, and they peered +from the window as the pawing and bellowing herd plunged by, trampling +the young steers under their feet. + +In the early morning, Catherine Ford, spent both in mind and body, came +walking slowly home. In her heart was a prayer of thanksgiving. Mary +Deems lay sleeping back in her comfortless shack, with her little son by +her side. + +"The wonder of God is in it," said Catherine to herself as she walked +home. "All the ministers of all the world could not have preached me +such a sermon as I've had to-night." + +So dim had been the light and so perturbed her mind that she had not +noticed how torn and trampled was the road. But suddenly a bulk in her +pathway startled her. It was the dead and mangled body of a steer. She +stooped over it to read the brand on its flank. "It's one of the three +Johns'," she cried out, looking anxiously about her. "How could that +have happened?" + +The direction which the cattle had taken was toward her house, and she +hastened homeward. And not a quarter of a mile from her door she found +the body of Waite beside that of his pony, crushed out of its familiar +form into something unspeakably shapeless. In her excitement she half +dragged, half carried that mutilated body home, and then ran up her +signal of alarm on the stick that Waite himself had erected for her +convenience. She thought it would be a long time before any one reached +her, but she had hardly had time to bathe the disfigured face and +straighten the disfigured body before Henderson was pounding at her +door. Outside stood his pony panting from its terrific exertions. +Henderson had not seen her before for six weeks. Now he stared at her +with frightened eyes. + +"What is it? What is it?" he cried. "What has happened to you, my--my +love?" + +At least afterward, thinking it over as she worked by day or tossed in +her narrow bunk at night, it seemed to Catherine that those were the +words he spoke. Yet she could never feel sure; nothing in his manner +after that justified the impassioned anxiety of his manner in those +first few uncertain moments; for a second later he saw the body of his +friend and learned the little that Catherine knew. They buried him +the next day in a little hollow where there was a spring and some wild +aspens. + +"He never liked the prairie," Catherine said, when she selected the +spot. "And I want him to lie as sheltered as possible." + +After he had been laid at rest, and she was back, busy with tidying her +neglected shack, she fell to crying so that the children were scared. + +"There's no one left to care what becomes of us," she told them, +bitterly. "We might starve out here for all that any one cares." + +And all through the night her tears fell, and she told herself that they +were all for the man whose last thought was for her and her babies; she +told herself over and over again that her tears were all for him. After +this the autumn began to hurry on, and the snow fell capriciously, days +of biting cold giving place to retrospective glances at summer. The last +of the vegetables were taken out of the garden and buried in the cellar; +and a few tons of coal--dear almost as diamonds--were brought out to +provide against the severest weather. Ordinarily buffalo chips were +the fuel. Catherine was alarmed at the way her wretched little store of +money began to vanish. The baby was fretful with its teething, and was +really more care than when she nursed it. The days shortened, and it +seemed to her that she was forever working by lamp-light The prairies +were brown and forbidding, the sky often a mere gray pall. The monotony +of the life began to seem terrible. Sometimes her ears ached for a +sound. For a time in the summer so many had seemed to need her that +she had been happy in spite of her poverty and her loneliness. Now, +suddenly, no one wanted her. She could find no source of inspiration. +She wondered how she was going to live through the winter, and keep her +patience and her good-nature. + +"You'll love me," she said, almost fiercely, one night to the +children--"you'll love mamma, no matter how cross and homely she gets, +won't you?" + +The cold grew day by day. A strong winter was setting in. Catherine took +up her study of medicine again, and sat over her books till midnight. +It occurred to her that she might fit herself for nursing by spring, and +that the children could be put with some one--she did not dare to think +with whom. But this was the only solution she could find to her problem +of existence. + +November settled down drearily. Few passed the shack. Catherine, who +had no one to speak with excepting the children, continually devised +amusements for them. They got to living in a world of fantasy, and +were never themselves, but always wild Indians, or arctic explorers, +or Robinson Crusoes. Kitty and Roderick, young as they were, found a +never-ending source of amusement in these little grotesque dreams and +dramas. The fund of money was getting so low that Catherine was obliged +to economize even in the necessities. If it had not been for her two +cows, she would hardly have known how to find food for her little ones. +But she had a wonderful way of making things with eggs and milk, and she +kept her little table always inviting. The day before Thanksgiving she +determined that they should all have a frolic. + +"By Christmas," she said to Kitty, "the snow may be so bad that I cannot +get to town. We'll have our high old time now." + +There is no denying that Catherine used slang even in talking to the +children. The little pony had been sold long ago, and going to town +meant a walk of twelve miles. But Catherine started out early in the +morning, and was back by nightfall, not so very much the worse, and +carrying in her arms bundles which might have fatigued a bronco. + +The next morning she was up early, and was as happy and ridiculously +excited over the prospect of the day's merrymaking as if she had been +Kitty. Busy as she was, she noticed a peculiar oppression in the air, +which intensified as the day went on. The sky seemed to hang but a +little way above the rolling stretch of frost-bitten grass. But Kitty +laughing over her new doll, Roderick startling the sullen silence +with his drum, the smell of the chicken, slaughtered to make a prairie +holiday, browning in the oven, drove all apprehensions from Catherine's +mind. She was a common creature. Such very little things could make her +happy. She sang as she worked; and what with the drumming of her boy, +and the little exulting shrieks of her baby, the shack was filled with a +deafening and exhilarating din. + +It was a little past noon, when she became conscious that there was +sweeping down on her a gray sheet of snow and ice, and not till then did +she realize what those lowering clouds had signified. For one moment she +stood half paralyzed. She thought of everything,--of the cattle, of the +chance for being buried in this drift, of the stock of provisions, of +the power of endurance of the children. While she was still thinking, +the first ice-needles of the blizzard came peppering the windows. The +cattle ran bellowing to the lee side of the house and crouched there, +and the chickens scurried for the coop. Catherine seized such blankets +and bits of carpet as she could find, and crammed them at windows and +doors. Then she piled coal on the fire, and clothed the children in all +they had that was warmest, their out-door garments included; and with +them close about her, she sat and waited. The wind seemed to push +steadily at the walls of the house. The howling became horrible. She +could see that the children were crying with fright, but she could +not hear them. The air was dusky; the cold, in spite of the fire, +intolerable. In every crevice of the wretched structure the ice and snow +made their way. It came through the roof, and began piling up in little +pointed strips under the crevices. Catherine put the children all +together in one bunk, covered them with all the bedclothes she had, and +then stood before them defiantly, facing the west, from whence the +wind was driving. Not suddenly, but by steady pressure, at length the +window-sash yielded, and the next moment that whirlwind was in the +house,--a maddening tumult of ice and wind, leaving no room for +resistance; a killing cold, against which it was futile to fight. +Catherine threw the bedclothes over the heads of the children, and then +threw herself across the bunk, gasping and choking for breath. Her +body would not have yielded to the suffering yet, so strongly made and +sustained was it; but her dismay stifled her. She saw in one horrified +moment the frozen forms of her babies, now so pink and pleasant to the +sense; and oblivion came to save her from further misery. + +She was alive--just barely alive--when Gillispie and Henderson got +there, three hours later, the very balls of their eyes almost frozen +into blindness. But for an instinct stronger than reason they would +never have been able to have found their way across that trackless +stretch. The children lying unconscious under their coverings were +neither dead nor actually frozen, although the men putting their hands +on their little hearts could not at first discover the beating. Stiff +and suffering as these young fellows were, it was no easy matter to get +the window back into place and re-light the fire. They had tied flasks +of liquor about their waists; and this beneficent fluid they used with +that sense of appreciation which only a pioneer can feel toward +whiskey. It was hours before Catherine rewarded them with a gleam +of consciousness. Her body had been frozen in many places. Her arms, +outstretched over her children and holding the clothes down about +them, were rigid. But consciousness came at length, dimly struggling up +through her brain; and over her she saw her friends rubbing and rubbing +those strong firm arms of hers with snow. + +She half raised her head, with a horror of comprehension in her eyes, +and listened. A cry answered her,--a cry of dull pain from the baby. +Henderson dropped on his knees beside her. + +"They are all safe," he said. "And we will never leave you again. I have +been afraid to tell you how I love you. I thought I might offend you. I +thought I ought to wait--you know why. But I will never let you run the +risks of this awful life alone again. You must rename the baby. From +this day his name is John. And we will have the three Johns again +back at the old ranch. It doesn't matter whether you love me or not, +Catherine, I am going to take care of you just the same. Gillispie +agrees with me." + +"Damme, yes," muttered Gillispie, feeling of his hip-pocket for +consolation in his old manner. + +Catherine struggled to find her voice, but it would not come. + +"Do not speak," whispered John. "Tell me with your eyes whether you will +come as my wife or only as our sister." + +Catherine told him. + +"This is Thanksgiving day," said he. "And we don't know much about +praying, but I guess we all have something in our hearts that does just +as well." + +"Damme, yes," said Gillispie, again, as he pensively cocked and uncocked +his revolver. + + + + +A Resuscitation + +AFTER being dead twenty years, he walked out into the sunshine. + +It was as if the bones of a bleached skeleton should join themselves on +some forgotten plain, and look about them for the vanished flesh. + +To be dead it is not necessary to be in the grave. There are places +where the worms creep about the heart instead of the body. + +The penitentiary is one of these. David Culross had been in the +penitentiary twenty years. Now, with that worm-eaten heart, he came out +into liberty and looked about him for the habiliments with which he had +formerly clothed himself,--for hope, self-respect, courage, pugnacity, +and industry. + +But they had vanished and left no trace, like the flesh of the dead men +on the plains, and so, morally unapparelled, in the hideous skeleton of +his manhood, he walked on down the street under the mid-June sunshine. + +You can understand, can you not, how a skeleton might wish to get back +into its comfortable grave? David Culross had not walked two blocks +before he was seized with an almost uncontrollable desire to beg to be +shielded once more in that safe and shameful retreat from which he had +just been released. A horrible perception of the largeness of the world +swept over him. Space and eternity could seem no larger to the usual man +than earth--that snug and insignificant planet--looked to David Culross. + +"If I go back," he cried, despairingly, looking up to the great building +that arose above the stony hills, "they will not take me in." He was +absolutely without a refuge, utterly without a destination; he did not +have a hope. There was nothing he desired except the surrounding of +those four narrow walls between which he had lain at night and dreamed +those ever-recurring dreams,-dreams which were never prophecies or +promises, but always the hackneyed history of what he had sacrificed by +his crime, and relinquished by his pride. + +The men who passed him looked at him with mingled amusement and pity. +They knew the "prison look," and they knew the prison clothes. For +though the State gives to its discharged convicts clothes which are +like those of other men, it makes a hundred suits from the same sort of +cloth. The police know the fabric, and even the citizens recognize +it. But, then, were each man dressed in different garb he could not be +disguised. Every one knows in what dull school that sidelong glance is +learned, that aimless drooping of the shoulders, that rhythmic lifting +of the heavy foot. + +David Culross wondered if his will were dead. He put it to the test. +He lifted up his head to a position which it had not held for many +miserable years. He put his hands in his pockets in a pitiful attempt at +nonchalance, and walked down the street with a step which was meant to +be brisk, but which was in fact only uncertain. In his pocket were ten +dollars. This much the State equips a man with when it sends him out of +its penal halls. It gives him also transportation to any point within +reasonable distance that he may desire to reach. Culross had requested a +ticket to Chicago. He naturally said Chicago. In the long colorless days +it had been in Chicago that all those endlessly repeated scenes had been +laid. Walking up the street now with that wavering ineffectual gait, +these scenes came back to surge in his brain like waters ceaselessly +tossed in a wind-swept basin. + +There was the office, bare and clean, where the young stoop-shouldered +clerks sat writing. In their faces was a strange resemblance, just as +there was in the backs of the ledgers, and in the endless bills on +the spindles. If one of them laughed, it was not with gayety, but with +gratification at the discomfiture of another. None of them ate well. +None of them were rested after sleep. All of them rode on the stuffy +one-horse cars to and from their work. Sundays they lay in bed very +late, and ate more dinner than they could digest. There was a certain +fellowship among them,--such fellowship as a band of captives among +cannibals might feel, each of them waiting with vital curiosity to +see who was the next to be eaten. But of that fellowship that plans +in unison, suffers in sympathy, enjoys vicariously, strengthens into +friendship and communion of soul they knew nothing. Indeed, such +camaraderie would have been disapproved of by the Head Clerk. He would +have looked on an emotion with exactly the same displeasure that he +would on an error in the footing of the year's accounts. It was tacitly +understood that one reached the proud position of Head Clerk by having +no emotions whatever. + +Culross did not remember having been born with a pen in his hand, or +even with one behind his ear; but certainly from the day he had been +let out of knickerbockers his constant companion had been that greatly +overestimated article. His father dying at a time that cut short David's +school-days, he went out armed with his new knowledge of double-entry, +determined to make a fortune and a commercial name. Meantime, he lived +in a suite of three rooms on West Madison Street with his mother, who +was a good woman, and lived where she did that she might be near her +favorite meeting-house. She prayed, and cooked bad dinners, principally +composed of dispiriting pastry. Her idea of house-keeping was to keep +the shades down, whatever happened; and when David left home in the +evening for any purpose of pleasure, she wept. David persuaded himself +that he despised amusement, and went to bed each night at half-past nine +in a folding bedstead in the front room, and, by becoming absolutely +stolid from mere vegetation, imagined that he was almost fit to be a +Head Clerk. + +Walking down the street now after the twenty years, thinking of these +dead but innocent days, this was the picture he saw; and as he reflected +upon it, even the despoiled and desolate years just passed seemed richer +by contrast. + +He reached the station thus dreaming, and found, as he had been told +when the warden bade him good-by, that a train was to be at hand +directly bound to the city. A few moments later he was on that train. +Well back in the shadow, and out of sight of the other passengers, he +gave himself up to the enjoyment of the comfortable cushion. He would +willingly have looked from the window,--green fields were new and +wonderful; drifting clouds a marvel; men, houses, horses, farms, all a +revelation,--but those haunting visions were at him again, and would not +leave brain or eye free for other things. + +But the next scene had warmer tints. It was the interior of a rich +room,--crimson and amber fabrics, flowers, the gleam of a statue beyond +the drapings; the sound of a tender piano unflinging a familiar melody, +and a woman. She was just a part of all the luxury. + +He himself, very timid and conscious of his awkwardness, sat near, +trying barrenly to get some of his thoughts out of his brain on to his +tongue. + +"Strange, isn't it," the woman broke in on her own music, "that we +have seen each other so very often and never spoken? I've often thought +introductions were ridiculous. Fancy seeing a person year in and year +out, and really knowing all about him, and being perfectly acquainted +with his name--at least his or her name, you know--and then never +speaking! Some one comes along, and says, 'Miss Le Baron, this is Mr. +Culross,' just as if one didn't know that all the time! And there you +are! You cease to be dumb folks, and fall to talking, and say a lot of +things neither of you care about, and after five or six weeks of time +and sundry meetings, get down to honestly saying what you mean. I'm so +glad we've got through with that first stage, and can say what we think +and tell what we really like." + +Then the playing began again,--a harplike intermingling of soft sounds. +Zoe Le Baron's hands were very girlish. Everything about her was +unformed. Even her mind was so. But all promised a full completion. +The voice, the shoulders, the smile, the words, the lips, the arms, the +whole mind and body, were rounding to maturity. + +"Why do you never come to church in the morning?" asks Miss Le Baron, +wheeling around on her piano-stool suddenly. "You are only there at +night, with your mother." + +"I go only on her account," replies David, truthfully. "In the morning +I am so tired with the week's work that I rest at home. I ought to go, I +know." + +"Yes, you ought," returns the young woman, gravely. "It doesn't really +rest one to lie in bed like that. I've tried it at boarding-school. It +was no good whatever." + +"Should you advise me," asks David, in a confiding tone, "to arise early +on Sunday?" + +The girl blushes a little. "By all means!" she cries, her eyes +twinkling, "and--and come to church. Our morning sermons are really very +much better than those in the evening." And she plays a waltz, and what +with the music and the warmth of the room and the perfume of the roses, +a something nameless and mystical steals over the poor clerk, and +swathes him about like the fumes of opium. They are alone. The silence +is made deeper by that rhythmic unswelling of sound. As the painter +flushes the bare wall into splendor, these emotions illuminated his +soul, and gave to it that high courage that comes when men or women +suddenly realize that each life has its significance,-their own lives no +less than the lives of others. + +The man sitting there in the shadow in that noisy train saw in his +vision how the lad arose and moved, like one under a spell, toward the +piano. He felt again the enchantment of the music-ridden quiet, of the +perfume, and the presence of the woman. + +"Knowing you and speaking with you have not made much difference with +me," he whispers, drunk on the new wine of passion, "for I have loved +you since I saw you first. And though it is so sweet to hear you speak, +your voice is no more beautiful than I thought it would be. I have loved +you a long time, and I want to know--" + +The broken man in the shadow remembered how the lad stopped, astonished +at his boldness and his fluency, overcome suddenly at the thought of +what he was saying. The music stopped with a discord. The girl arose, +trembling and scarlet. + +"I would not have believed it of you," she cries, "to take advantage of +me like this, when I am alone--and--everything. You know very well that +nothing but trouble could come to either of us from your telling me a +thing like that." + +He puts his hands up to his face to keep off her anger. He is trembling +with confusion. + +Then she broke in penitently, trying to pull his hands away from his +hot face: "Never mind! I know you didn't mean anything. Be good, do, and +don't spoil the lovely times we have together. You know very well +father and mother wouldn't let us see each other at all if they--if they +thought you were saying anything such as you said just now." + +"Oh, but I can't help it!" cries the boy, despairingly. "I have never +loved anybody at all till now. I don't mean not another girl, you know. +But you are the first being I ever cared for. I sometimes think mother +cares for me because I pay the rent. And the office--you can't imagine +what that is like. The men in it are moving corpses. They're proud to be +that way, and so was I till I knew you and learned what life was like. +All the happy moments I have had have been here. Now, if you tell me +that we are not to care for each other--" + +There was some one coming down the hall. The curtain lifted. A +middle-aged man stood there looking at him. + +"Culross," said he, "I'm disappointed in you. I didn't mean to listen, +but I couldn't help hearing what you said just now. I don't blame you +particularly. Young men will be fools. And I do not in any way mean to +insult you when I tell you to stop your coming here. I don't want to see +you inside this door again, and after a while you will thank me for +it. You have taken a very unfair advantage of my invitation. I make +allowances for your youth." + +He held back the curtain for the lad to pass out. David threw a +miserable glance at the girl. She was standing looking at her father +with an expression that David could not fathom. He went into the hall, +picked up his hat, and walked out in silence. + +David wondered that night, walking the chilly streets after he +quitted the house, and often, often afterward, if that comfortable and +prosperous gentleman, safe beyond the perturbations of youth, had +any idea of what he had done. How COULD he know anything of the black +monotony of the life of the man he turned from his door? The "desk's +dead wood" and all its hateful slavery, the dull darkened rooms where +his mother prosed through endless evenings, the bookless, joyless, +hopeless existence that had cramped him all his days rose up before +him, as a stretch of unbroken plain may rise before a lost man till it +maddens him. + +The bowed man in the car-seat remembered with a flush of reminiscent +misery how the lad turned suddenly in his walk and entered the door of +a drinking-room that stood open. It was very comfortable within. The +screens kept out the chill of the autumn night, the sawdust-sprinkled +floor was clean, the tables placed near together, the bar glittering, +the attendants white-aproned and brisk. + +David liked the place, and he liked better still the laughter that came +from a room within. It had a note in it a little different from anything +he had ever heard before in his life, and one that echoed his mood. He +ventured to ask if he might go into the farther room. + +It does not mean much when most young men go to a place like this. They +take their bit of unwholesome dissipation quietly enough, and are a +little coarser and more careless each time they indulge in it, perhaps. +But certainly their acts, whatever gradual deterioration they may +indicate, bespeak no sudden moral revolution. With this young clerk it +was different. He was a worse man from the moment he entered the door, +for he did violence to his principles; he killed his self-respect. + +He had been paid at the office that night, and he had the money--a +week's miserable pittance--in his pocket. His every action revealed the +fact that he was a novice in recklessness. His innocent face piqued the +men within. They gave him a welcome that amazed him. Of course the rest +of the evening was a chaos to him. The throat down which he poured the +liquor was as tender as a child's. The men turned his head with +their ironical compliments. Their boisterous good-fellowship was as +intoxicating to this poor young recluse as the liquor. + +It was the revulsion from this feeling, when he came to a consciousness +that the men were laughing at him and not with him, that wrecked his +life. He had gone from beer to whiskey, and from whiskey to brandy, by +this time, at the suggestion of the men, and was making awkward lunges +with a billiard cue, spurred on by the mocking applause of the others. +One young fellow was particularly hilarious at his expense. His jokes +became insults, or so they seemed to David. + +A quarrel followed, half a jest on the part of the other, all serious +as far as David was concerned. And then--Well, who could tell how it +happened? The billiard cue was in David's hand, and the skull of the +jester was split, a horrible gaping thing, revoltingly animal. + +David never saw his home again. His mother gave it out in church that +her heart was broken, and she wrote a letter to David begging him to +reform. She said she would never cease to pray for him, that he might +return to grace. He had an attorney, an impecunious and very aged +gentleman, whose life was a venerable failure, and who talked so much +about his personal inconveniences from indigestion that he forgot to +take a very keen interest in the concerns of his client. David's trial +made no sensation. He did not even have the cheap sympathy of the +morbid. The court-room was almost empty the dull spring day when the +east wind beat against the window, jangling the loose panes all through +the reading of the verdict. + +Twenty years! + +Twenty years in the penitentiary! + +David looked up at the judge and smiled. Men have been known to smile +that way when the car-wheel crashes over their legs, or a bullet lets +the air through their lungs. + +All that followed would have seemed more terrible if it had not appeared +to be so remote. David had to assure himself over and over that it was +really he who was put in that disgraceful dress, and locked in that +shameful walk from corridor to workroom, from work-room to chapel. +The work was not much more monotonous than that to which he had been +accustomed in the office. Here, as there, one was reproved for not doing +the required amount, but never praised for extraordinary efforts. Here, +as there, the workers regarded each other with dislike and suspicion. +Here, as there, work was a penalty and not a pleasure. + +It is the nights that are to be dreaded in a penitentiary. Speech eases +the brain of free men; but the man condemned to eternal silence is +bound to endure torments. Thought, which might be a diversion, becomes +a curse; it is a painful disease which becomes chronic. It does not take +long to forget the days of the week and the months of the year when +time brings no variance. David drugged himself on dreams. He knew it was +weakness, but it was the wine of forgetfulness, and he indulged in it. +He went over and over, in endless repetition, every scene in which Zoe +Le Baron had figured. + +He learned by a paper that she had gone to Europe. He was glad of that. +For there were hours in which he imagined that his fate might have +caused her distress--not much, of course, but perhaps an occasional hour +of sympathetic regret. But it was pleasanter not to think of that. He +preferred to remember the hours they had spent together while she was +teaching him the joy of life. + +How lovely her gray eyes were! Deep, yet bright, and full of silent +little speeches. The rooms in which he imagined her as moving were +always splendid; the gowns she wore were of rustling silk. He never in +any dream, waking or sleeping, associated her with poverty or sorrow or +pain. Gay and beautiful, she moved from city to city, in these visions +of David's, looking always at wonderful things, and finding laughter in +every happening. + +It was six months after his entrance into his silent abode that a letter +came for him. + +"By rights, Culross," said the warden, "I should not give this letter +to you. It isn't the sort we approve of. But you're in for a good spell, +and if there is anything that can make life seem more tolerable, I don't +know but you're entitled to it. At least, I'm not the man to deny it to +you." + +This was the letter:-- + +"MY DEAR FRIEND,--I hope you do not think that all these months, when +you have been suffering so terribly, I have been thinking of other +things! But I am sure you know the truth. You know that I could not send +you word or come to see you, or I would have done it. When I first heard +of what you had done, I saw it all as it happened,--that dreadful scene, +I mean, in the saloon. I am sure I have imagined everything just as it +was. I begged papa to help you, but he was very angry. You see, papa was +so peculiar. He thought more of the appearances of things, perhaps, than +of facts. It infuriated him to think of me as being concerned about you +or with you. I did not know he could be so angry, and his anger did not +die, but for days it cast such a shadow over me that I used to wish I +was dead. Only I would not disobey him, and now I am glad of that. We +were in France three months, and then, coming home, papa died. It was +on the voyage. I wish he had asked me to forgive him, for then I think +I could have remembered him with more tenderness. But he did nothing of +the kind. He did not seem to think he had done wrong in any way, though +I feel that some way we might have saved you. I am back here in Chicago +in the old home. But I shall not stay in this house. It is so large +and lonesome, and I always see you and father facing each other angrily +there in the parlor when I enter it. So I am going to get me some cosey +rooms in another part of the city, and take my aunt, who is a sweet old +lady, to live with me; and I am going to devote my time--all of it--and +all of my brains to getting you out of that terrible place. What is the +use of telling me that you are a murderer? Do I not know you could not +be brought to hurt anything? I suppose you must have killed that poor +man, but then it was not you, it was that dreadful drink--it was Me! +That is what continually haunts me. If I had been a braver girl, and +spoken the words that were in my heart, you would not have gone into +that place. You would be innocent to-day. It was I who was responsible +for it all. I let father kill your heart right there before me, and +never said a word. Yet I knew how it was with you, and--this is what +I ought to have said then, and what I must say now--and all the time I +felt just as you did. I thought I should die when I saw you go away, and +knew you would never come back again. Only I was so selfish, I was so +wicked, I would say nothing. + +"I have no right to be comfortable and hopeful, and to have friends, +with you shut up from liberty and happiness. I will not have those +comfortable rooms, after all. I will live as you do. I will live alone +in a bare room. For it is I who am guilty! And then I will feel that I +also am being punished. + +"Do you hate me? Perhaps my telling you now all these things, and that I +felt toward you just as you did toward me, will not make you happy. For +it may be that you despise me. + +"Anyway, I have told you the truth now. I will go as soon as I hear from +you to a lawyer, and try to find out how you may be liberated. I am sure +it can be done when the facts are known. + +"Poor boy! How I do hope you have known in your heart that I was not +forgetting you. Indeed, day or night, I have thought of nothing else. +Now I am free to help you. And be sure, whatever happens, that I am +working for you. + +"ZOE LE BARON." + + +That was all. Just a girlish, constrained letter, hardly hinting at the +hot tears that had been shed for many weary nights, coyly telling of the +impatient young love and all the maidenly shame. + +David permitted himself to read it only once. Then a sudden resolution +was born-a heroic one. Before he got the letter he was a crushed +and unsophisticated boy; when he had read it, and absorbed its full +significance, he became suddenly a man, capable of a great sacrifice. + +"I return your letter," he wrote, without superscription, "and thank you +for your anxiety about me. But the truth is, I had forgotten all about +you in my trouble. You were not in the least to blame for what happened. +I might have known I would come to such an end. You thought I was good, +of course; but it is not easy to find out the life of a young man. It is +rather mortifying to have a private letter sent here, because the warden +reads them all. I hope you will enjoy yourself this winter, and hasten +to forget one who had certainly forgotten you till reminded by your +letter, which I return. + +"Respectfully, + +"DAVID CULROSS." + + +That night some deep lines came into his face which never left it, and +which made him look like a man of middle age. + +He never doubted that his plan would succeed; that, piqued and indignant +at his ingratitude, she would hate him, and in a little time forget +he ever lived, or remember him only to blush with shame at her past +association with him. He saw her happy, loved, living the usual life of +women, with all those things that make life rich. + +For there in the solitude an understanding of deep things came to him. +He who thought never to have a wife grew to know what the joy of it must +be. He perceived all the subtle rapture of wedded souls. He learned what +the love of children was, the pride of home, the unselfish ambition +for success that spurs men on. All the emotions passed in procession at +night before him, tricked out in palpable forms. + +A burst of girlish tears would dissipate whatever lingering pity Zoe +felt for him. How often he said that! With her sensitiveness she would +be sure to hate a man who had mortified her. + +So he fell to dreaming of her again as moving among happy and luxurious +scenes, exquisitely clothed, with flowers on her bosom and jewels on +her neck; and he saw men loving her, and was glad, and saw her at last +loving the best of them, and told himself in the silence of the night +that it was as he wished. + +Yet always, always, from weary week to weary week, he rehearsed the +scenes. They were his theatre, his opera, his library, his lecture hall. + +He rehearsed them again there on the cars. He never wearied of them. To +be sure, other thoughts had come to him at night. Much that to most men +seems complex and puzzling had grown to appear simple to him. In a way +his brain had quickened and deepened through the years of solitude. He +had thought out a great many things. He had read a few good books and +digested them, and the visions in his heart had kept him from being +bitter. + +Yet, suddenly confronted with liberty, turned loose like a pastured +colt, without master or rein, he felt only confusion and dismay. He +might be expected to feel exultation. He experienced only fright. It is +precisely the same with the liberated colt. + +The train pulled into a bustling station, in which the multitudinous +noises were thrown back again from the arched iron roof. The relentless +haste of all the people was inexpressibly cruel to the man who looked +from the window wondering whither he would go, and if, among all the +thousands that made up that vast and throbbing city, he would ever find +a friend. + +For a moment David longed even for that unmaternal mother who had +forgotten him in the hour of his distress; but she had been dead for +many years. + +The train stopped. Every one got out. David forced himself to his feet +and followed. He had been driven back into the world. It would have +seemed less terrible to have been driven into a desert. He walked +toward the great iron gates, seeing the people and hearing the noises +confusedly. + +As he entered the space beyond the grating some one caught him by the +arm. It was a little middle-aged woman in plain clothes, and with sad +gray eyes. + +"Is this David?" said she. + +He did not speak, but his face answered her. + +"I knew you were coming to-day. I've waited all these years, David. You +didn't think I believed what you said in that letter did you? This way, +David,--this is the way home." + + + + +Two Pioneers + +IT was the year of the small-pox. The Pawnees had died in their cold +tepees by the fifties, the soldiers lay dead in the trenches without the +fort, and many a gay French voyageur, who had thought to go singing down +the Missouri on his fur-laden raft in the springtime, would never again +see the lights of St. Louis, or the coin of the mighty Choteau company. + +It had been a winter of tragedies. The rigors of the weather and the +scourge of the disease had been fought with Indian charm and with +Catholic prayer. Both were equally unavailing. If a man was taken sick +at the fort they put him in a warm room, brought him a jug of water +once a day, and left him to find out what his constitution was worth. +Generally he recovered; for the surgeon's supplies had been exhausted +early in the year. But the Indians, in their torment, rushed into the +river through the ice, and returned to roll themselves in their blankets +and die in ungroaning stoicism. + +Every one had grown bitter and hard. The knives of the trappers were +sharp, and not one whit sharper than their tempers. Some one said that +the friendly Pawnees were conspiring with the Sioux, who were always +treacherous, to sack the settlement. The trappers doubted this. They and +the Pawnees had been friends many years, and they had together killed +the Sioux in four famous battles on the Platte. Yet--who knows? There +was pestilence in the air, and it had somehow got into men's souls as +well as their bodies. + +So, at least, Father de Smet said. He alone did not despair. He +alone tried neither charm nor curse. He dressed him an altar in the +wilderness, and he prayed at it--but not for impossible things. When in +a day's journey you come across two lodges of Indians, sixty souls in +each, lying dead and distorted from the plague in their desolate tepees, +you do not pray, if you are a man like Father de Smet. You go on to the +next lodge where the living yet are, and teach them how to avoid death. + +Besides, when you are young, it is much easier to act than to pray. When +the children cried for food, Father de Smet took down the rifle from +the wall and went out with it, coming back only when he could feed the +hungry. There were places where the prairie was black with buffalo, and +the shy deer showed their delicate heads among the leafless willows +of the Papillion. When they--the children--were cold, this young man +brought in baskets of buffalo chips from the prairie and built them +a fire, or he hung more skins up at the entrance to the tepees. If he +wanted to cross a river and had no boat at hand, he leaped the uncertain +ice, or, in clear current, swam, with his clothes on his head in a +bundle. + +A wonderful traveller for the time was Father de Smet. Twice he had gone +as far as the land of the Flathead nation, and he could climb mountain +passes as well as any guide of the Rockies. He had built a dozen +missions, lying all the way from the Columbia to the Kaw. He had always +a jest at his tongue's end, and served it out with as much readiness as +a prayer; and he had, withal, an arm trained to do execution. Every +man on the plains understood the art of self-preservation. Even in +Cainsville, over by the council ground of the western tribes, which was +quite the most civilized place for hundreds of miles, life was uncertain +when the boats came from St. Louis with bad whiskey in their holds. But +no one dared take liberties with the holy father. The thrust from his +shoulder was straight and sure, and his fist was hard. + +Yet it was not the sinner that Father de Smet meant to crush. He always +supplemented his acts of physical prowess with that explanation. It +was the sin that he struck at from the shoulder--and may not even an +anointed one strike at sin? + +Father de Smet could draw a fine line, too, between the things which +were bad in themselves, and the things which were only extrinsically +bad. For example, there were the soups of Mademoiselle Ninon. Mam'selle +herself was not above reproach, but her soups were. Mademoiselle Ninon +was the only Parisian thing in the settlement. And she was certainly to +be avoided--which was perhaps the reason that no one avoided her. It +was four years since she had seen Paris. She was sixteen then, and she +followed the fortunes of a certain adventurer who found it advisable to +sail for Montreal. Ninon had been bored back in Paris, it being dull +in the mantua-making shop of Madame Guittar. If she had been a man she +would have taken to navigation, and might have made herself famous by +sailing to some unknown part of the New World. Being a woman, she took +a lover who was going to New France, and forgot to weep when he found an +early and violent death. And there were others at hand, and Ninon sailed +around the cold blue lakes, past Sault St. Marie, and made her way +across the portages to the Mississippi, and so down to the sacred rock +of St. Louis. That was a merry place. Ninon had fault to find neither +with the wine nor the dances. They were all that one could have desired, +and there was no limit to either of them. But still, after a time, even +this grew tiresome to one of Ninon's spirit, and she took the first +opportunity to sail up the Missouri with a certain young trapper +connected with the great fur company, and so found herself at +Cainsville, with the blue bluffs rising to the east of her, and the low +white stretches of the river flats undulating down to where the sluggish +stream wound its way southward capriciously. + +Ninon soon tired of her trapper. For one thing she found out that he +was a coward. She saw him run once in a buffalo fight. That was when the +Pawnee stood still with a blanket stretched wide in a gaudy square, +and caught the head of the mad animal fairly in the tough fabric; his +mustang's legs trembled under him, but he did not move,--for a mustang +is the soul of an Indian, and obeys each thought; the Indian himself +felt his heart pounding at his ribs; but once with that garment fast +over the baffled eyes of the struggling brute, the rest was only a +matter of judicious knife-thrusts. Ninon saw this. She rode past her +lover, and snatched the twisted bullion cord from his hat that she had +braided and put there, and that night she tied it on the hat of the +Pawnee who had killed the buffalo. + +The Pawnees were rather proud of the episode, and as for the Frenchmen, +they did not mind. The French have always been very adaptable in +America. Ninon was universally popular. + +And so were her soups. + +Every man has his price. Father de Smet's was the soups of Mademoiselle +Ninon. Fancy! If you have an educated palate and are obliged to eat +the strong distillation of buffalo meat, cooked in a pot which has been +wiped out with the greasy petticoat of a squaw! When Ninon came down +from St. Louis she brought with her a great box containing neither +clothes, furniture, nor trinkets, but something much more wonderful! +It was a marvellous compounding of spices and seasonings. The aromatic +liquids she set before the enchanted men of the settlement bore no more +relation to ordinary buffalo soup than Chateaubrand's Indian maidens +did to one of the Pawnee girls, who slouched about the settlement with +noxious tresses and sullen slavish coquetries. + +Father de Smet would not at any time have called Ninon a scarlet woman. +But when he ate the dish of soup or tasted the hot corn-cakes that she +invariably invited him to partake of as he passed her little house, he +refrained with all the charity of a true Christian and an accomplished +epicure from even thinking her such. And he remembered the words of the +Saviour, "Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone." + +To Father de Smet's healthy nature nothing seemed more superfluous than +sin. And he was averse to thinking that any committed deeds of which he +need be ashamed. So it was his habit, especially if the day was pleasant +and his own thoughts happy, to say to himself when he saw one of the +wild young trappers leaving the cabin of Mademoiselle Ninon: "He has +been for some of the good woman's hot cakes," till he grew quite to +believe that the only attractions that the adroit Frenchwoman possessed +were of a gastronomic nature. + +To tell the truth, the attractions of Mademoiselle Ninon were varied. To +begin with, she was the only thing in that wilderness to suggest home. +Ninon had a genius for home-making. Her cabin, in which she cooked, +slept, ate, lived, had become a boudoir. + +The walls were hung with rare and beautiful skins; the very floor made +rich with huge bear robes, their permeating odors subdued by heavy +perfumes brought, like the spices, from St. Louis. The bed, in daytime, +was a couch of beaver-skins; the fireplace had branching antlers +above it, on which were hung some of the evidences of the fair Ninon's +coquetry, such as silken scarves, of the sort the voyageurs from the far +north wore; and necklaces made by the Indians of the Pacific coast and +brought to Ninon by--but it is not polite to inquire into these matters. +There were little moccasins also, much decorated with porcupine-quills, +one pair of which Father de Smet had brought from the Flathead nation, +and presented to Ninon that time when she nursed him through a frightful +run of fever. She would take no money for her patient services. + +"Father," said she, gravely, when he offered it to her, "I am not +myself virtuous. But I have the distinction of having preserved the only +virtuous creature in the settlement for further usefulness. Sometimes, +perhaps, you will pray for Ninon." + +Father de Smet never forgot those prayers. + +These were wild times, mind you. No use to keep your skirts coldly clean +if you wished to be of help. These men were subduing a continent. Their +primitive qualities came out. Courage, endurance, sacrifice, suffering +without complaint, friendship to the death, indomitable hatred, +unfaltering hope, deep-seated greed, splendid gayety--it takes these +things to subdue a continent. Vice is also an incidental,--that is to +say, what one calls vice. This is because it is the custom to measure +these men as if they were governed by the laws of civilization, where +there is neither law nor civilization. + +This much is certain: gentlemen cannot conquer a country. They +tried gentlemen back in Virginia, and they died, partly from lack of +intellect, but mostly from lack of energy. After the yeomen have fought +the conquering fight, it is well enough to bring in gentlemen, who +are sometimes clever lawmakers, and who look well on thrones or in +presidential chairs. + +But to return to the winter of the smallpox. It was then that the priest +and Ninon grew to know each other well. They became acquainted first +in the cabin where four of the trappers lay tossing in delirium. The +horrible smell of disease weighted the air. Outside wet snow fell +continuously and the clouds seemed to rest only a few feet above the +sullen bluffs. The room was bare of comforts, and very dirty. Ninon +looked about with disgust. + +"You pray," said she to the priest, "and I will clean the room." + +"Not so," returned the broad-shouldered father, smilingly, "we will both +clean the room." Thus it came that they scrubbed the floor together, and +made the chimney so that it would not smoke, and washed the blankets on +the beds, and kept the woodpile high. They also devised ventilators, and +let in fresh air without exposing the patients. They had no medicine, +but they continually rubbed the suffering men with bear's grease. + +"It's better than medicine," said Ninon, after the tenth day, as, wan +with watching, she held the cool hand of one of the recovering men in +her own. "If we had had medicines we should have killed these men." + +"You are a woman of remarkable sense," said the holy father, who was +eating a dish of corn-meal and milk that Ninon had just prepared, "and a +woman also of Christian courage." + +"Christian courage?" echoed Ninon; "do you think that is what you call +it? I am not afraid, no, not I; but it is not Christian courage. You +mistake in calling it that." There were tears in her eyes. The priest +saw them. + +"God lead you at last into peaceful ways," said he, softly, lifting one +hand in blessing. "Your vigil is ended. Go to your home and sleep. You +know the value of the temporal life that God has given to man. In the +hours of the night, Ninon, think of the value of eternal life, which it +is also His to give." + +Ninon stared at him a moment with a dawning horror in her eyes. + +Then she pointed to the table. + +"Whatever you do," said she, "don't forget the bear's grease." And she +went out laughing. The priest did not pause to recommend her soul to +further blessing. He obeyed her directions. + +March was wearing away tediously. The river was not yet open, and the +belated boats with needed supplies were moored far down the river. Many +of the reduced settlers were dependent on the meat the Indians brought +them for sustenance. The mud made the roads almost impassable; for the +frost lay in a solid bed six inches below the surface, and all above +that was semiliquid muck. Snow and rain alternated, and the frightful +disease did not cease its ravages. + +The priest got little sleep. Now he was at the bed of a little +half-breed child, smoothing the straight black locks from the narrow +brow; now at the cot of some hulking trapper, who wept at the pain, but +died finally with a grin of bravado on his lips; now in a foul tepee, +where some grave Pawnee wrapped his mantle about him, and gazed with +prophetic and unflinching eyes into the land of the hereafter. + +The little school that the priest started had been long since abandoned. +It was only the preservation of life that one thought of in these days. +And recklessness had made the men desperate. To the ravages of disease +were added horrible murders. Moral health is always low when physical +health is so. + +Give a nation two winters of grippe, and it will have an epidemic of +suicide. Give it starvation and small-pox, and it will have a contagion +of murders. There are subtle laws underlying these things,--laws which +the physicians think they can explain; but they are mistaken. The reason +is not so material as it seems. + +But spring was near in spite of falling snow and the dirty ice in the +river. There was not even a flushing of the willow twigs to tell it by, +nor a clearing of the leaden sky,--only the almanac. Yet all men +were looking forward to it The trappers put in the feeble days of +convalescence, making long rafts on which to pile the skins dried over +winter,--a fine variety, worth all but their weight in gold. Money was +easily got in those days; but there are circumstances under which money +is valueless. + +Father de Smet thought of this the day before Easter, as he plunged +through the mud of the winding street in his bearskin gaiters. Stout +were his legs, firm his lungs, as he turned to breathe in the west wind; +clear his sharp and humorous eyes. He was going to the little chapel +where the mission school had previously been held. Here was a rude +pulpit, and back of it a much-disfigured virgin, dressed in turkey-red +calico. Two cheap candles in their tin sticks guarded this figure, and +beneath, on the floor, was spread an otter-skin of perfect beauty. The +seats were of pine, without backs, and the wind whistled through the +chinks between the logs. Moreover, the place was dirty. Lenten service +had been out of the question. The living had neither time nor strength +to come to worship; and the dead were not given the honor of a burial +from church in these times of terror. The priest looked about him in +dismay, the place was so utterly forsaken; yet to let Easter go by +without recognition was not to his liking. He had been the night +before to every house in the settlement, bidding the people to come to +devotions on Sunday morning. He knew that not one of them would +refuse his invitation. There was no hero larger in the eyes of these +unfortunates than the simple priest who walked among them with his +unpretentious piety. The promises were given with whispered blessings, +and there were voices that broke in making them, and hands that shook +with honest gratitude. The priest, remembering these things, and all the +awful suffering of the winter, determined to make the service symbolic, +indeed, of the resurrection and the life,--the annual resurrection and +life that comes each year, a palpable miracle, to teach the dullest that +God reigns. + +"How are you going to trim the altar?" cried a voice behind him. + +He turned, startled, and in the doorway stood Mademoiselle Ninon, +her short skirt belted with a red silk scarf,--the token of some +trapper,--her ankles protected with fringed leggins, her head covered +with a beribboned hat of felt, such as the voyageurs wore. + +"Our devotions will be the only decorations we can hang on it. But +gratitude is better than blossoms, and humanity more beautiful than +green wreaths," said the father, gently. + +It was a curious thing, and one that he had often noticed himself; he +gave this woman--unworthy as she was--the best of his simple thoughts. + +Ninon tiptoed toward the priest with one finger coquettishly raised to +insure secrecy. + +"You will never believe it," she whispered, "no one would believe it! +But the fact is, father, I have two lilies." + +"Lilies," cried the priest, incredulously, "two lilies?" + +"That's what I say, father--two marvellously fair lilies with little +sceptres of gold in them, and leaves as white as snow. The bulbs were +brought me last autumn by--; that is to say, they were brought from St. +Louis. Only now have they blossomed. Heavens, how I have watched the +buds! I have said to myself every morning for a fortnight: 'Will they +open in time for the good father's Easter morning service?' Then I said: +'They will open too soon. Buds,' I have cried to them, 'do not dare +to open yet, or you will be horribly passee by Easter. Have the +kindness, will you, to save yourselves for a great event.' And they did +it; yes, father, you may not believe, but no later than this morning +these sensible flowers opened up their leaves boldly, quite conscious +that they were doing the right thing, and to-morrow, if you please, they +will be here. And they will perfume the whole place; yes." + +She stopped suddenly, and relaxed her vivacious expression for one of +pain. + +"You are certainly ill," cried the priest. "Rest yourself." He tried to +push her on to one of the seats; but a sort of convulsive rigidity came +over her, very alarming to look at. + +"You are worn out," her companion said gravely. "And you are chilled." + +"Yes, I'm cold," confessed Ninon. "But I had to come to tell you about +the lilies. But, do you see, I never could bring myself to put them in +this room as it is now. It would be too absurd to place them among this +dirt. We must clean the place." + +"The place will be cleaned. I will see to it. But as for you, go home +and care for yourself." Ninon started toward the door with an uncertain +step. Suddenly she came back. + +"It is too funny," she said, "that red calico there on the Virgin. +Father, I have some laces which were my mother's, who was a good woman, +and which have never been worn by me. They are all I have to remember +France by and the days when I was--different. If I might be permitted--" +she hesitated and looked timidly at the priest. + +"'She hath done what she could,'" murmured Father de Smet, softly. +"Bring your laces, Ninon." He would have added: "Thy sins be forgiven +thee." But unfortunately, at this moment, Pierre came lounging down the +street, through the mud, fresh from Fort Laramie. His rifle was slung +across his back, and a full game-bag revealed the fact that he had +amused himself on his way. His curly and wind-bleached hair blew out +in time-torn banners from the edge of his wide hat. His piercing, black +eyes were those of a man who drinks deep, fights hard, and lives +always in the open air. Wild animals have such eyes, only there is this +difference: the viciousness of an animal is natural; at least one-half +of the viciousness of man is artificial and devised. + +When Ninon saw the frost-reddened face of this gallant of the plains, +she gave a little cry of delight, and the color rushed back into her +face. The trapper saw her, and gave a rude shout of welcome. The next +moment, he had swung her clear of the chapel steps; and then the two +went down the street together, Pierre pausing only long enough to doff +his hat to the priest. + +"The Virgin will wear no fresh laces," said the priest, with some +bitterness; but he was mistaken. An hour later, Ninon was back, not only +with a box of laces, but also with a collection of cosmetics, with which +she proceeded to make startling the scratched and faded face of the +wooden Virgin, who wore, after the completion of Ninon's labors, a +decidedly piquant and saucy expression. The very manner in which the +laces were draped had a suggestion of Ninon's still unforgotten art as +a maker of millinery, and was really a very good presentment of Paris +fashions four years past. Pierre, meantime, amused himself by filling up +the chinks in the logs with fresh mud,--a commodity of which there was +no lack,--and others of the neighbors, incited by these extraordinary +efforts, washed the dirt from seats, floor, and windows, and brought +furs with which to make presentable the floor about the pulpit. + +Father de Smet worked harder than any of them. In his happy enthusiasm +he chose to think this energy on the part of the others was prompted by +piety, though well he knew it was only a refuge from the insufferable +ennui that pervaded the place. Ninon suddenly came up to him with a +white face. + +"I am not well," she said. Her teeth were chattering, and her eyes had +a little blue glaze over them. "I am going home. In the morning I will +send the lilies." + +The priest caught her by the hand. + +"Ninon," he whispered, "it is on my soul not to let you go to-night. +Something tells me that the hour of your salvation is come. Women worse +than you, Ninon, have come to lead holy lives. Pray, Ninon, pray to the +Mother of Sorrows, who knows the sufferings and sins of the heart." +He pointed to the befrilled and highly fashionable Virgin with her +rouge-stained cheeks. + +Ninon shrank from him, and the same convulsive rigidity he had noticed +before, held her immovable. A moment later, she was on the street again, +and the priest, watching her down the street, saw her enter her cabin +with Pierre. + +....... + + +It was past midnight when the priest was awakened from his sleep by +a knock on the door. He wrapped his great buffalo-coat about him, and +answered the summons. Without in the damp darkness stood Pierre. + +"Father," he cried, "Ninon has sent for you. Since she left you, she has +been very ill. I have done what I could; but now she hardly speaks, but +I make out that she wants you." Ten minutes later, they were in Ninon's +cabin. When Father de Smet looked at her he knew she was dying. He had +seen the Indians like that many times during the winter. It was the +plague, but driven in to prey upon the system by the exposure. The +Parisienne's teeth were set, but she managed to smile upon her visitor +as he threw off his coat and bent over her. He poured some whiskey for +her; but she could not get the liquid over her throat. + +"Do not," she said fiercely between those set white teeth, "do not +forget the lilies." She sank back and fixed her glazing eyes on the +antlers, and kept them there watching those dangling silken scarves, +while the priest, in haste, spoke the words for the departing soul. + +The next morning she lay dead among those half barbaric relics of her +coquetry, and two white lilies with hearts of gold shed perfume from an +altar in a wilderness. + + + +Up the Gulch + +"GO West?" sighed Kate. "Why, yes! I'd like to go West." + +She looked at the babies, who were playing on the floor with their +father, and sighed again. + +"You've got to go somewhere, you know, Kate. It might as well be west as +in any other direction. And this is such a chance! We can't have mamma +lying around on sofas without any roses in her cheeks, can we?" He put +this last to the children, who, being yet at the age when they talked +in "Early English," as their father called it, made a clamorous but +inarticulate reply. + +Major Shelly, the grandfather of these very young persons, stroked his +mustache and looked indulgent. + +"Show almost human intelligence, don't they?" said their father, as he +lay flat on his back and permitted the babies to climb over him. + +"Ya-as," drawled the major. "They do. Don't see how you account for it, +Jack." + +Jack roared, and the lips of the babies trembled with fear. + +Their mother said nothing. She was on the sofa, her hands lying +inert, her eyes fixed on her rosy babies with an expression which her +father-in-law and her husband tried hard not to notice. + +It was not easy to tell why Kate was ailing. Of course, the babies were +young, but there were other reasons. + +"I believe you're too happy," Jack sometimes said to her. "Try not to +be quite so happy, Kate. At least, try not to take your happiness so +seriously. Please don't adore me so; I'm only a commonplace fellow. And +the babies--they're not going to blow away." + +But Kate continued to look with intense eyes at her little world, and +to draw into it with loving and generous hands all who were willing to +come. + +"Kate is just like a kite," Jack explained to his father, the major; +"she can't keep afloat without just so many bobs." + +Kate's "bobs" were the unfortunates she collected around her. These +absorbed her strength. She felt their misery with sympathies that were +abnormal. The very laborer in the streets felt his toil less keenly than +she, as she watched the drops gather on his brow. + +"Is life worth keeping at the cost of a lot like that?" she would ask. +She felt ashamed of her own ease. She apologized for her own serene and +perfect happiness. She even felt sorry for those mothers who had not +children as radiantly beautiful as her own. + +"Kate must have a change," the major had given out. He was going West on +business and insisted on taking her with him. Jack looked doubtful. +He wasn't sure how he would get along without Kate to look after +everything. Secretly, he had an idea that servants were a kind of wild +animal that had to be fed by an experienced keeper. But when the time +came, he kissed her good-by in as jocular a manner as he could summon, +and refused to see the tears that gathered in her eyes. + +Until Chicago was reached, there was nothing very different from that +which Kate had been in the habit of seeing. After that, she set herself +to watch for Western characteristics. She felt that she would know them +as soon as she saw them. + +"I expected to be stirred up and shocked," she explained to the major. +But somehow, the Western type did not appear. Commonplace women with +worn faces--browned and seamed, though not aged--were at the stations, +waiting for something or some one. Men with a hurried, nervous air were +everywhere. Kate looked in vain for the gayety and heartiness which she +had always associated with the West. + +After they got beyond the timber country and rode hour after hour on a +tract smooth as a becalmed ocean, she gave herself up to the feeling of +immeasurable vastness which took possession of her. The sun rolled +out of the sky into oblivion with a frantic, headlong haste. Nothing +softened the aspect of its wrath. Near, red, familiar, it seemed to +visibly bowl along the heavens. In the morning it rose as baldly as it +had set. And back and forth over the awful plain blew the winds,--blew +from east to west and back again, strong as if fresh from the chambers +of their birth, full of elemental scents and of mighty murmurings. + +"This is the West!" Kate cried, again and again. + +The major listened to her unsmilingly. It always seemed to him a waste +of muscular energy to smile. He did not talk much. Conversation had +never appealed to him in the light of an art. He spoke when there was a +direction or a command to be given, or an inquiry to be made. The major, +if the truth must be known, was material. Things that he could taste, +touch, see, appealed to him. He had been a volunteer in the civil +war,--a volunteer with a good record,--which he never mentioned; and, +having acquitted himself decently, let the matter go without asking +reprisal or payment for what he had freely given. He went into business +and sold cereal foods. + +"I believe in useful things," the major expressed himself. "Oatmeal, +wheat,-men have to have them. God intended they should. There's Jack--my +son-Jack Shelly--lawyer. What's the use of litigation? God didn't design +litigation. It doesn't do anybody any good. It isn't justice you get. +It's something entirely different,--a verdict according to law. They say +Jack's clever. But I'm mighty glad I sell wheat." + +He didn't sell it as a speculator, however. That wasn't his way. + +"I earn what I make," he often said; and he had grown rich in the +selling of his wholesome foods. + +. . . . . . . + +Helena lies among round, brown hills. Above it is a sky of deep and +illimitable blue. In the streets are crumbs of gold, but it no longer +pays to mine for these; because, as real estate, the property is more +valuable. It is a place of fictitious values. There is excitement in the +air. Men have the faces of speculators. Every laborer is patient at +his task because he cherishes a hope that some day he will be a +millionnaire. There is hospitality, and cordiality and good fellowship, +and an undeniable democracy. There is wealth and luxurious living. There +is even culture,--but it is obtruded as a sort of novelty; it is not +accepted as a matter of course. + +Kate and the major were driven over two or three miles of dusty, hard +road to a distant hotel, which stands in the midst of greenness,--in +an oasis. Immediately above the green sward that surrounds it the brown +hills rise, the grass scorched by the sun. + +Kate yielded herself to the almost absurd luxury of the place with ease +and complacency. She took kindly to the great verandas. She adapted +herself to the elaborate and ill-assorted meals. She bathed in the +marvellous pool, warm with the heat of eternal fires in mid-earth. This +pool was covered with a picturesque Moorish structure, and at one end +a cascade tumbled, over which the sun, coming through colored windows, +made a mimic prism in the white spray. The life was not unendurable. The +major was seldom with her, being obliged to go about his business; +and Kate amused herself by driving over the hills, by watching the +inhabitants, by wondering about the lives in the great, pretentious, +unhomelike houses with their treeless yards and their closed shutters. +The sunlight, white as the glare on Arabian sands, penetrated +everywhere. It seemed to fairly scorch the eye-balls. + +"Oh, we're West, now," Kate said, exultantly. "I've seen a thousand +types. But yet--not quite THE type--not the impersonation of simplicity +and daring that I was looking for." + +The major didn't know quite what she was talking about. But he +acquiesced. All he cared about was to see her grow stronger; and that +she was doing every day. She was growing amazingly lovely, too,-at least +the major thought so. Every one looked at her; but that was, perhaps, +because she was such a sylph of a woman. Beside the stalwart major, she +looked like a fairy princess. + +One day she suddenly realized the fact that she had had a companion on +the veranda for several mornings. Of course, there were a great many +persons--invalids, largely--sitting about, but one of them had been +obtruding himself persistently into her consciousness. It was not that +he was rude; it was only that he was thinking about her. A person with +a temperament like Kate's could not long be oblivious to a thing like +that; and she furtively observed the offender with that genius for +psychological perception which was at once her greatest danger and her +charm. + +The man was dressed with a childish attempt at display. His shirt-front +was decorated with a diamond, and his cuff-buttons were of onyx with +diamond settings. His clothes were expensive and perceptibly new, and +he often changed his costumes, but with a noticeable disregard for +propriety. He was very conscious of his silk hat, and frequently wiped +it with a handkerchief on which his monogram was worked in blue. + +When the 'busses brought up their loads, he was always on hand to watch +the newcomers. He took a long time at his dinners, and appeared to +order a great deal and eat very little. There were card-rooms and a +billiard-hall, not to mention a bowling-alley and a tennis-court, where +the other guests of the hotel spent much time. But this man never +visited them. He sat often with one of the late reviews in his hand, +looking as if he intended giving his attention to it at any moment. +But after he had scrupulously cut the leaves with a little carved ivory +paper-cutter, he sat staring straight before him with the book open, but +unread, in his hand. + +Kate took more interest in this melancholy, middle-aged man than she +would have done if she had not been on the outlook for her Western +type,--the man who was to combine all the qualities of chivalry, daring, +bombast, and generosity, seasoned with piquant grammar, which she firmly +believed to be the real thing. But notwithstanding this kindly and +somewhat curious interest, she might never have made his acquaintance if +it had not been for a rather unpleasant adventure. + +The major was "closing up a deal" and had hurried away after breakfast, +and Kate, in the luxury of convalescence, half-reclined in a great chair +on the veranda and watched the dusky blue mist twining itself around the +brown hills. She was not thinking of the babies; she was not worrying +about home; she was not longing for anything, or even indulging in +a dream. That vacuous content which engrosses the body after long +indisposition, held her imperatively. Suddenly she was aroused from this +happy condition of nothingness by the spectacle of an enormous bull-dog +approaching her with threatening teeth. She had noticed the monster +often in his kennel near the stables, and it was well understood that he +was never to be permitted his freedom. Now he walked toward her with a +solid step and an alarming deliberateness. Kate sat still and tried to +assure herself that he meant no mischief, but by the time the great body +had made itself felt on the skirt of her gown she could restrain her +fear no longer, and gave a nervous cry of alarm. The brute answered with +a growl. If he had lacked provocation before, he considered that he had +it now. He showed his teeth and flung his detestable body upon her; +and Kate felt herself growing dizzy with fear. But just then an arm was +interposed and the dog was flung back. There was a momentary struggle. +Some gentlemen came hurrying out of the office; and as they beat the +dog back to its retreat, Kate summoned words from her parched throat to +thank her benefactor. + +It was the melancholy man with the new clothes. This morning he +was dressed in a suit of the lightest gray, with a white marseilles +waistcoat, over which his glittering chain shone ostentatiously. White +tennis-shoes, a white rose in his buttonhole, and a white straw hat +in his hand completed a toilet over which much time had evidently been +spent. Kate noted these details as she held out her hand. + +"I may have been alarmed without cause," she said; "but I was horribly +frightened. Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. And I think, if +you would add to your kindness by getting me a glass of water--" + +When he came back, his hand was trembling a little; and as Kate looked +up to learn the cause, she saw that his face was flushed. He was +embarrassed. She decided that he was not accustomed to the society of +ladies. "Brutes like that dog ain't no place in th' world--that's my +opinion. There are some bad things we can't help havin' aroun'; but a +bull-dog ain't one of 'em." + +"I quite agree with you," Kate acquiesced, as she drank the water. "But +as this is the first unpleasant experience of any kind that I have had +since I came here, I don't feel that I have any right to complain." + +"You're here fur yur health?" + +"Yes. And I am getting it. You're not an invalid, I imagine?" + +"No--no-op. I'm here be--well, I've thought fur a long time I'd like t' +stay at this here hotel." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes. I've been up th' gulch these fifteen years. Bin livin' on a shelf +of black rock. Th' sun got 'round 'bout ten. Couldn't make a thing +grow." The man was looking off toward the hills, with an expression of +deep sadness in his eyes. "Didn't never live in a place where nothin' +'d grow, did you? I took geraniums up thar time an' time agin. Red +ones. Made me think of mother; she's in Germany. Watered 'em mornin' an' +night. Th' damned things died." + +The oath slipped out with an artless unconsciousness, and there was +a little moisture in his eyes. Kate felt she ought to bring the +conversation to a close. She wondered what Jack would say if he saw her +talking with a perfect stranger who used oaths! She would have gone into +the house but for something that caught her eye. It was the hand of the +man; that hand was a bludgeon. All grace and flexibility had gone out +of it, and it had become a mere instrument of toil. It was seamed and +misshapen; yet it had been carefully manicured, and the pointed nails +looked fantastic and animal-like. A great seal-ring bore an elaborate +monogram, while the little finger displayed a collection of diamonds and +emeralds truly dazzling to behold. An impulse of humanity and a sort +of artistic curiosity, much stronger than her discretion, urged Kate to +continue her conversation. + +"What were you doing up the gulch?" she said. + +The man leaned back in his chair and regarded her a moment before +answering. He realized the significance of her question. He took it as +a sign that she was willing to be friendly. A look of gratitude, +almost tender, sprang into his eyes,--dull gray eyes, they were, with a +kindliness for their only recommendation. + +"Makin' my pile," he replied. "I've been in these parts twenty years. +When I come here, I thought I was goin' to make a fortune right off. I +had all th' money that mother could give me, and I lost everything I had +in three months. I went up th' gulch." He paused, and wiped his forehead +with his handkerchief. + +There was something in his remark and the intonation which made Kate say +softly: + +"I suppose you've had a hard time of it." + +"Thar you were!" he cried. "Thar was th' rock--risin', risin', black! At +th' bottom wus th' creek, howlin' day an' night! Lonesome! Gee! No one +t' talk to. Of course, th' men. Had some with me always. They didn't +talk. It's too-too quiet t' talk much. They played cards. Curious, but I +never played cards. Don't think I'd find it amusin'. No, I worked. Came +down here once in six months or three months. Had t' come--grub-staked +th' men, you know. Did you ever eat salt pork?" He turned to Kate +suddenly with this question. + +"Why, yes; a few times. Did you have it?" + +"Nothin' else, much. I used t' think of th' things mother cooked. Mother +understood cookin', if ever a woman did. I'll never forget th' dinner +she gave me th' day I came away. A woman ought t' cook. I hear American +women don't go in much for cookin'." + +"Oh, I think that's a mistake," Kate hastened to interrupt. "All that I +know understand how to serve excellent dinners. Of course, they may not +cook them themselves, but I think they could if it were necessary." + +"Hum!" He picked up a long glove that had fallen from Kate's lap and +fingered it before returning it. + +"I s'pose you cook?" + +"I make a specialty of salads and sorbets," smiled Kate. "I guess +I could roast meat and make bread; but circumstances have not yet +compelled me to do it. But I've a theory that an American woman can do +anything she puts her mind to." + +The man laughed out loud,--a laugh quite out of proportion to the mild +good humor of the remark; but it was evident that he could no longer +conceal his delight at this companionship. + +"How about raisin' flowers?" he asked. "Are you strong on that?" + +"I've only to look at a plant to make it grow," Kate cried, with +enthusiasm. "When my friends are in despair over a plant, they bring it +to me, and I just pet it a little, and it brightens up. I've the most +wonderful fernery you ever saw. It's green, summer and winter. Hundreds +of people stop and look up at it, it is so green and enticing, there +above the city streets." + +"What city?" + +"Philadelphia." + +"Mother's jest that way. She has a garden of roses. And the +mignonette--" + +But he broke off suddenly, and sat once more staring before him. + +"But not a damned thing," he added, with poetic pensiveness, "would grow +in that gulch." + +"Why did you stay there so long?" asked Kate, after a little pause in +which she managed to regain her waning courage. + +"Bad luck. You never see a place with so many false leads. To-day you'd +get a streak that looked big. To-morrow you'd find it a pocket. One +night I'd go t' bed with my heart goin' like a race-horse. Next night +it would be ploddin' along like a winded burro. Don't know what made +me stick t' it. It was hot there, too! And cold! Always roastin' ur +freezin'. It'd been different if I'd had any one t' help me stand it. +But th' men were always findin' fault. They blamed me fur everythin'. +I used t' lie awake at night an' hear 'em talkin' me over. It made me +lonesome, I tell you! Thar wasn't no one! Mother used t' write. But +I never told her th' truth. She ain't a suspicion of what I've been +a-goin' through." + +Kate sat and looked at him in silence. His face was seamed, though +far from old. His body was awkward, but impressed her with a sense of +magnificent strength. + +"I couldn't ask no woman t' share my hard times," he resumed after a +time. "I always said when I got a woman, it was goin' t' be t' make her +happy. It wer'n't t' be t' ask her t' drudge." + +There was another silence. This man out of the solitude seemed to +be elated past expression at his new companionship. He looked with +appreciation at the little pointed toes of Kate's slippers, as they +glanced from below the skirt of her dainty organdie. He noted the band +of pearls on her finger. His eyes rested long on the daisies at her +waist. The wind tossed up little curls of her warm brown hair. Her eyes +suffused with interest, her tender mouth seemed ready to lend itself to +any emotion, and withal she was so small, so compact, so exquisite. The +man wiped his forehead again, in mere exuberance. + +"Here's my card," he said, very solemnly, as he drew an engraved bit of +pasteboard from its leather case. Kate bowed and took it. + +"Mr. Peter Roeder," she read. "I've no card," she said. "My name is +Shelly. I'm here for my health, as I told you." She rose at this point, +and held out her hand. "I must thank you once more for your kindness," +she said. + +His eyes fastened on hers with an appeal for a less formal word. There +was something almost terrible in their silent eloquence. + +"I hope we may meet again," she said. + +Mr. Peter Roeder made a very low and awkward bow, and opened the door +into the corridor for her. + +That evening the major announced that he was obliged to go to Seattle. +The journey was not an inviting one; Kate was well placed where she was, +and he decided to leave her. + +She was well enough now to take longer drives; and she found strange, +lonely canyons, wild and beautiful, where yellow waters burst through +rocky barriers with roar and fury,--tortuous, terrible places, such as +she had never dreamed of. Coming back from one of these drives, two +days after her conversation on the piazza with Peter Roeder, she met +him riding a massive roan. He sat the animal with that air of perfect +unconsciousness which is the attribute of the Western man, and his +attire, even to his English stock, was faultless,--faultily faultless. + +"I hope you won't object to havin' me ride beside you," he said, +wheeling his horse. To tell the truth, Kate did not object. She was a +little dull, and had been conscious all the morning of that peculiar +physical depression which marks the beginning of a fit of homesickness. + +"The wind gits a fine sweep," said Roeder, after having obtained +the permission he desired. "Now in the gulch we either had a dead +stagnation, or else the wind was tearin' up and down like a wild beast." + +Kate did not reply, and they went on together, facing the riotous wind. + +"You can't guess how queer it seems t' be here," he said, +confidentially. "It seems t' me as if I had come from some other planet. +Thar don't rightly seem t' be no place fur me. I tell you what it's +like. It's as if I'd come down t' enlist in th' ranks, an' found 'em +full,--every man marchin' along in his place, an' no place left fur me." + +Kate could not find a reply. + +"I ain't a friend,--not a friend! I ain't complainin'. It ain't th' +fault of any one--but myself. You don' know what a durned fool I've +bin. Someway, up thar in th' gulch I got t' seemin' so sort of important +t' myself, and my makin' my stake seemed such a big thing, that I +thought I had only t' come down here t' Helena t' have folks want t' +know me. I didn't particular want th' money because it wus money. But +out here you work fur it, jest as you work fur other things in other +places,--jest because every one is workin' fur it, and it's the man who +gets th' most that beats. It ain't that they are any more greedy than +men anywhere else. My pile's a pretty good-sized one. An' it's likely to +be bigger; but no one else seems t' care. Th' paper printed some pieces +about it. Some of th' men came round t' see me; but I saw their game. I +said I guessed I'd look further fur my acquaintances. I ain't spoken to +a lady,--not a real lady, you know,--t' talk with, friendly like, but +you, fur--years." + +His face flushed in that sudden way again. They were passing some of +those pretentious houses which rise in the midst of Helena's ragged +streets with such an extraneous air, and Kate leaned forward to look at +them. The driver, seeing her interest, drew up the horses for a moment. + +"Fine, fine!" ejaculated Roeder. "But they ain't got no garden. A house +don't seem anythin' t' me without a garden. Do you know what I think +would be th' most beautiful thing in th' world? A baby in a rose-garden! +Do you know, I ain't had a baby in my hands, excep' Ned Ramsey's little +kid, once, for ten year!" + +Kate's face shone with sympathy. + +"How dreadful!" she cried. "I couldn't live without a baby about." + +"Like babies, do you? Well, well. Boys? Like boys?" + +"Not a bit better than girls," said Kate, stoutly. + +"I like boys," responded Roeder, with conviction. "My mother liked boys. +She had three girls, but she liked me a damned sight the best." + +Kate laughed outright. + +"Why do you swear?" she said. "I never heard a man swear before,--at +least, not one with whom I was talking. That's one of your gulch habits. +You must get over it." + +Roeder's blond face turned scarlet. + +"You must excuse me," he pleaded. "I'll cure myself of it! Jest give me +a chance." + +This was a little more personal than Kate approved of, and she raised +her parasol to conceal her annoyance. It was a brilliant little fluff +of a thing which looked as if it were made of butterflies' wings. Roeder +touched it with awe. + +"You have sech beautiful things," he said. "I didn't know women wore +sech nice things. Now that dress--it's like--I don't know what it's +like." It was a simple little taffeta, with warp and woof of azure and +of cream, and gay knots of ribbon about it. + +"We have the advantage of men," she said. "I often think one of the +greatest drawbacks to being a man would be the sombre clothes. I like to +wear the prettiest things that can be found." + +"Lace?" queried Roeder. "Do you like lace?" + +"I should say so! Did you ever see a woman who didn't?" + +"Hu--um! These women I've known don't know lace,--these wives of th' men +out here. They're th' only kind I've seen this long time." + +"Oh, of course, but I mean--" + +"I know what you mean. My mother has a chest full of linen an' lace. She +showed it t' me th' day I left. 'Peter,' she said, 'some day you bring a +wife home with you, an' I'll give you that lace an' that linen.' An' I'm +goin' t' do it, too," he said quietly. + +"I hope so," said Kate, with her eyes moist. "I hope you will, and that +your mother will be very happy." + +. . . . . . . + +There was a hop at the hotel that night, and it was almost a matter of +courtesy for Kate to go. Ladies were in demand, for there were not very +many of them at the hotel. Every one was expected to do his best to make +it a success; and Kate, not at all averse to a waltz or two, dressed +herself for the occasion with her habitual striving after artistic +effect. She was one of those women who make a picture of themselves as +naturally as a bird sings. She had an opal necklace which Jack had given +her because, he said, she had as many moods as an opal had colors; and +she wore this with a crepe gown, the tint of the green lights in +her necklace. A box of flowers came for her as she was dressing; they +were Puritan roses, and Peter Roeder's card was in the midst of +them. She was used to having flowers given her. It would have seemed +remarkable if some one had not sent her a bouquet when she was going to +a ball. + +"I shall dance but twice," she said to those who sought her for a +partner. "Neither more nor less." + +"Ain't you goin' t' dance with me at all?" Roeder managed to say to her +in the midst of her laughing altercation with the gentlemen. + +"Dance with you!" cried Kate. "How do men learn to dance when they are +up a gulch?" + +"I ken dance," he said stubbornly. He was mortified at her chaffing. + +"Then you may have the second waltz," she said, in quick contrition. +"Now you other gentlemen have been dancing any number of times these +last fifteen years. But Mr. Roeder is just back from a hard campaign,--a +campaign against fate. My second waltz is his. And I shall dance my +best." + +It happened to be just the right sort of speech. The women tried +good-naturedly to make Roeder's evening a pleasant one. They were filled +with compassion for a man who had not enjoyed the society of their sex +for fifteen years. They found much amusement in leading him through the +square dances, the forms of which were utterly unknown to him. But he +waltzed with a sort of serious alertness that was not so bad as it might +have been. + +Kate danced well. Her slight body seemed as full of the spirit of the +waltz as a thrush's body is of song. Peter Roeder moved along with +her in a maze, only half-answering her questions, his gray eyes full of +mystery. + +Once they stopped for a moment, and he looked down at her, as with +flushed face she stood smiling and waving her gossamer fan, each motion +stirring the frail leaves of the roses he had sent her. + +"It's cur'ous," he said softly, "but I keep thinkin' about that black +gulch." + +"Forget it," she said. "Why do you think of a gulch when--" She stopped +with a sudden recollection that he was not used to persiflage. But he +anticipated what she was about to say. + +"Why think of the gulch when you are here?" he said. "Why, because it +is only th' gulch that seems real. All this,--these pleasant, polite +people, this beautiful room, th' flowers everywhere, and you, and me as +I am, seem as if I was dreamin'. Thar ain't anything in it all that is +like what I thought it would be." + +"Not as you thought it would be?" + +"No. Different. I thought it would be--well, I thought th' people would +not be quite so high-toned. I hope you don't mind that word." + +"Not in the least," she said. "It's a musical term. It applies very well +to people." + +They took up the dance again and waltzed breathlessly till the close. +Kate was tired; the exertion had been a little more than she had +bargained for. She sat very still on the veranda under the white glare +of an electric ball, and let Roeder do the talking. Her thoughts, +in spite of the entertainment she was deriving from her present +experiences, would go back to the babies. She saw them tucked well in +bed, each in a little iron crib, with the muslin curtains shielding +their rosy faces from the light. She wondered if Jack were reading alone +in the library or was at the club, or perhaps at the summer concert, +with the swell of the violins in his ears. Jack did so love music. +As she thought how delicate his perceptions were, how he responded to +everything most subtle in nature and in art, of how life itself was a +fine art with him, and joy a thing to be cultivated, she turned with a +sense of deep compassion to the simple man by her side. His rough face +looked a little more unattractive than usual. His evening clothes were +almost grotesque. His face wore a look of solitude, of hunger. + +"What were you saying?" she said, dreamily. "I beg your pardon." + +"I was sayin' how I used t' dream of sittin' on the steps of a hotel +like this, and not havin' a thing t' do. When I used t' come down here +out of the gulch, and see men who had had good dinners, an' good baths, +sittin' around smokin', with money t' go over there t' th' bookstan' an' +get anythin' they'd want, it used t' seem t' me about all a single man +could wish fur." + +"Well, you've got it all now." + +"But I didn't any of th' time suppose that would satisfy a man long. +Only I was so darned tired I couldn't help wantin' t' rest. But I'm not +so selfish ur s' narrow as to be satisfied with THAT. No, I'm not goin' +t' spend m' pile that way--quite!" + +He laughed out loud, and then sat in silence watching Kate as she lay +back wearily in her chair. + +"I've got t' have that there garden," he said, laughingly. "Got t' get +them roses. An' I'll have a big bath-house,--plenty of springs in this +country. You ken have a bath here that won't freeze summer NOR winter. +An' a baby! I've got t' have a baby. He'll go with th' roses an' th' +bath." He laughed again heartily. + +"It's a queer joke, isn't it?" Roeder asked. "Talkin' about my baby, an' +I haven't even a wife." His face flushed and he turned his eyes away. + +"Have I shown you the pictures of my babies?" Kate inquired. "You'd like +my boy, I know. And my girl is just like me,--in miniature." + +There was a silence. She looked up after a moment. Roeder appeared to be +examining the monogram on his ring as if he had never seen it before. + +"I didn't understand that you were married," he said gently. + +"Didn't you? I don't think you ever called me by any name at all, or I +should have noticed your mistake and set you right. Yes, I'm married. I +came out here to get strong for the babies." + +"Got a boy an' a girl, eh?" + +"Yes." + +"How old's th' boy?" + +"Five." + +"An' th' girl?" + +"She'll soon be four." + +"An' yer husband--he's livin'?" + +"I should say so! I'm a very happy woman, Mr. Roeder. If only I were +stronger!" + +"Yer lookin' much better," he said, gravely, "than when you come. You'll +be all right." + +The moon began to come up scarlet beyond the eastern hills. The two +watched it in silence. Kate had a feeling of guilt, as if she had been +hurting some helpless thing. + +"I was in hopes," he said, suddenly, in a voice that seemed abrupt and +shrill, "thet you'd see fit t' stay here." + +"Here in Helena? Oh, no!" + +"I was thinkin' I'd offer you that two hundred thousand dollars, if +you'd stay." + +"Mr. Roeder! You don't mean-surely--" + +"Why, yes. Why not?" He spoke rather doggedly. "I'll never see no other +woman like you. You're different from others. How good you've been t' +me!" + +"Good! I'm afraid I've been very bad--at least, very stupid." + +"I say, now--your husband's good t' you, ain't he?" + +"He is the kindest man that ever lived." + +"Oh, well, I didn't know." + +A rather awkward pause followed which was broken by Roeder. + +"I don't see jest what I'm goin' t' do with that thar two hundred +thousand dollars," he said, mournfully. + +"Do with it? Why, live with it! Send some to your mother." + +"Oh, I've done that. Five thousand dollars. It don't seem much here; but +it'll seem a lot t' her. I'd send her more, only it would've bothered +her." + +"Then there is your house,--the house with the bath-room. But I suppose +you'll have other rooms?" + +Peter laughed a little in spite of himself. + +"I guess I won't have a house," he said. "An' I couldn't make a garden +alone." + +"Hire a man to help you." Kate was trembling, but she kept talking +gayly. She was praying that nothing very serious would happen. There was +an undercurrent of sombreness in the man's manner that frightened her. + +"I guess I'll jest have t' keep on dreamin' of that boy playin' with th' +roses." + +"No, no," cried Kate; "he will come true some day! I know he'll come +true." + +Peter got up and stood by her chair. + +"You don't know nothin' about it," he said. "You don't know, an' you +can't know what it's bin t' me t' talk with you. Here I come out of a +place where there ain't no sound but the water and the pines. Years come +an' go. Still no sound. Only thinkin', thinkin', thinkin'! Missin' all +th' things men care fur! Dreamin' of a time when I sh'd strike th' pile. +Then I seed home, wife, a boy, flowers, everythin'. You're so beautiful, +an' you're so good. You've a way of pickin' a man's heart right out of +him. First time I set my eyes on you I thought you were th' nicest +thing I ever see! And how little you are! That hand of yours,--look at +it,--it's like a leaf! An' how easy you smile. Up th' gulch we didn't +smile; we laughed, but gen'ly because some one got in a fix. Then your +voice! Ah, I've thought fur years that some day I might hear a voice +like that! Don't you go! Sit still! I'm not blamin' you fur anythin'; +but I may never, 's long's I live, find any one who will understand +things th' way you understand 'em. Here! I tell you about that gulch +an' you see that gulch. You know how th' rain sounded thar, an' how th' +shack looked, an' th' life I led, an' all th' thoughts I had, an' th' +long nights, an' th' times when--but never mind. I know you know it all. +I saw it in yer eyes. I tell you of mother, an' you see 'er. You know +'er old German face, an' 'er proud ways, an' her pride in me, an' how +she would think I wuz awfully rich. An' you see how she would give out +them linens, all marked fur my wife, an' how I would sit an' watch her +doin' it, an'--you see everything. I know you do. I could feel you doin' +it. Then I say to myself: 'Here is th' one woman in th' world made fur +me. Whatever I have, she shall have. I'll spend my life waitin' on her. +She'll tell me all th' things I ought t' know, an' hev missed knowin'; +she'll read t' me; she'll be patient when she finds how dull I've grown. +And thar'll be th' boy--'" + +He seized her hand and wrung it, and was gone. Kate saw him no more that +night. + +The next morning the major returned. Kate threw her arms around his neck +and wept. + +"I want the babies," she explained when the major showed his +consternation. "Don't mind my crying. You ought to be used to seeing me +cry by this time. I must get home, that's all. I must see Jack." + +So that night they started. + +At the door of the carriage stood Peter Roeder, waiting. + +"I'm going t' ride down with you," he said. The major looked nonplussed. + +Kate got in and the major followed. + +"Come," she said to Roeder. He sat opposite and looked at her as if he +would fasten her image on his mind. + +"You remember," he said after a time, "that I told you I used t' dream +of sittin' on the veranda of th' hotel and havin' nothin' t' do?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I don't think I care fur it. I've had a month of it. I'm goin' +back up th' gulch." + +"No!" cried Kate, instinctively reaching out her hands toward him. + +"Why not? I guess you don't know me. I knew that somewhere I'd find a +friend. I found that friend; an' now I'm alone again. It's pretty quiet +up thar in the gulch; but I'll try it." + +"No, no. Go to Europe; go to see your mother." + +"I thought about that a good deal, a while ago. But I don't seem t' have +no heart fur it now. I feel as if I'd be safer in th' gulch." + +"Safer?" + +"The world looks pretty big. It's safe and close in th' gulch." + +At the station the major went to look after the trunks, and Roeder put +Kate in her seat. + +"I wanted t' give you something," he said, seating himself beside her, +"but I didn't dare." + +"Oh, my dear friend," she cried, laying her little gloved hand on his +red and knotted one, "don't go back into the shadow. Do not return to +that terrible silence. Wait. Have patience. Fate has brought you wealth. +It will bring you love." + +"I've somethin' to ask," he said, paying no attention to her appeal. +"You must answer it. If we 'a' met long ago, an' you hadn't a husband +or--anythin'--do you think you'd've loved me then?" + +She felt herself turning white. + +"No," she said softly. "I could never have loved you, my dear friend. We +are not the same. Believe me, there is a woman somewhere who will love +you; but I am not that woman--nor could I have ever been." + +The train was starting. The major came bustling in. + +"Well, good-by," said Roeder, holding out his hand to Kate. + +"Good-by," she cried. "Don't go back up the gulch." + +"Oh," he said, reassuringly, "don't you worry about me, my--don't worry. +The gulch is a nice, quiet place. An' you know what I told you about th' +ranks all bein' full. Good-by." The train was well under way. He sprang +off, and stood on the platform waving his handkerchief. + +"Well, Kate," said the major, seating himself down comfortably and +adjusting his travelling cap, "did you find the Western type?" + +"I don't quite know," said she, slowly. "But I have made the discovery +that a human soul is much the same wherever you meet it." + +"Dear me! You haven't been meeting a soul, have you?" the major said, +facetiously, unbuckling his travelling-bag. "I'll tell Jack." + +"No, I'll tell Jack. And he'll feel quite as badly as I do to think that +I could do nothing for its proper adjustment." + +The major's face took on a look of comprehension. + +"Was that the soul," he asked, "that just came down in the carriage with +us?" + +"That was it," assented Kate. "It was born; it has had its mortal day; +and it has gone back up the gulch." + + + + +A Michigan Man + +A PINE forest is nature's expression of solemnity and solitude. +Sunlight, rivers, cascades, people, music, laughter, or dancing could +not make it gay. With its unceasing reverberations and its eternal +shadows, it is as awful and as holy as a cathedral. + +Thirty good fellows working together by day and drinking together by +night can keep up but a moody imitation of jollity. Spend twenty-five +of your forty years, as Luther Dallas did, in this perennial gloom, and +your soul--that which enjoys, aspires, competes--will be drugged as deep +as if you had quaffed the cup of oblivion. Luther Dallas was counted one +of the most experienced axe-men in the northern camps. He could fell +a tree with the swift surety of an executioner, and in revenge for his +many arboral murders the woodland had taken captive his mind, captured +and chained it as Prospero did Ariel. The resounding footsteps of +Progress driven on so mercilessly in this mad age could not reach his +fastness. It did not concern him that men were thinking, investigating, +inventing. His senses responded only to the sonorous music of the woods; +a steadfast wind ringing metallic melody from the pine-tops contented +him as the sound of the sea does the sailor; and dear as the odors of +the ocean to the mariner were the resinous scents of the forest to him. +Like a sailor, too, he had his superstitions. He had a presentiment that +he was to die by one of these trees,-that some day, in chopping, the +tree would fall upon and crush him as it did his father the day they +brought him back to the camp on a litter of pine boughs. + +One day the gang-boss noticed a tree that Dallas had left standing in a +most unwoodmanlike manner in the section which was allotted to him. + +"What in thunder is that standing there for?" he asked. + +Dallas raised his eyes to the pine, towering in stern dignity a hundred +feet above them. + +"Well," he said feebly, "I noticed it, but kind-a left it t' the last." + +"Cut it down to-morrow," was the response. + +The wind was rising, and the tree muttered savagely. Luther thought it +sounded like a menace, and turned pale. No trouble has yet been found +that will keep a man awake in the keen air of the pineries after he +has been swinging his axe all day, but the sleep of the chopper was so +broken with disturbing dreams that night that the beads gathered on +his brow, and twice he cried aloud. He ate his coarse flap-jacks in the +morning and escaped from the smoky shanty as soon as he could. + +"It'll bring bad luck, I'm afraid," he muttered as he went to get his +axe from the rack. He was as fond of his axe as a soldier of his musket, +but to-day he shouldered it with reluctance. He felt like a man with his +destiny before him. The tree stood like a sentinel. He raised his axe, +once, twice, a dozen times, but could not bring himself to make a cut +in the bark. He walked backwards a few steps and looked up. The funereal +green seemed to grow darker and darker till it became black. It was the +embodiment of sorrow. Was it not shaking giant arms at him? Did it not +cry out in angry challenge? Luther did not try to laugh at his fears; +he had never seen any humor in life. A gust of wind had someway crept +through the dense barricade of foliage that flanked the clearing, +and struck him with an icy chill. He looked at the sky; the day was +advancing rapidly. He went at his work with an energy as determined as +despair. The axe in his practised hand made clean straight cuts in the +trunk, now on this side, now on that. His task was not an easy one, +but he finished it with wonderful expedition. After the chopping was +finished, the tree stood firm a moment; then, as the tensely-strained +fibres began a weird moaning, he sprang aside, and stood waiting. In the +distance he saw two men hewing a log. The axe-man sent them a shout +and threw up his arms for them to look. The tree stood out clear and +beautiful against the gray sky; the men ceased their work and watched +it. The vibrations became more violent, and the sounds they produced +grew louder and louder till they reached a shrill wild cry. There came a +pause, then a deep shuddering groan. The topmost branches began to move +slowly, the whole stately bulk swayed, and then shot towards the ground. +The gigantic trunk bounded from the stump, recoiled like a cannon, +crashed down, and lay conquered, with a roar as of an earthquake, in a +cloud of flying twigs and chips. + +When the dust had cleared away, the men at the log on the outside of the +clearing could not see Luther. They ran to the spot, and found him +lying on the ground with his chest crushed in. His fearful eyes had not +rightly calculated the distance from the stump to the top of the pine, +nor rightly weighed the power of the massed branches, and so, standing +spell-bound, watching the descending trunk as one might watch his +Nemesis, the rebound came and left him lying worse than dead. + +Three months later, when the logs, lopped of their branches, drifted +down the streams, the woodman, a human log lopped of his strength, +drifted to a great city. A change, the doctor said, might prolong +his life. The lumbermen made up a purse, and he started out, not very +definitely knowing his destination. He had a sister, much younger than +himself, who at the age of sixteen had married and gone, he believed, to +Chicago. That was years ago, but he had an idea that he might find her. +He was not troubled by his lack of resources; he did not believe that +any man would want for a meal unless he were "shiftless." He had always +been able to turn his hand to something. + +He felt too ill from the jostling of the cars to notice much of anything +on the journey. The dizzy scenes whirling past made him faint, and he +was glad to lie with closed eyes. He imagined that his little sister in +her pink calico frock and bare feet (as he remembered her) would be +at the station to meet him. "Oh, Lu!" she would call from some +hiding-place, and he would go and find her. + +The conductor stopped by Luther's seat and said that they were in the +city at last; but it seemed to the sick man as if they went miles after +that, with a multitude of twinkling lights on one side and a blank +darkness, that they told him was the lake, on the other. The conductor +again stopped by his seat. + +"Well, my man," said he, "how are you feeling?" + +Luther, the possessor of the toughest muscles in the gang, felt a sick +man's irritation at the tone of pity. + +"Oh, I'm all right!" he said, gruffly, and shook off the assistance the +conductor tried to offer with his overcoat. "I'm going to my sister's," +he explained, in answer to the inquiry as to where he was going. The +man, somewhat piqued at the spirit in which his overtures were met, left +him, and Luther stepped on to the platform. There was a long vista of +semi-light, down which crowds of people walked and baggage-men rushed. +The building, if it deserved the name, seemed a ruin, and through the +arched doors Luther could see men--hackmen-dancing and howling like +dervishes. Trains were coming and going, and the whistles and bells +kept up a ceaseless clangor. Luther, with his small satchel and uncouth +dress, slouched by the crowd unnoticed, and reached the street. He +walked amid such an illumination as he had never dreamed of, and paused +half blinded in the glare of a broad sheet of electric light that filled +a pillared entrance into which many people passed. He looked about him. +Above on every side rose great, many-windowed buildings; on the street +the cars and carriages thronged, and jostling crowds dashed headlong +among the vehicles. After a time he turned down a street that seemed to +him a pandemonium filled with madmen. It went to his head like wine, and +hardly left him the presence of mind to sustain a quiet exterior. The +wind was laden with a penetrating moisture that chilled him as the dry +icy breezes from Huron never had done, and the pain in his lungs made +him faint and dizzy. He wondered if his red-cheeked little sister could +live in one of those vast, impregnable buildings. He thought of stopping +some of those serious-looking men and asking them if they knew her; +but he could not muster up the courage. The distressing experience that +comes to almost every one some time in life, of losing all identity in +the universal humanity, was becoming his. The tears began to roll down +his wasted face from loneliness and exhaustion. He grew hungry with +longing for the dirty but familiar cabins of the camp, and staggered +along with eyes half closed, conjuring visions of the warm interiors, +the leaping fires, the groups of laughing men seen dimly through clouds +of tobacco-smoke. + +A delicious scent of coffee met his hungry sense and made him really +think he was taking the savory black draught from his familiar tin cup; +but the muddy streets, the blinding lights, the cruel, rushing people, +were still there. The buildings, however, now became different. They +were lower and meaner, with dirty windows. Women laughing loudly crowded +about the doors, and the establishments seemed to be equally divided +between saloon-keepers, pawnbrokers, and dealers in second-hand clothes. +Luther wondered where they all drew their support from. Upon one +signboard he read, "Lodgings 10 cents to 50 cents. A Square Meal for 15 +cents," and, thankful for some haven, entered. Here he spent his first +night and other nights, while his purse dwindled and his strength waned. +At last he got a man in a drug-store to search the directory for +his sister's residence. They found a name he took to be his +brother-in-law's. It was two days later when he found the address,--a +great, many-storied mansion on one of the southern boulevards,--and found +also that his search had been in vain. Sore and faint, he staggered back +to his miserable shelter, only to arise feverish and ill in the morning. +He frequented the great shop doors, thronged with brilliantly-dressed +ladies, and watched to see if his little sister might not dash up in +one of those satin-lined coaches and take him where he would be warm and +safe and would sleep undisturbed by drunken, ribald songs and loathsome +surroundings. There were days when he almost forgot his name, and, +striving to remember, would lose his senses for a moment and drift back +to the harmonious solitudes of the North and breathe the resin-scented +frosty atmosphere. He grew terrified at the blood he coughed from his +lacerated lungs, and wondered bitterly why the boys did not come to take +him home. + +One day, as he painfully dragged himself down a residence street, he +tried to collect his thoughts and form some plan for the future. He had +no trade, understood no handiwork; he could fell trees. He looked at +the gaunt, scrawny, transplanted specimens that met his eye, and gave +himself up to the homesickness that filled his soul. He slept that night +in the shelter of a stable, and spent his last money in the morning for +a biscuit. + +He travelled many miles that afternoon looking for something to which he +might turn his hand. Once he got permission to carry a hod for half an +hour. At the end of that time he fainted. When he recovered, the foreman +paid him twenty-five cents. "For God's sake, man, go home," he said. +Luther stared at him with a white face and went on. + +There came days when he so forgot his native dignity as to beg. +He seldom received anything; he was referred to various charitable +institutions the existence of which he had never heard. + +One morning, when a pall of smoke enveloped the city and the odors of +coal-gas refused to lift their nauseating poison through the heavy air, +Luther, chilled with dew and famished, awoke to a happier life. The +loneliness at his heart was gone. The feeling of hopeless imprisonment +that the miles and miles of streets had terrified him with gave place +to one of freedom and exaltation. Above him he heard the rasping of +pine boughs; his feet trod on a rebounding mat of decay; the sky was as +coldly blue as the bosom of Huron. He walked as if on ether, singing a +senseless jargon the woodmen had aroused the echoes with,-- + + "Hi yi halloo! + The owl sees you! + Look what you do! + Hi yi halloo!" + +Swung over his shoulder was a stick he had used to assist his limping +gait, but now transformed into the beloved axe. He would reach the +clearing soon, he thought, and strode on like a giant, while people +hurried from his path. Suddenly a smooth trunk, stripped of its bark and +bleached by weather, arose before him. + +"Hi yi halloo!" High went the wasted arm--crash!--a broken staff, a +jingle of wires, a maddened, shouting man the centre of a group of +amused spectators! A few moments later, four broad-shouldered men in +blue had him in their grasp, pinioned and guarded, clattering over the +noisy streets behind two spirited horses. They drew after them a troop +of noisy, jeering boys, who danced about the wagon like a swirl of +autumn leaves. Then came a halt, and Luther was dragged up the steps of +a square brick building with a belfry on the top. They entered a large +bare room with benches ranged about the walls, and brought him before a +man at a desk. + +"What is your name?" asked the man at the desk. + +"Hi yi halloo!" said Luther. + +"He's drunk, sergeant," said one of the men in blue, and the axe-man was +led into the basement. He was conscious of an involuntary resistance, a +short struggle, and a final shock of pain,--then oblivion. + +The chopper awoke to the realization of three stone walls and an iron +grating in front. Through this he looked out upon a stone flooring +across which was a row of similar apartments. He neither knew nor cared +where he was. The feeling of imprisonment was no greater than he had +felt on the endless, cheerless streets. He laid himself on the bench +that ran along a side wall, and, closing his eyes, listened to the +babble of the clear stream and the thunder of the "drive" on its +journey. How the logs hurried and jostled! crushing, whirling, ducking, +with the merry lads leaping about them with shouts and laughter. +Suddenly he was recalled by a voice. Some one handed a narrow tin cup +full of coffee and a thick slice of bread through the grating. Across +the way he dimly saw a man eating a similar slice of bread. Men in other +compartments were swearing and singing. He knew these now for the voices +he had heard in his dreams. He tried to force some of the bread down his +parched and swollen throat, but failed; the coffee strangled him, and he +threw himself upon the bench. + +The forest again, the night-wind, the whistle of the axe through the +air. Once when he opened his eyes he found it dark. It would soon be +time to go to work. He fancied there would be hoar-frost on the trees +in the morning. How close the cabin seemed! Ha!--here came his little +sister. Her voice sounded like the wind on a spring morning. How loud it +swelled now! "Lu! Lu!" she cried. + +The next morning the lock-up keeper opened the cell door. Luther lay +with his head in a pool of blood. His soul had escaped from the thrall +of the forest. + +"Well, well!" said the little fat police-justice, when he was told of it. +"We ought to have a doctor around to look after such cases." + + + + +A Lady of Yesterday + +"A LIGHT wind blew from the gates of the sun," the morning she first +walked down the street of the little Iowa town. Not a cloud flecked the +blue; there was a humming of happy insects; a smell of rich and moist +loam perfumed the air, and in the dusk of beeches and of oaks stood the +quiet homes. She paused now and then, looking in the gardens, or at a +group of children, then passed on, smiling in content. + +Her accent was so strange, that the agent for real estate, whom she +visited, asked her, twice and once again, what it was she said. + +"I want," she had repeated smilingly, "an upland meadow, where clover +will grow, and mignonette." + +At the tea-tables that night, there was a mighty chattering. The brisk +village made a mystery of this lady with the slow step, the foreign +trick of speech, the long black gown, and the gentle voice. The men, +concealing their curiosity in presence of the women, gratified it +secretly, by sauntering to the tavern in the evening. There the keeper +and his wife stood ready to convey any neighborly intelligence. + +"Elizabeth Astrado" was written in the register,--a name conveying +little, unaccompanied by title or by place of residence. + +"She eats alone," the tavern-keeper's wife confided to their eager +ears, "and asks for no service. Oh, she's a curiosity! She's got her +story,--you'll see!" + +In a town where every man knew every other man, and whether or not he +paid his taxes on time, and what his standing was in church, and all the +skeletons of his home, a stranger alien to their ways disturbed their +peace of mind. + +"An upland meadow where clover and mignonette will grow," she had said, +and such an one she found, and planted thick with fine white clover +and with mignonette. Then, while the carpenters raised her cabin at the +border of the meadow, near the street, she passed among the villagers, +mingling with them gently, winning their good-will, in spite of +themselves. + +The cabin was of unbarked maple logs, with four rooms and a rustic +portico. Then all the villagers stared in very truth. They, living +in their trim and ugly little homes, accounted houses of logs as the +misfortune of their pioneer parents. A shed for wood, a barn for the +Jersey cow, a rustic fence, tall, with a high swinging gate, completed +the domain. In the front room of the cabin was a fireplace of rude +brick. In the bedrooms, cots as bare and hard as a nun's, and in the +kitchen the domestic necessaries; that was all. The poorest house-holder +in the town would not have confessed to such scant furnishing. Yet the +richest man might well have hesitated before he sent to France for hives +and hives of bees, as she did, setting them up along the southern border +of her meadow. + +Later there came strong boxes, marked with many marks of foreign +transportation lines, and the neighbor-gossips, seeing them, imagined +wealth of curious furniture; but the man who carted them told his wife, +who told her friend, who told her friend, that every box to the last one +was placed in the dry cemented cellar, and left there in the dark. + +"An' a mighty ridic'lous expense a cellar like that is, t' put under a +house of that char'cter," said the man to his wife--who repeated it to +her friend. + +"But that ain't all," the carpenter's wife had said when she heard about +it all, "Hank says there is one little room, not fit for buttery nor +yet fur closit, with a window high up--well, you ken see yourself-an' a +strong door. Jus' in passin' th' other day, when he was there, hangin' +some shelves, he tried it, an' it was locked!" + +"Well!" said the women who listened. + +However, they were not unfriendly, these brisk gossips. Two of them, +plucking up tardy courage, did call one afternoon. Their hostess was out +among her bees, crooning to them, as it seemed, while they lighted all +about her, lit on the flower in her dark hair, buzzed vivaciously about +her snow-white linen gown, lighted on her long, dark hands. She came +in brightly when she saw her guests, and placed chairs for them, +courteously, steeped them a cup of pale and fragrant tea, and served +them with little cakes. Though her manner was so quiet and so kind, the +women were shy before her. She, turning to one and then the other, asked +questions in her quaint way. + +"You have children, have you not?" + +Both of them had. + +"Ah," she cried, clasping those slender hands, "but you are very +fortunate! Your little ones,--what are their ages?" + +They told her, she listening smilingly. + +"And you nurse your little babes--you nurse them at the breast?" + +The modest women blushed. They were not used to speaking with such +freedom. But they confessed they did, not liking artificial means. + +"No," said the lady, looking at them with a soft light in her eyes, "as +you say, there is nothing like the good mother Nature. The little ones +God sends should lie at the breast. 'Tis not the milk alone that +they imbibe; it is the breath of life,-it is the human magnetism, the +power,-how shall I say? Happy the mother who has a little babe to hold!" + +They wanted to ask a question, but they dared not--wanted to ask a +hundred questions. But back of the gentleness was a hauteur, and they +were still. + +"Tell me," she said, breaking her reverie, "of what your husbands do. +Are they carpenters? Do they build houses for men, like the blessed +Jesus? Or are they tillers of the soil? Do they bring fruits out of this +bountiful valley?" + +They answered, with a reservation of approval. "The blessed Jesus!" It +sounded like popery. + +She had gone from these brief personal matters to other things. + +"How very strong you people seem," she had remarked. "Both your men +and your women are large and strong. You should be, being appointed to +subdue a continent. Men think they choose their destinies, but indeed, +good neighbors, I think not so. Men are driven by the winds of God's +will. They are as much bidden to build up this valley, this storehouse +for the nations, as coral insects are bidden to make the reefs with +their own little bodies, dying as they build. Is it not so?" + +"We are the creatures of God's will, I suppose," said one of her +visitors, piously. + +She had given them little confidences in return. + +"I make my bread," she said, with childish pride, "pray see if you +do not think it excellent!" And she cut a flaky loaf to display its +whiteness. One guest summoned the bravado to inquire,-- + +"Then you are not used to doing housework?" + +"I?" she said, with a slow smile, "I have never got used to +anything,--not even living." And so she baffled them all, yet won them. + +The weeks went by. Elizabeth Astrado attended to her bees, milked her +cow, fed her fowls, baked, washed, and cleaned, like the simple women +about her, saving that as she did it a look of ineffable content lighted +up her face, and she sang for happiness. Sometimes, amid the ballads +that she hummed, a strain slipped in of some great melody, which +she, singing unaware, as it were, corrected, shaking her finger in +self-reproval, and returning again to the ballads and the hymns. Nor +was she remiss in neighborly offices; but if any were ailing, or had a +festivity, she was at hand to assist, condole, or congratulate, carrying +always some simple gift in her hand, appropriate to the occasion. + +She had her wider charities too, for all she kept close to her home. +When, one day, a story came to her of a laborer struck down with heat in +putting in a culvert on the railroad, and gossip said he could not +speak English, she hastened to him, caught dying words from his lips, +whispered a reply, and then what seemed to be a prayer, while he +held fast her hand, and sank to coma with wistful eyes upon her face. +Moreover 'twas she who buried him, raising a cross above his grave, and +she who planted rose-bushes about the mound. + +"He spoke like an Italian," said the physician to her warily. + +"And so he was," she had replied. + +"A fellow-countryman of yours, no doubt?" + +"Are not all men our countrymen, my friend?" she said, gently. "What are +little lines drawn in the imagination of men, dividing territory, that +they should divide our sympathies? The world is my country--and yours, +I hope. Is it not so?" + +Then there had also been a hapless pair of lovers, shamed before their +community, who, desperate, impoverished, and bewildered at the war +between nature and society, had been helped by her into a new part of +the world. There had been a widow with many children, who had found +baskets of cooked food and bundles of well-made clothing on her step. +And as the days passed, with these pleasant offices, the face of the +strange woman glowed with an ever-increasing content, and her dark, +delicate beauty grew. + +John Hartington spent his vacation at Des Moines, having a laudable +desire to see something of the world before returning to his native +town, with his college honors fresh upon him. Swiftest of the college +runners was John Hartington, famed for his leaping too, and measuring +widest at the chest and waist of all the hearty fellows at the +university. His blond curls clustered above a brow almost as innocent +as a child's; his frank and brave blue eyes, his free step, his mellow +laugh, bespoke the perfect animal, unharmed by civilization, unperplexed +by the closing century's fallacies and passions. The wholesome oak that +spreads its roots deep in the generous soil, could not be more a part +of nature than he. Conscientious, unimaginative, direct, sincere, +industrious, he was the ideal man of his kind, and his return to town +caused a flutter among the maidens which they did not even attempt to +conceal. They told him all the chat, of course, and, among other things, +mentioned the great sensation of the year,--the coming of the woman +with her mystery, the purchase of the sunny upland, the planting it +with clover and with mignonette, the building of the house of logs, +the keeping of the bees, the barren rooms, the busy, silent life, the +charities, the never-ending wonder of it all. And then the woman--kind, +yet different from the rest, with the foreign trick of tongue, the slow, +proud walk, the delicate, slight hands, the beautiful, beautiful smile, +the air as of a creature from another world. + +Hartington, strolling beyond the village streets, up where the sunset +died in daffodil above the upland, saw the little cot of logs, and out +before it, among blood-red poppies, the woman of whom he had heard. Her +gown of white gleamed in that eerie radiance, glorified, her sad great +eyes bent on him in magnetic scrutiny. A peace and plenitude of power +came radiating from her, and reached him where he stood, suddenly, and +for the first time in his careless life, struck dumb and awed. She, too, +seemed suddenly abashed at this great bulk of youthful manhood, innocent +and strong. She gazed on him, and he on her, both chained with +some mysterious enchantment. Yet neither spoke, and he, turning in +bewilderment at last, went back to town, while she placed one hand on +her lips to keep from calling him. And neither slept that night, and in +the morning when she went with milking pail and stool out to the grassy +field, there he stood at the bars, waiting. Again they gazed, like +creatures held in thrall by some magician, till she held out her hand +and said,-- + +"We must be friends, although we have not met. Perhaps we ARE old +friends. They say there have been worlds before this one. I have not +seen you in these habiliments of flesh and blood, and yet--we may be +friends?" + +John Hartington, used to the thin jests of the village girls, and all +their simple talk, rose, nevertheless, enlightened as he was with some +strange sympathy with her, to understand and answer what she said. + +"I think perhaps it may be so. May I come in beside you in the field? +Give me the pail. I'll milk the cow for you." + +She threw her head back and laughed like a girl from school, and he +laughed too, and they shook hands. Then she sat near him while he +milked, both keeping silence, save for the p-rring noise he made with +his lips to the patient beast. Being through, she served him with a +cupful of the fragrant milk; but he bade her drink first, then drank +himself, and then they laughed again, as if they both had found +something new and good in life. + +Then she,-- + +"Come see how well my bees are doing." And they went. She served him +with the lucent syrup of the bees, perfumed with the mignonette,--such +honey as there never was before. He sat on the broad doorstep, near +the scarlet poppies, she on the grass, and then they talked--was it one +golden hour--or two? Ah, well, 'twas long enough for her to learn all of +his simple life, long enough for her to know that he was victor at the +races at the school, that he could play the pipe, like any shepherd of +the ancient days, and when he went he asked her if he might return. + +"Well," laughed she, "sometimes I am lonely. Come see me--in a week." + +Yet he was there that day at twilight, and he brought his silver pipe, +and piped to her under the stars, and she sung ballads to him,--songs +of Strephon and times when the hills were young, and flocks were fairer +than they ever be these days. + +"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow," and still the intercourse, +still her dark loveliness waxing, still the weaving of the mystic spell, +still happiness as primitive and as sweet as ever Eden knew. + +Then came a twilight when the sweet rain fell, and on the heavy air the +perfumes of the fields floated. The woman stood by the window of the +cot, looking out. Tall, graceful, full of that subtle power which drew +his soul; clothed in white linen, fragrant from her fields, with breath +freighted with fresh milk, with eyes of flame, she was there to be +adored. And he, being man of manliest type, forgot all that might have +checked the words, and poured his soul out at her feet. She drew herself +up like a queen, but only that she might look queenlier for his sake, +and, bending, kissed his brow, and whispered back his vows. + +And they were married. + +The villagers pitied Hartington. + +"She's more than a match for him in years--an' in some other ways, as +like as not," they said. "Besides, she ain't much inclined to mention +anything about her past. 'Twon't bear the tellin' probably." + +As for the lovers, they laughed as they went about their honest tasks, +or sat together arms encircling each at evening, now under the stars, +and now before their fire of wood. They talked together of their farm, +added a field for winter wheat, bought other cattle, and some horses, +which they rode out over the rolling prairies side by side. He never +stopped to chat about the town; she never ventured on the street without +him by her side. Truth to tell, their neighbors envied them, marvelling +how one could extract a heaven out of earth, and what such perfect joy +could mean. + +Yet, for all their prosperity, not one addition did they make to that +most simple home. It stood there, with its bare necessities, made +beautiful only with their love. But when the winter was most gone, he +made a little cradle of hard wood, in which she placed pillows of down, +and over which she hung linen curtains embroidered by her hand. + +In the long evenings, by the flicker of the fire, they sat together, +cheek to cheek, and looked at this little bed, singing low songs +together. + +"This happiness is terrible, my John," she said to him one night,--a +wondrous night, when the eastern wind had flung the tassels out on all +the budding trees of spring, and the air was throbbing with awakening +life, and balmy puffs of breeze, and odors of the earth. "And we are +growing young. Do you not think that we are very young and strong?" + +He kissed her on the lips. "I know that you are beautiful," he said. + +"Oh, we have lived at Nature's heart, you see, my love. The cattle and +the fowls, the honey and the wheat, the cot-the cradle, John, and you +and me! These things make happiness. They are nature. But then, you +cannot understand. You have never known the artificial--" + +"And you, Elizabeth?" + +"John, if you wish, you shall hear all I have to tell. 'Tis a long, +long, weary tale. Will you hear it now? Believe me, it will make us +sad." + +She grasped his arm till he shrank with pain. + +"Tell what you will and when you will, Elizabeth. Perhaps, some +day--when--" he pointed to the little crib. + +"As you say." And so it dropped. + +There came a day when Hartington, sitting upon the portico, where +perfumes of the budding clover came to him, hated the humming of the +happy bees, hated the rustling of the trees, hated the sight of earth. + +"The child is dead," the nurse had said, "as for your wife, perhaps--" +but that was all. Finally he heard the nurse's step upon the floor. + +"Come," she said, motioning him. And he had gone, laid cheek against +that dying cheek, whispered his love once more, saw it returned even +then, in those deep eyes, and laid her back upon her pillow, dead. + +He buried her among the mignonette, levelled the earth, sowed thick the +seed again. + +"'Tis as she wished," he said. + +With his strong hands he wrenched the little crib, laid it piece by +piece upon their hearth, and scattered then the sacred ashes on the +wind. Then, with hard-coming breath, broke open the locked door of that +room which he had never entered, thinking to find there, perhaps, some +sign of that unguessable life of hers, but found there only an altar, +with votive lamps before the Blessed Virgin, and lilies faded and fallen +from their stems. + +Then down into the cellar went he, to those boxes, with the foreign +marks. And then, indeed, he found a hint of that dead life. Gowns of +velvet and of silk, such as princesses might wear, wonders of lace, +yellowed with time, great cloaks of snowy fur, lustrous robes, jewels +of worth,--a vast array of brilliant trumpery. Then there were books in +many tongues, with rich old bindings and illuminated page, and in them +written the dead woman's name,--a name of many parts, with titles of +impress, and in the midst of all the name, "Elizabeth Astrado," as she +said. + +And that was all, or if there were more he might have learned, following +trails that fell within his way, he never learned it, being content, and +thankful that he had held her for a time within his arms, and looked +in her great soul, which, wearying of life's sad complexities, had +simplified itself, and made his love its best adornment. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Mountain Woman and Others, by +(AKA Elia Wilkinson) Elia W. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE + + + + + +Note: I have omitted signature designations and have closed +abbreviations, e.g., "do n't" becoming "don't," etc. In +addition, +I have made the following changes to the text: +PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 38 19 seem to seemed to + 47 9 beafsteak beefsteak + 56 4 divertisement divertissement + 91 19 divertisement divertissement + 155 17 scarfs. scarves. + 169 20 scarfs, scarves, + + + + + +A + +Mountain Woman + + +By +Elia Wilkinson Peattie + + + +To + +My best Friend, and kindest Critic, + +My Husband. + + + +FOREWORD. + + + + +MOST of the tales in this little book have +been printed before. "A Mountain Woman" +appeared in Harper's Weekly, as did "The +Three Johns" and "A Resuscitation." "Jim +Lancy's Waterloo" was printed in the Cosmo- +politan, "A Michigan Man" in Lippincott's, +and "Up the Gulch" in Two Tales. The +courtesy of these periodicals in permitting the +stories to be republished is cordially acknowl- +edged. + +E. W. P. + + + + +Contents + + +A MOUNTAIN WOMAN + +JIM LANCY'S WATERLOO + +THE THREE JOHNS + +A RESUSCITATION + +TWO PIONEERS + +UP THE GULCH + +A MICHIGAN MAN + +A LADY OF YESTERDAY + + + + +A Mountain Woman + +IF Leroy Brainard had not had such a +respect for literature, he would have +written a book. + +As it was, he played at being an architect +-- and succeeded in being a charming fellow. +My sister Jessica never lost an opportunity +of laughing at his endeavors as an architect. + +"You can build an enchanting villa, but +what would you do with a cathedral?" + +"I shall never have a chance at a cathe- +dral," he would reply. "And, besides, it +always seems to me so material and so im- +pertinent to build a little structure of stone +and wood in which to worship God!" + +You see what he was like? He was frivo- +lous, yet one could never tell when he would +become eloquently earnest. + +Brainard went off suddenly Westward one +day. I suspected that Jessica was at the +bottom of it, but I asked no questions; and +I did not hear from him for months. Then I +got a letter from Colorado. + +"I have married a mountain woman," he +wrote. "None of your puny breed of modern +femininity, but a remnant left over from the +heroic ages, -- a primitive woman, grand and +vast of spirit, capable of true and steadfast +wifehood. No sophistry about her; no +knowledge even that there is sophistry. +Heavens! man, do you remember the ron- +deaux and triolets I used to write to those +pretty creatures back East? It would take +a Saga man of the old Norseland to write +for my mountain woman. If I were an +artist, I would paint her with the north star +in her locks and her feet on purple cloud. +I suppose you are at the Pier. I know you +usually are at this season. At any rate, I +shall direct this letter thither, and will follow +close after it. I want my wife to see some- +thing of life. And I want her to meet your +sister." + +"Dear me!" cried Jessica, when I read +the letter to her; "I don't know that I care +to meet anything quite so gigantic as that +mountain woman. I'm one of the puny breed +of modern femininity, you know. I don't +think my nerves can stand the encounter." + +"Why, Jessica!" I protested. She blushed +a little. + +"Don't think bad of me, Victor. But, you +see, I've a little scrap-book of those triolets +upstairs." Then she burst into a peal of +irresistible laughter. "I'm not laughing +because I am piqued," she said frankly. +"Though any one will admit that it is +rather irritating to have a man who left +you in a blasted condition recover with +such extraordinary promptness. As a phi- +lanthropist, one of course rejoices, but as a +woman, Victor, it must be admitted that one +has a right to feel annoyed. But, honestly, +I am not ungenerous, and I am going to do +him a favor. I shall write, and urge him +not to bring his wife here. A primitive +woman, with the north star in her hair, +would look well down there in the Casino +eating a pineapple ice, wouldn't she? It's +all very well to have a soul, you know; but +it won't keep you from looking like a guy +among women who have good dressmakers. +I shudder at the thought of what the poor +thing will suffer if he brings her here." + +Jessica wrote, as she said she would; but, +for all that, a fortnight later she was walking +down the wharf with the "mountain woman," +and I was sauntering beside Leroy. At +dinner Jessica gave me no chance to talk +with our friend's wife, and I only caught +the quiet contralto tones of her voice now +and then contrasting with Jessica's vivacious +soprano. A drizzling rain came up from +the east with nightfall. Little groups of +shivering men and women sat about in the +parlors at the card-tables, and one blond +woman sang love songs. The Brainards +were tired with their journey, and left us +early. When they were gone, Jessica burst +into eulogy. + +"That is the first woman," she declared, +"I ever met who would make a fit heroine +for a book." + +"Then you will not feel under obligations +to educate her, as you insinuated the other +day?" + +"Educate her! I only hope she will +help me to unlearn some of the things I +know. I never saw such simplicity. It is +antique!" + +"You're sure it's not mere vacuity?" +"Victor! How can you? But you haven't +talked with her. You must to-morrow. +Good-night." She gathered up her trail- +ing skirts and started down the corridor. +Suddenly she turned back. "For Heaven's +sake!" she whispered, in an awed tone, +"I never even noticed what she had on!" + +The next morning early we made up a +riding party, and I rode with Mrs. Brainard. +She was as tall as I, and sat in her saddle +as if quite unconscious of her animal. The +road stretched hard and inviting under our +horses' feet. The wind smelled salt. The +sky was ragged with gray masses of cloud +scudding across the blue. I was beginning +to glow with exhilaration, when suddenly my +companion drew in her horse. + +"If you do not mind, we will go back," +she said. + +Her tone was dejected. I thought she +was tired. + +"Oh, no!" she protested, when I apolo- +gized for my thoughtlessness in bringing her +so far. "I'm not tired. I can ride all day. +Where I come from, we have to ride if +we want to go anywhere; but here there +seems to be no particular place to -- to +reach." + +"Are you so utilitarian?" I asked, laugh- +ingly. "Must you always have some reason +for everything you do? I do so many things +just for the mere pleasure of doing them, +I'm afraid you will have a very poor opinion +of me." + +"That is not what I mean," she said, +flushing, and turning her large gray eyes on +me. "You must not think I have a reason +for everything I do." She was very earnest, +and it was evident that she was unacquainted +with the art of making conversation. "But +what I mean," she went on, "is that there is +no place -- no end -- to reach." She looked +back over her shoulder toward the west, +where the trees marked the sky line, and an +expression of loss and dissatisfaction came +over her face. "You see," she said, apolo- +getically, "I'm used to different things -- to +the mountains. I have never been where I +could not see them before in my life." + +"Ah, I see! I suppose it is odd to look +up and find them not there." + +"It's like being lost, this not having any- +thing around you. At least, I mean," she +continued slowly, as if her thought could +not easily put itself in words, -- "I mean +it seems as if a part of the world had been +taken down. It makes you feel lonesome, +as if you were living after the world had +begun to die." + +"You'll get used to it in a few days. It +seems very beautiful to me here. And then +you will have so much life to divert you." + +"Life? But there is always that every- +where." + +"I mean men and women." + +"Oh! Still, I am not used to them. I +think I might be not -- not very happy with +them. They might think me queer. I +think I would like to show your sister the +mountains." + +"She has seen them often." + +"Oh, she told me. But I don't mean +those pretty green hills such as we saw com- +ing here. They are not like my mountains. +I like mountains that go beyond the clouds, +with terrible shadows in the hollows, and +belts of snow lying in the gorges where the +sun cannot reach, and the snow is blue in +the sunshine, or shining till you think it is +silver, and the mist so wonderful all about +it, changing each moment and drifting up +and down, that you cannot tell what name +to give the colors. These mountains of +yours here in the East are so quiet; mine +are shouting all the time, with the pines and +the rivers. The echoes are so loud in the +valley that sometimes, when the wind is +rising, we can hardly hear a man talk unless +he raises his voice. There are four cataracts +near where I live, and they all have different +voices, just as people do; and one of them +is happy -- a little white cataract -- and it falls +where the sun shines earliest, and till night +it is shining. But the others only get the +sun now and then, and they are more noisy +and cruel. One of them is always in the +shadow, and the water looks black. That +is partly because the rocks all underneath +it are black. It falls down twenty great +ledges in a gorge with black sides, and a +white mist dances all over it at every leap. +I tell father the mist is the ghost of the +waters. No man ever goes there; it is too +cold. The chill strikes through one, and +makes your heart feel as if you were dying. +But all down the side of the mountain, +toward the south and the west, the sun shines +on the granite and draws long points of +light out of it. Father tells me soldiers +marching look that way when the sun strikes +on their bayonets. Those are the kind of +mountains I mean, Mr. Grant." + +She was looking at me with her face trans- +figured, as if it, like the mountains she told +me of, had been lying in shadow, and wait- +ing for the dazzling dawn. + +"I had a terrible dream once," she went +on; "the most terrible dream ever I had. +I dreamt that the mountains had all been +taken down, and that I stood on a plain to +which there was no end. The sky was burn- +ing up, and the grass scorched brown from +the heat, and it was twisting as if it were in +pain. And animals, but no other person +save myself, only wild things, were crouch- +ing and looking up at that sky. They could +not run because there was no place to which +to go." + +"You were having a vision of the last +man," I said. "I wonder myself sometimes +whether this old globe of ours is going to +collapse suddenly and take us with her, or +whether we will disappear through slow +disastrous ages of fighting and crushing, +with hunger and blight to help us to the +end. And then, at the last, perhaps, some +luckless fellow, stronger than the rest, will +stand amid the ribs of the rotting earth and +go mad." + +The woman's eyes were fixed on me, +large and luminous. "Yes," she said; "he +would go mad from the lonesomeness of it. +He would be afraid to be left alone like that +with God. No one would want to be taken +into God's secrets." + +"And our last man," I went on, "would +have to stand there on that swaying wreck +till even the sound of the crumbling earth +ceased. And he would try to find a voice +and would fail, because silence would have +come again. And then the light would go +out --" + +The shudder that crept over her made +me stop, ashamed of myself. + +"You talk like father," she said, with a +long-drawn breath. Then she looked up +suddenly at the sun shining through a rift +in those reckless gray clouds, and put out +one hand as if to get it full of the headlong +rollicking breeze. "But the earth is not +dying," she cried. "It is well and strong, +and it likes to go round and round among +all the other worlds. It likes the sun and +moon; they are all good friends; and it +likes the people who live on it. Maybe it +is they instead of the fire within who keep +it warm; or maybe it is warm just from +always going, as we are when we run. We +are young, you and I, Mr. Grant, and Leroy, +and your beautiful sister, and the world is +young too!" Then she laughed a strong +splendid laugh, which had never had the +joy taken out of it with drawing-room re- +strictions; and I laughed too, and felt that +we had become very good companions +indeed, and found myself warming to the +joy of companionship as I had not since I +was a boy at school. + +That afternoon the four of us sat at a +table in the Casino together. The Casino, +as every one knows, is a place to amuse +yourself. If you have a duty, a mission, or +an aspiration, you do not take it there with +you, it would be so obviously out of place; +if poverty is ahead of you, you forget it; if +you have brains, you hasten to conceal them; +they would be a serious encumbrance. + +There was a bubbling of conversation, a +rustle and flutter such as there always is +where there are many women. All the +place was gay with flowers and with gowns +as bright as the flowers. I remembered the +apprehensions of my sister, and studied +Leroy's wife to see how she fitted into this +highly colored picture. She was the only +woman in the room who seemed to wear +draperies. The jaunty slash and cut of +fashionable attire were missing in the long +brown folds of cloth that enveloped her +figure. I felt certain that even from Jessica's +standpoint she could not be called a guy. +Picturesque she might be, past the point of +convention, but she was not ridiculous. + +"Judith takes all this very seriously," said +Leroy, laughingly. "I suppose she would +take even Paris seriously." + +His wife smiled over at him. "Leroy +says I am melancholy," she said, softly; +"but I am always telling him that I am +happy. He thinks I am melancholy be- +cause I do not laugh. I got out of the way +of it by being so much alone. You only +laugh to let some one else know you are +pleased. When you are alone there is no +use in laughing. It would be like explain- +ing something to yourself." + +"You are a philosopher, Judith. Mr. +Max Müller would like to know you." + +"Is he a friend of yours, dear?" + +Leroy blushed, and I saw Jessica curl +her lip as she noticed the blush. She laid +her hand on Mrs. Brainard's arm. + +"Have you always been very much +alone?" she inquired. + +"I was born on the ranch, you know; +and father was not fond of leaving it. In- +deed, now he says he will never again go +out of sight of it. But you can go a long +journey without doing that; for it lies on a +plateau in the valley, and it can be seen +from three different mountain passes. +Mother died there, and for that reason and +others -- father has had a strange life -- he +never wanted to go away. He brought a +lady from Pennsylvania to teach me. She +had wonderful learning, but she didn't +make very much use of it. I thought if I +had learning I would not waste it reading +books. I would use it to -- to live with. +Father had a library, but I never cared for +it. He was forever at books too. Of +course," she hastened to add, noticing the +look of mortification deepen on her hus- +band's face, "I like books very well if there +is nothing better at hand. But I always +said to Mrs. Windsor -- it was she who +taught me -- why read what other folk have +been thinking when you can go out and +think yourself? Of course one prefers one's +own thoughts, just as one prefers one's own +ranch, or one's own father." + +"Then you are sure to like New York +when you go there to live," cried Jessica; +"for there you will find something to make +life entertaining all the time. No one need +fall back on books there." + +"I'm not sure. I'm afraid there must be +such dreadful crowds of people. Of course +I should try to feel that they were all like +me, with just the same sort of fears, and +that it was ridiculous for us to be afraid of +each other, when at heart we all meant to +be kind." + +Jessica fairly wrung her hands. "Hea- +vens!" she cried. "I said you would like +New York. I am afraid, my dear, that it +will break your heart!" + +"Oh," said Mrs. Brainard, with what was +meant to be a gentle jest, "no one can +break my heart except Leroy. I should +not care enough about any one else, you +know." + +The compliment was an exquisite one. +I felt the blood creep to my own brain in +a sort of vicarious rapture, and I avoided +looking at Leroy lest he should dislike to +have me see the happiness he must feel. +The simplicity of the woman seemed to +invigorate me as the cool air of her moun- +tains might if it blew to me on some bright +dawn, when I had come, fevered and sick +of soul, from the city. + +When we were alone, Jessica said to me: +"That man has too much vanity, and he +thinks it is sensitiveness. He is going to +imagine that his wife makes him suffer. +There's no one so brutally selfish as your +sensitive man. He wants every one to live +according to his ideas, or he immediately +begins suffering. That friend of yours +hasn't the courage of his convictions. He +is going to be ashamed of the very qualities +that made him love his wife." + +There was a hop that night at the hotel, +quite an unusual affair as to elegance, given +in honor of a woman from New York, who +wrote a novel a month. + +Mrs. Brainard looked so happy that night +when she came in the parlor, after the +music had begun, that I felt a moisture +gather in my eyes just because of the beauty +of her joy, and the forced vivacity of the +women about me seemed suddenly coarse +and insincere. Some wonderful red stones, +brilliant as rubies, glittered in among the +diaphanous black driftings of her dress. +She asked me if the stones were not very +pretty, and said she gathered them in one +of her mountain river-beds. + +"But the gown?" I said. "Surely, you +do not gather gowns like that in river-beds, +or pick them off mountain-pines?" + +"But you can get them in Denver. Father +always sent to Denver for my finery. He +was very particular about how I looked. +You see, I was all he had --" She broke +off, her voice faltering. + +"Come over by the window," I said, to +change her thought. "I have something to +repeat to you. It is a song of Sydney +Lanier's. I think he was the greatest poet +that ever lived in America, though not +many agree with me. But he is my dear +friend anyway, though he is dead, and I +never saw him; and I want you to hear +some of his words." + +I led her across to an open window. The +dancers were whirling by us. The waltz +was one of those melancholy ones which +speak the spirit of the dance more elo- +quently than any merry melody can. The +sound of the sea booming beyond in the +darkness came to us, and long paths of +light, now red, now green, stretched toward +the distant light-house. These were the +lines I repeated: -- + + +"What heartache -- ne'er a hill! +Inexorable, vapid, vague, and chill +The drear sand levels drain my spirit low. +With one poor word they tell me all they know; +Whereat their stupid tongues, to tease my pain, +Do drawl it o'er and o'er again. +They hurt my heart with griefs I cannot name; + Always the same -- the same." + + +But I got no further. I felt myself moved +with a sort of passion which did not seem to +come from within, but to be communicated +to me from her. A certain unfamiliar hap- +piness pricked through with pain thrilled +me, and I heard her whispering, -- + +"Do not go on, do not go on! I cannot +stand it to-night!" + +"Hush," I whispered back; "come out +for a moment!" We stole into the dusk +without, and stood there trembling. I +swayed with her emotion. There was a +long silence. Then she said: "Father may +be walking alone now by the black cataract. +That is where he goes when he is sad. I +can see how lonely he looks among those +little twisted pines that grow from the rock. +And he will be remembering all the evenings +we walked there together, and all the things +we said." I did not answer. Her eyes +were still on the sea. + +"What was the name of the man who +wrote that verse you just said to me?" + +I told her. + +"And he is dead? Did they bury him +in the mountains? No? I wish I could +have put him where he could have heard +those four voices calling down the canyon." + +"Come back in the house," I said; "you +must come, indeed," I said, as she shrank +from re-entering. + +Jessica was dancing like a fairy with Le- +roy. They both saw us and smiled as we +came in, and a moment later they joined us. +I made my excuses and left my friends to +Jessica's care. She was a sort of social +tyrant wherever she was, and I knew one +word from her would insure the popularity +of our friends -- not that they needed the +intervention of any one. Leroy had been +a sort of drawing-room pet since before he +stopped wearing knickerbockers. + +"He is at his best in a drawing-room," +said Jessica, "because there he deals with +theory and not with action. And he has +such beautiful theories that the women, who +are all idealists, adore him." + +The next morning I awoke with a con- +viction that I had been idling too long. I +went back to the city and brushed the dust +from my desk. Then each morning, I, as +Jessica put it, "formed public opinion" +to the extent of one column a day in the +columns of a certain enterprising morning +journal. + +Brainard said I had treated him shabbily +to leave upon the heels of his coming. But +a man who works for his bread and butter +must put a limit to his holiday. It is dif- +ferent when you only work to add to your +general picturesqueness. That is what I +wrote Leroy, and it was the unkindest thing +I ever said to him; and why I did it I do +not know to this day. I was glad, though, +when he failed to answer the letter. It gave +me a more reasonable excuse for feeling +out of patience with him. + +The days that followed were very dull. +It was hard to get back into the way of +working. I was glad when Jessica came +home to set up our little establishment and +to join in the autumn gayeties. Brainard +brought his wife to the city soon after, and +went to housekeeping in an odd sort of a +way. + +"I couldn't see anything in the place save +curios," Jessica reported, after her first call +on them. "I suppose there is a cooking- +stove somewhere, and maybe even a pantry +with pots in it. But all I saw was Alaska +totems and Navajo blankets. They have +as many skins around on the floor and +couches as would have satisfied an ancient +Briton. And everybody was calling there. +You know Mr. Brainard runs to curios in +selecting his friends as well as his furniture. +The parlors were full this afternoon of ab- +normal people, that is to say, with folks one +reads about. I was the only one there who +hadn't done something. I guess it's be- +cause I am too healthy." + +"How did Mrs. Brainard like such a +motley crew?" + +"She was wonderful -- perfectly wonder- +ful! Those insulting creatures were all +studying her, and she knew it. But her +dignity was perfect, and she looked as proud +as a Sioux chief. She listened to every one, +and they all thought her so bright." + +"Brainard must have been tremendously +proud of her." + +"Oh, he was -- of her and his Chilcat +portières." + +Jessica was there often, but -- well, I was +busy. At length, however, I was forced to +go. Jessica refused to make any further +excuses for me. The rooms were filled with +small celebrities. + +"We are the only nonentities," whispered +Jessica, as she looked around; "it will make +us quite distinguished." + +We went to speak to our hostess. She +stood beside her husband, looking taller +than ever; and her face was white. Her +long red gown of clinging silk was so pe- +culiar as to give one the impression that she +was dressed in character. It was easy to +tell that it was one of Leroy's fancies. I +hardly heard what she said, but I know she +reproached me gently for not having been +to see them. I had no further word with +her till some one led her to the piano, and +she paused to say, -- + +"That poet you spoke of to me -- the one +you said was a friend of yours -- he is my +friend now too, and I have learned to sing +some of his songs. I am going to sing one +now." She seemed to have no timidity at +all, but stood quietly, with a half smile, +while a young man with a Russian name +played a strange minor prelude. Then she +sang, her voice a wonderful contralto, cold at +times, and again lit up with gleams of pas- +sion. The music itself was fitful, now full +of joy, now tender, and now sad: + + +"Look off, dear love, across the sallow sands, + And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea, +How long they kiss in sight of all the lands, + Ah! longer, longer we." + + +"She has a genius for feeling, hasn't +she?" Leroy whispered to me. + +"A genius for feeling!" I repeated, +angrily. "Man, she has a heart and a soul +and a brain, if that is what you mean! I +shouldn't think you would be able to look +at her from the standpoint of a critic." + +Leroy shrugged his shoulders and went +off. For a moment I almost hated him for +not feeling more resentful. I felt as if he +owed it to his wife to take offence at my +foolish speech. + +It was evident that the "mountain woman" +had become the fashion. I read reports in +the papers about her unique receptions. I +saw her name printed conspicuously among +the list of those who attended all sorts of +dinners and musicales and evenings among +the set that affected intellectual pursuits. +She joined a number of women's clubs of +an exclusive kind. + +"She is doing whatever her husband tells +her to," said Jessica. "Why, the other day +I heard her ruining her voice on 'Siegfried'!" + +But from day to day I noticed a difference +in her. She developed a terrible activity. +She took personal charge of the affairs of +her house; she united with Leroy in keep- +ing the house filled with guests; she got +on the board of a hospital for little children, +and spent a part of every day among the +cots where the sufferers lay. Now and then +when we spent a quiet evening alone with +her and Leroy, she sewed continually on +little white night-gowns for these poor babies. +She used her carriage to take the most ex- +traordinary persons riding. + +"In the cause of health," Leroy used to +say, "I ought to have the carriage fumi- +gated after every ride Judith takes, for she +is always accompanied by some one who looks +as if he or she should go into quarantine." + +One night, when he was chaffing her in +this way, she flung her sewing suddenly +from her and sprang to her feet, as if she +were going to give way to a burst of girlish +temper. Instead of that, a stream of tears +poured from her eyes, and she held out her +trembling hands toward Jessica. + +"He does not know," she sobbed. "He +cannot understand." + +One memorable day Leroy hastened over +to us while we were still at breakfast to say +that Judith was ill, -- strangely ill. All night +long she had been muttering to herself as if +in a delirium. Yet she answered lucidly all +questions that were put to her. + +"She begs for Miss Grant. She says +over and over that she 'knows,' whatever +that may mean." + +When Jessica came home she told me she +did not know. She only felt that a tumult +of impatience was stirring in her friend. + +"There is something majestic about her, -- +something epic. I feel as if she were mak- +ing me live a part in some great drama, the +end of which I cannot tell. She is suffering, +but I cannot tell why she suffers." + +Weeks went on without an abatement in +this strange illness. She did not keep her +bed. Indeed, she neglected few of her usual +occupations. But her hands were burning, +and her eyes grew bright with that wild +sort of lustre one sees in the eyes of those +who give themselves up to strange drugs or +manias. She grew whimsical, and formed +capricious friendships, only to drop them. + +And then one day she closed her house +to all acquaintances, and sat alone continu- +ally in her room, with her hands clasped +in her lap, and her eyes swimming with the +emotions that never found their way to her +tongue. + +Brainard came to the office to talk with +me about her one day. "I am a very miser- +able man, Grant," he said. "I am afraid I +have lost my wife's regard. Oh, don't tell me +it is partly my fault. I know it well enough. +And I know you haven't had a very good +opinion of me lately. But I am remorseful +enough now, God knows. And I would give +my life to see her as she was when I found +her first among the mountains. Why, she +used to climb them like a strong man, and +she was forever shouting and singing. And +she had peopled every spot with strange +modern mythological creatures. Her father +is an old dreamer, and she got the trick from +him. They had a little telescope on a great +knoll in the centre of the valley, just where +it commanded a long path of stars, and they +used to spend nights out there when the +frost literally fell in flakes. When I think +how hardy and gay she was, how full of +courage and life, and look at her now, so +feverish and broken, I feel as if I should go +mad. You know I never meant to do her +any harm. Tell me that much, Grant." + +"I think you were very egotistical for a +while, Brainard, and that is a fact. And +you didn't appreciate how much her nature +demanded. But I do not think you are re- +sponsible for your wife's present condition. +If there is any comfort in that statement, +you are welcome to it." + +"But you don't mean --" he got no +further. + +"I mean that your wife may have her +reservations, just as we all have, and I am +paying her high praise when I say it. You +are not so narrow, Leroy, as to suppose for +a moment that the only sort of passion a +woman is capable of is that which she enter- +tains for a man. How do I know what +is going on in your wife's soul? But it is +nothing which even an idealist of women, +such as I am, old fellow, need regret." + +How glad I was afterward that I spoke +those words. They exercised a little re- +straint, perhaps, on Leroy when the day +of his terrible trial came. They made him +wrestle with the demon of suspicion that +strove to possess him. I was sitting in my +office, lagging dispiritedly over my work +one day, when the door burst open and +Brainard stood beside me. Brainard, I say, +and yet in no sense the man I had known, +-- not a hint in this pale creature, whose +breath struggled through chattering teeth, +and whose hands worked in uncontrollable +spasms, of the nonchalant elegant I had +known. Not a glimpse to be seen in those +angry and determined eyes of the gayly +selfish spirit of my holiday friend. + +"She's gone!" he gasped. "Since yes- +terday. And I'm here to ask you what +you think now? And what you know." + +A panorama of all shameful possibilities +for one black moment floated before me. +I remember this gave place to a wave, cold +as death, that swept from head to foot; +then Brainard's hands fell heavily on my +shoulders. + +"Thank God at least for this much," he +said, hoarsely; "I didn't know at first but +I had lost both friend and wife. But I see +you know nothing. And indeed in my +heart I knew all the time that you did not. +Yet I had to come to you with my anger. +And I remembered how you defended her. +What explanation can you offer now?" + +I got him to sit down after a while and +tell me what little there was to tell. He +had been away for a day's shooting, and +when he returned he found only the per- +plexed servants at home. A note was left +for him. He showed it to me. + +"There are times," it ran, "when we must +do as we must, not as we would. I am go- +ing to do something I have been driven to +do since I left my home. I do not leave +any message of love for you, because you +would not care for it from a woman so weak +as I. But it is so easy for you to be happy +that I hope in a little while you will forget +the wife who yielded to an influence past +resisting. It may be madness, but I am +not great enough to give it up. I tried to +make the sacrifice, but I could not. I tried +to be as gay as you, and to live your sort of +life; but I could not do it. Do not make +the effort to forgive me. You will be hap- +pier if you simply hold me in the contempt +I deserve." + +I read the letter over and over. I do not +know that I believe that the spirit of inani- +mate things can permeate to the intelligence +of man. I am sure I always laughed at +such ideas. Yet holding that note with its +shameful seeming words, I felt a conscious- +ness that it was written in purity and love. +And then before my eyes there came a scene +so vivid that for a moment the office with its +familiar furniture was obliterated. What I +saw was a long firm road, green with mid- +summer luxuriance. The leisurely thudding +of my horse's feet sounded in my ears. Be- +side me was a tall, black-robed figure. I +saw her look back with that expression of +deprivation at the sky line. "It's like liv- +ing after the world has begun to die," said +the pensive minor voice. "It seems as if +part of the world had been taken down." + +"Brainard," I yelled, "come here! I +have it. Here's your explanation. I can +show you a new meaning for every line of +this letter. Man, she has gone to the moun- +tains. She has gone to worship her own +gods!" + +Two weeks later I got a letter from Brain- +ard, dated from Colorado. + +"Old man," it said, "you're right. She +is here. I found my mountain woman here +where the four voices of her cataracts had +been calling to her. I saw her the moment +our mules rounded the road that commands +the valley. We had been riding all night +and were drenched with cold dew, hungry +to desperation, and my spirits were of lead. +Suddenly we got out from behind the gran- +ite wall, and there she was, standing, where I +had seen her so often, beside the little water- +fall that she calls the happy one. She was +looking straight up at the billowing mist +that dipped down the mountain, mammoth +saffron rolls of it, plunging so madly from +the impetus of the wind that one marvelled +how it could be noiseless. Ah, you do not +know Judith! That strange, unsophisti- +cated, sometimes awkward woman you saw +bore no more resemblance to my mountain +woman than I to Hercules. How strong and +beautiful she looked standing there wrapped +in an ecstasy! It was my primitive woman +back in her primeval world. How the blood +leaped in me! All my old romance, so dif- +ferent from the common love-histories of +most men, was there again within my reach! +All the mystery, the poignant happiness +were mine again. Do not hold me in con- +tempt because I show you my heart. You +saw my misery. Why should I grudge you +a glimpse of my happiness? She saw me +when I touched her hand, not before, so +wrapped was she. But she did not seem +surprised. Only in her splendid eyes there +came a large content. She pointed to the +dancing little white fall. 'I thought some- +thing wonderful was going to happen,' she +whispered, 'for it has been laughing so.' + +"I shall not return to New York. I am +going to stay here with my mountain wo- +man, and I think perhaps I shall find out +what life means here sooner than I would +back there with you. I shall learn to see +large things large and small things small. +Judith says to tell you and Miss Grant that +the four voices are calling for you every +day in the valley. + +"Yours in fullest friendship, + +"LEROY BRAINARD." + + + +Jim Lancy's Waterloo + + +"WE must get married before time to put +in crops," he wrote. "We must make +a success of the farm the first year, for luck. +Could you manage to be ready to come out +West by the last of February? After March +opens there will be no let-up, and I do not +see how I could get away. Make it Febru- +ary, Annie dear. A few weeks more or less +can make no difference to you, but they +make a good deal of difference to me." + +The woman to whom this was written read +it with something like anger. "I don't be- +lieve he's so impatient for me!" she said +to herself. "What he wants is to get the +crops in on time." But she changed the date +of their wedding, and made it February. + +Their wedding journey was only from +the Illinois village where she lived to their +Nebraska farm. They had never been much +together, and they had much to say to each +other. + +"Farming won't come hard to you," Jim +assured her. "All one needs to farm with +is brains." + +"What a success you'll make of it!" she +cried saucily. + +"I wish I had my farm clear," Jim went +on; "but that's more than any one has +around me. I'm no worse off than the rest. +We've got to pay off the mortgage, Annie." + +"Of course we must. We'll just do with- +out till we get the mortgage lifted. Hard +work will do anything, I guess. And I'm +not afraid to work, Jim, though I've never +had much experience." + +Jim looked out of the window a long time, +at the gentle undulations of the brown Iowa +prairie. His eyes seemed to pierce beneath +the sod, to the swelling buds of the yet +invisible grass. He noticed how disdain- +fully the rains of the new year beat down +the grasses of the year that was gone. It +opened to his mind a vision of the season's +possibilities. For a moment, even amid +the smoke of the car, he seemed to scent +clover, and hear the stiff swishing of the +corn and the dull burring of the bees. + +"I wish sometimes," he said, leaning for- +ward to look at his bride, "that I had been +born something else than a farmer. But I +can no more help farming, Annie, than a +bird can help singing, or a bee making +honey. I didn't take to farming. I was +simply born with a hoe in my hand." + +"I don't know a blessed thing about it," +Annie confessed. "But I made up my +mind that a farm with you was better than +a town without you. That's all there is to +it, as far as I am concerned." + +Jim Lancy slid his arm softly about her +waist, unseen by the other passengers. +Annie looked up apprehensively, to see if +any one was noticing. But they were +eating their lunches. It was a common +coach on which they were riding. There +was a Pullman attached to the train, and +Annie had secretly thought that, as it was +their wedding journey, it might be more +becoming to take it. But Jim had made +no suggestion about it. What he said later +explained the reason. + +"I would have liked to have brought you +a fine present," he said. "It seemed shabby +to come with nothing but that little ring. +But I put everything I had on our home, +you know. And yet, I'm sure you'll think +it poor enough after what you've been used +to. You'll forgive me for only bringing the +ring, my dear?" + +"But you brought me something better," +Annie whispered. She was a foolish little +girl. "You brought me love, you know." +Then they rode in silence for a long time. +Both of them were new to the phraseology +of love. Their simple compliments to each +other were almost ludicrous. But any one +who might have chanced to overhear them +would have been charmed, for they betrayed +an innocence as beautiful as an unclouded +dawn. + +Annie tried hard not to be depressed +by the treeless stretches of the Nebraska +plains. + +"This is different from Illinois," she +ventured once, gently; "it is even different +from Iowa." + +"Yes, yes," cried Jim, enthusiastically, "it +is different! It is the finest country in the +world! You never feel shut in. You can +always see off. I feel at home after I get +in Nebraska. I'd choke back where you +live, with all those little gullies and the trees +everywhere. It's a mystery to me how +farmers have patience to work there." + +Annie opened her eyes. There was evi- +dently more than one way of looking at a +question. The farm-houses seemed very +low and mean to her, as she looked at them +from the window. There were no fences, +excepting now and then the inhospitable +barbed wire. The door-yards were bleak to +her eyes, without the ornamental shrubbery +which every farmer in her part of the country +was used to tending. The cattle stood un- +shedded in their corrals. The reapers and +binders stood rusting in the dull drizzle. + +"How shiftless!" cried Annie, indignantly. +"What do these men mean by letting their +machinery lie out that way? I should think +one winter of lying out would hurt it more +than three summers of using." + +"It does. But sheds are not easily had. +Lumber is dear." + +"But I should think it would be economy +even then." + +"Yes," he said, "perhaps. But we all do +that way out here. It takes some money for +a man to be economical with. Some of us +haven't even that much." + +There was a six-mile ride from the station. +The horses were waiting, hitched up to a +serviceable light wagon, and driven by the +"help." He was a thin young man, with +red hair, and he blushed vicariously for Jim +and Annie, who were really too entertained +with each other, and at the idea of the new +life opening up before them, to think any- +thing about blushing. At the station, a +number of men insisted on shaking hands +with Jim, and being introduced to his wife. +They were all bearded, as if shaving were +an unnecessary labor, and their trousers were +tucked in dusty top-boots, none of which +had ever seen blacking. Annie had a sense +of these men seeming unwashed, or as if +they had slept in their clothes. But they +had kind voices, and their eyes were very +friendly. So she shook hands with them all +with heartiness, and asked them to drive out +and bring their womenkind. + +"I am going to make up my mind not +to be lonesome," she declared; "but, all the +same, I shall want to see some women." + +Annie had got safe on the high seat of +the wagon, and was balancing her little feet +on the inclined foot-rest, when a woman +came running across the street, calling +aloud, -- + +"Mr. Lancy! Mr. Lancy! You're not +going to drive away without introducing +me to your wife!" + +She was a thin little woman, with move- +ments as nervous and as graceless as those of +a grasshopper. Her dun-colored garments +seemed to have all the hue bleached out of +them with wind and weather. Her face was +brown and wrinkled, and her bright eyes +flashed restlessly, deep in their sockets. Two +front teeth were conspicuously missing; and +her faded hair was blown in wisps about +her face. Jim performed the introduction, +and Annie held out her hand. It was a +pretty hand, delicately gloved in dove color. +The woman took it in her own, and after +she had shaken it, held it for a silent mo- +ment, looking at it. Then she almost threw +it from her. The eyes which she lifted +to scan the bright young face above her +had something like agony in them. Annie +blushed under this fierce scrutiny, and the +woman, suddenly conscious of her demeanor, +forced a smile to her lips. + +"I'll come out an' see yeh," she said, in +cordial tones. "May be, as a new house- +keeper, you'll like a little advice. You've a +nice place, an' I wish yeh luck." + +"Thank you. I'm sure I'll need advice," +cried Annie, as they drove off. Then she +said to Jim, "Who is that old woman?" + +"Old woman? Why, she ain't a day over +thirty, Mis' Dundy ain't." + +Annie looked at her husband blankly. +But he was already talking of something +else, and she asked no more about the +woman, though all the way along the road +the face seemed to follow her. It might +have been this that caused the tightening +about her heart. For some way her vivacity +had gone; and the rest of the ride she asked +no questions, but sat looking straight before +her at the northward stretching road, with +eyes that felt rather than saw the brown, +bare undulations, rising every now and then +clean to the sky; at the side, little famished- +looking houses, unacquainted with paint, +disorderly yards, and endless reaches of +furrowed ground, where in summer the corn +had waved. + +The horses needed no indication of the +line to make them turn up a smooth bit of +road that curved away neatly 'mid the ragged +grasses. At the end of it, in a clump of +puny scrub oaks, stood a square little house, +in uncorniced simplicity, with blank, uncur- +tained windows staring out at Annie, and for +a moment her eyes, blurred with the cold, +seemed to see in one of them the despairing +face of the woman with the wisps of faded +hair blowing about her face. + +"Well, what do you think of it?" Jim +cried, heartily, swinging her down from her +high seat, and kissing her as he did so. +"This is your home, my girl, and you are as +welcome to it as you would be to a palace, +if I could give it to you." + +Annie put up her hands to hide the trem- +bling of her lips; and she let Jim see there +were tears in her eyes as an apology for not +replying. The young man with the red hair +took away the horses, and Jim, with his arm +around his wife's waist, ran toward the house +and threw open the door for her to enter. +The intense heat of two great stoves struck +in their faces; and Annie saw the big burner, +erected in all its black hideousness in the +middle of the front room, like a sort of +household hoodoo, to be constantly propi- +tiated, like the gods of Greece; and in the +kitchen, the new range, with a distracted +tea-kettle leaping on it, as if it would like +to loose its fetters and race away over the +prairie after its cousin, the locomotive. + +It was a house of four rooms, and a +glance revealed the fact that it had been +provided with the necessaries. + +"I think we can be very comfortable +here," said Jim, rather doubtfully. + +Annie saw she must make some response. +"I am sure we can be more than comfort- +able, Jim," she replied. "We can be happy. +Show me, if you please, where my room +is. I must hang my cloak up in the right +place so that I shall feel as if I were getting +settled." + +It was enough. Jim had no longer any +doubts. He felt sure they were going to be +happy ever afterward. + +It was Annie who got the first meal; she +insisted on it, though both the men wanted +her to rest. And Jim hadn't the heart to +tell her that, as a general thing, it would +not do to put two eggs in the corn-cake, +and that the beefsteak was a great luxury. +When he saw her about to break an egg for +the coffee, however, he interfered. + +"The shells of the ones you used for the +cake will settle the coffee just as well," he +said. "You see we have to be very careful +of eggs out here at this season." + +"Oh! Will the shells really settle it? +This is what you must call prairie lore. +I suppose out here we find out what the +real relations of invention and necessity +are -- eh?" + +Jim laughed disproportionately. He +thought her wonderfully witty. And he +and the help ate so much that Annie +opened her eyes. She had thought there +would be enough left for supper. But +there was nothing left. + +For the next two weeks Jim was able to be +much with her; and they amused themselves +by decorating the house with the bright +curtainings that Annie had brought, and +putting up shelves for a few pieces of china. +She had two or three pictures, also, which +had come from her room in her old home, +and some of those useless dainty things with +which some women like to litter the room. + +"Most folks," Jim explained, "have to be +content with one fire, and sit in the kitchen; +but I thought, as this was our honeymoon, +we would put on some lugs." + +Annie said nothing then; but a day or +two after she ventured, -- + +"Perhaps it would be as well now, dear, +if we kept in the kitchen. I'll keep it as +bright and pleasant as I can. And, any- +way, you can be more about with me when +I'm working then. We'll lay a fire in the +front-room stove, so that we can light it if +anybody comes. We can just as well save +that much." + +Jim looked up brightly. "All right," he +said. "You're a sensible little woman. +You see, every cent makes a difference. +And I want to be able to pay off five +hundred dollars of that mortgage this +year." + +So, after that, they sat in the kitchen; and +the fire was laid in the front room, against +the coming of company. But no one came, +and it remained unlighted. + +Then the season began to show signs of +opening, -- bleak signs, hardly recognizable +to Annie; and after that Jim was not much +in the house. The weeks wore on, and +spring came at last, dancing over the hills. +The ground-birds began building, and at +four each morning awoke Annie with their +sylvan opera. The creek that ran just at +the north of the house worked itself into a +fury and blustered along with much noise +toward the great Platte which, miles away, +wallowed in its vast sandy bed. The hills +flushed from brown to yellow, and from +mottled green to intensest emerald, and in +the superb air all the winds of heaven +seemed to meet and frolic with laughter +and song. + +Sometimes the mornings were so beauti- +ful that, the men being afield and Annie all +alone, she gave herself up to an ecstasy and +kneeled by the little wooden bench outside +the door, to say, "Father, I thank Thee," +and then went about her work with all the +poem of nature rhyming itself over and over +in her heart. + +It was on such a day as this that Mrs. +Dundy kept her promise and came over to +see if the young housekeeper needed any of +the advice she had promised her. She had +walked, because none of the horses could be +spared. It had got so warm now that the +fire in the kitchen heated the whole house +sufficiently, and Annie had the rooms clean +to exquisiteness. Mrs. Dundy looked about +with envious eyes. + +"How lovely!" she said. + +"Do you think so?" cried Annie, in sur- +prise. "I like it, of course, because it is +home, but I don't see how you could call +anything here lovely." + +"Oh, you don't understand," her visitor +went on. "It's lovely because it looks so +happy. Some of us have -- well, kind o' +lost our grip." + +"It's easy to do that if you don't feel +well," Annie remarked sympathetically. "I +haven't felt as well as usual myself, lately. +And I do get lonesome and wonder what +good it does to fix up every day when there +is no one to see. But that is all nonsense, +and I put it out of my head." + +She smoothed out the clean lawn apron +with delicate touch. Mrs. Dundy followed +the movement with her eyes. + +"Oh, my dear," she cried, "you don't +know nothin' about it yet! But you will +know! You will!" and those restless, hot +eyes of hers seemed to grow more restless +and more hot as they looked with infinite +pity at the young woman before her. + +Annie thought of these words often as the +summer came on, and the heat grew. Jim +was seldom to be seen now. He was up at +four each morning, and the last chore was +not completed till nine at night. Then he +threw himself in bed and lay there log-like +till dawn. He was too weary to talk much, +and Annie, with her heart aching for his +fatigue, forbore to speak to him. She +cooked the most strengthening things she +could, and tried always to look fresh and +pleasant when he came in. But she often +thought her pains were in vain, for he hardly +rested his sunburned eyes on her. His skin +got so brown that his face was strangely +changed, especially as he no longer had +time to shave, and had let a rough beard +straggle over his cheeks and chin. On +Sundays Annie would have liked to go to +church, but the horses were too tired to be +taken out, and she did not feel well enough +to walk far; besides, Jim got no particular +good out of walking over the hills unless +he had a plough in his hand. + +Harvest came at length, and the crop was +good. There were any way from three to +twenty men at the house then, and Annie +cooked for all of them. Jim had tried to +get some one to help her, but he had not +succeeded. Annie strove to be brave, re- +membering that farm-women all over the +country were working in similar fashion. +But in spite of all she could do, the days +got to seem like nightmares, and sleep be- +tween was but a brief pause in which she was +always dreaming of water, and thinking that +she was stooping to put fevered lips to a +running brook. Some of these men were +very disgusting to Annie. Their manners +were as bad as they could well be, and a +coarse word came naturally to their lips. + +"To be master of the soil, that is one +thing," said she to herself in sickness of +spirit; "but to be the slave of it is another. +These men seem to have got their souls all +covered with muck." She noticed that +they had no idea of amusement. They had +never played anything. They did not even +care for base-ball. Their idea of happiness +appeared to be to do nothing; and there was +a good part of the year in which they were +happy, -- for these were not for the most +part men owning farms; they were men +who hired out to help the farmer. A good +many of them had been farmers at one time +and another, but they had failed. They all +talked politics a great deal, -- politics and rail- +roads. Annie had not much patience with +it all. She had great confidence in the +course of things. She believed that in this +country all men have a fair chance. So +when it came about that the corn and the +wheat, which had been raised with such +incessant toil, brought them no money, but +only a loss, Annie stood aghast. + +"I said the rates were ruinous," Jim said +to her one night, after it was all over, and +he had found out that the year's slavish +work had brought him a loss of three +hundred dollars; "it's been a conspiracy +from the first. The price of corn is all +right. But by the time we set it down in +Chicago we are out eighteen cents a bushel. +It means ruin. What are we going to do? +Here we had the best crop we've had for +years -- but what's the use of talking! +They have us in their grip." + +"I don't see how it is," Annie protested. +"I should think it would be for the inter- +est of the roads to help the people to be as +prosperous as possible." + +"Oh, we can't get out! And we're +bound to stay and raise grain. And they're +bound to cart it. And that's all there is to +it. They force us to stand every loss, even +to the shortage that is made in transportation. +The railroad companies own the elevators, +and they have the cinch on us. Our grain +is at their mercy. God knows how I'm +going to raise that interest. As for the five +hundred we were going to pay on the mort- +gage this year, Annie, we're not in it." + +Autumn was well set in by this time, and +the brilliant cold sky hung over the prairies +as young and fresh as if the world were not +old and tired. Annie no longer could look +as trim as when she first came to the little +house. Her pretty wedding garments were +beginning to be worn and there was no +money for more. Jim would not play chess +now of evenings. He was forever writing +articles for the weekly paper in the adjoin- +ing town. They talked of running him for +the state legislature, and he was anxious +for the nomination. + +"I think I might be able to stand it if I +could fight 'em!" he declared; "but to sit +here idle, knowing that I have been cheated +out of my year's work, just as much as if I +had been knocked down on the road and +the money taken from me, is enough to +send me to the asylum with a strait-jacket +on!" + +Life grew to take on tragic aspects. Annie +used to find herself wondering if anywhere +in the world there were people with light +hearts. For her there was no longer antici- +pation of joy, or present companionship, or +any divertissement in the whole world. Jim +read books which she did not understand, +and with a few of his friends, who dropped +in now and then evenings or Sundays, talked +about these books in an excited manner. + +She would go to her room to rest, and +lying there in the darkness on the bed, +would hear them speaking together, some- +times all at once, in those sternly vindictive +tones men use when there is revolt in their +souls. + +"It is the government which is helping +to impoverish us," she would hear Jim +saying. "Work is money. That is to +say, it is the active form of money. The +wealth of a country is estimated by its +power of production. And its power of +production means work. It means there +are so many men with so much capacity. +Now the government owes it to these men +to have money enough to pay them for +their work; and if there is not enough +money in circulation to pay to each man for +his honest and necessary work, then I say +that government is in league with crime. +It is trying to make defaulters of us. It has +a hundred ways of cheating us. When I +bought this farm and put the mortgage on +it, a day's work would bring twice the +results it will now. That is to say, the +total at the end of the year showed my +profits to be twice what they would be +now, even if the railway did not stand in +the way to rob us of more than we earn. +So that it will take just twice as many +days' work now to pay off this mortgage +as it would have done at the time it was +contracted. It's a conspiracy, I tell you! +Those Eastern capitalists make a science of +ruining us." + +He got more eloquent as time went on, +and Annie, who had known him first as +rather a careless talker, was astonished at +the boldness of his language. But conver- +sation was a lost art with him. He no +longer talked. He harangued. + +In the early spring Annie's baby was +born, -- a little girl with a nervous cry, who +never slept long at a time, and who seemed +to wail merely from distaste at living. It +was Mrs. Dundy who came over to look +after the house till Annie got able to do so. +Her eyes had that fever in them, as ever. +She talked but little, but her touch on +Annie's head was more eloquent than words. +One day Annie asked for the glass, and +Mrs. Dundy gave it to her. She looked in +it a long time. The color was gone from +her cheeks, and about her mouth there was +an ugly tightening. But her eyes flashed +and shone with that same -- no, no, it could +not be that in her face also was coming the +look of half-madness! She motioned Mrs. +Dundy to come to her. + +"You knew it was coming," she said, +brokenly, pointing to the reflection in the +glass. "That first day, you knew how it +would be." + +Mrs. Dundy took the glass away with a +gentle hand. + +"How could I help knowing?" she said +simply. She went into the next room, and +when she returned Annie noticed that the +handkerchief stuck in her belt was wet, as +if it had been wept on. + +A woman cannot stay long away from +her home on a farm at planting time, even +if it is a case of life and death. Mrs. Dundy +had to go home, and Annie crept about +her work with the wailing baby in her arms. +The house was often disorderly now; but +it could not be helped. The baby had to +be cared for. It fretted so much that Jim +slept apart in the mow of the barn, that his +sleep might not be disturbed. It was a +pleasant, dim place, full of sweet scents, and +he liked to be there alone. Though he had +always been an unusual worker, he worked +now more like a man who was fighting off +fate, than a mere toiler for bread. + +The corn came up beautifully, and far as +the eye could reach around their home it +tossed its broad green leaves with an ocean- +like swelling of sibilant sound. Jim loved +it with a sort of passion. Annie loved it, +too. Sometimes, at night, when her fatigue +was unbearable, and her irritation wearing +out both body and soul, she took her little +one in her arms and walked among the +corn, letting its rustling soothe the baby to +sleep. + +The heat of the summer was terrible. +The sun came up in that blue sky like a +curse, and hung there till night came to +comfort the blistering earth. And one +morning a terrible thing happened. Annie +was standing out of doors in the shade of +those miserable little oaks, ironing, when +suddenly a blast of air struck her in the +face, which made her look up startled. For +a moment she thought, perhaps, there was +a fire near in the grass. But there was none. +Another blast came, hotter this time, and +fifteen minutes later that wind was sweep- +ing straight across the plain, burning and +blasting. Annie went in the house to finish +her ironing, and was working there, when +she heard Jim's footstep on the door-sill. +He could not pale because of the tan, but +there was a look of agony and of anger -- +almost brutish anger -- in his eyes. Then +he looked, for a moment, at Annie standing +there working patiently, and rocking the +little crib with one foot, and he sat down on +the door-step and buried his face in his +brown arms. + +The wind blew for three days. At the +end of that time every ear was withered in +the stalk. The corn crop was ruined. + +But there were the other crops which +must be attended to, and Jim watched those +with the alertness of a despairing man; and +so harvest came again, and again the house +was filled with men who talked their careless +talk, and who were not ashamed to gorge +while this one woman cooked for them. +The baby lay on a quilt on the floor in the +coolest part of the kitchen. Annie fed it +irregularly. Sometimes she almost forgot +it. As for its wailing, she had grown so +used to it that she hardly heard it, any +more than she did the ticking of the clock. +And yet, tighter than anything else in life, +was the hold that little thing had on her +heart-strings. At night, after the intermin- +able work had been finished -- though in +slovenly fashion -- she would take it up and +caress it with fierceness, and worn as she +was, would bathe it and soothe it, and give +it warm milk from the big tin pail. + +"Lay the child down," Jim would say +impatiently, while the men would tell how +their wives always put the babies on the +bed and let them cry if they wanted to. +Annie said nothing, but she hushed the +little one with tender songs. + +One day, as usual, it lay on its quilt +while Annie worked. It was a terribly busy +morning. She had risen at four to get the +washing out of the way before the men got +on hand, and there were a dozen loaves of +bread to bake, and the meals to get, and +the milk to attend to, and the chickens and +pigs to feed. So occupied was she that she +never was able to tell how long she was +gone from the baby. She only knew that +the heat of her own body was so great that +the blood seemed to be pounding at her +ears, and she staggered as she crossed the +yard. But when she went at last with a +cup of milk to feed the little one, it lay with +clenched fists and fixed eyes, and as she +lifted it, a last convulsion laid it back breath- +less, and its heart had ceased to beat. + +Annie ran with it to her room, and tried +such remedies as she had. But nothing +could keep the chill from creeping over the +wasted little form, -- not even the heat of +the day, not even the mother's agonized +embrace. Then, suddenly, Annie looked +at the clock. It was time to get the dinner. +She laid the piteous tiny shape straight on +the bed, threw a sheet over it, and went +back to the weltering kitchen to cook for +those men, who came at noon and who must +be fed -- who must be fed. + +When they were all seated at the table, +Jim among them, and she had served them, +she said, standing at the head of the table, +with her hands on her hips: -- + +"I don't suppose any of you have time +to do anything about it; but I thought you +might like to know that the baby is dead. +I wouldn't think of asking you to spare the +horses, for I know they have to rest. But +I thought, if you could make out on a cold +supper, that I would go to the town for a +coffin." + +There was satire in the voice that stung +even through the dull perceptions of these +men, and Jim arose with a cry and went to +the room where his dead baby lay. + +About two months after this Annie in- +sisted that she must go home to Illinois. +Jim protested in a way. + +"You know, I'd like to send you," he +said; "but I don't see where the money is +to come from. And since I've got this +nomination, I want to run as well as I can. +My friends expect me to do my best for +them. It's a duty, you know, and nothing +less, for a few men, like me, to get in the +legislature. We're going to get a railroad +bill through this session that will straighten +out a good many things. Be patient a little +longer, Annie." + +"I want to go home," was the only reply +he got. "You must get the money, some +way, for me to go home with." + +"I haven't paid a cent of interest yet," +he cried angrily. "I don't see what you +mean by being so unreasonable!" + +"You must get the money, some way," +she reiterated. + +He did not speak to her for a week, ex- +cept when he was obliged to. But she did +not seem to mind; and he gave her the +money. He took her to the train in the +little wagon that had met her when she first +came. At the station, some women were +gossiping excitedly, and Annie asked what +they were saying. + +"It's Mis' Dundy," they said. "She's +been sent to th' insane asylum at Lincoln. +She's gone stark mad. All she said on the +way out was, 'Th' butter won't come! Th' +butter won't come!'" Then they laughed a +little -- a strange laugh; and Annie thought +of a drinking-song she had once heard, +"Here's to the next who dies." + +Ten days after this Jim got a letter from +her. "I am never coming back, Jim," it +said. "It is hopeless. I don't think I +would mind standing still to be shot down +if there was any good in it. But I'm not +going back there to work harder than any +slave for those money-loaners and the rail- +roads. I guess they can all get along with- +out me. And I am sure I can get along +without them. I do not think this will make +you feel very bad. You haven't seemed +to notice me very much lately when I've +been around, and I do not think you will +notice very much when I am gone. I know +what this means. I know I am breaking +my word when I leave you. But remember, +it is not you I leave, but the soil, Jim! I +will not be its slave any longer. If you +care to come for me here, and live another +life -- but no, there would be no use. Our +love, like our toil, has been eaten up by +those rapacious acres. Let us say good- +by." + +Jim sat all night with this letter in his +hand. Sometimes he dozed heavily in his +chair. But he did not go to bed; and the +next morning he hitched up his horses and +rode to town. He went to the bank which +held his notes. + +"I'll confess judgment as soon as you +like," he said. "It's all up with me." + +It was done as quickly as the law would +allow. And the things in the house were +sold by auction. All the farmers were there +with their wives. It made quite an outing +for them. Jim moved around impassively, +and chatted, now and then, with some of +the men about what the horses ought to +bring. + +The auctioneer was a clever fellow. Be- +tween the putting up of the articles, he sang +comic songs, and the funnier the song, the +livelier the bidding that followed. The +horses brought a decent price, and the ma- +chinery a disappointing one; and then, after +a delicious snatch about Nell who rode the +sway-backed mare at the county fair, he +got down to the furniture, -- the furniture +which Jim had bought when he was expect- +ing Annie. + +Jim was walking around with his hands +in his pockets, looking unconcerned, and, +as the furniture began to go off, he came +and sat down in the midst of it. Every +one noticed his indifference. Some of them +said that after all he couldn't have been +very ambitious. He didn't seem to take +his failure much to heart. Every one was +concentrating attention on the cooking- +stove, when Jim leaned forward, quickly, +over a little wicker work-stand. + +There was a bit of unfinished sewing there, +and it fell out as he lifted the cover. It was +a baby's linen shirt. Jim let it lie, and then +lifted from its receptacle a silver thimble. +He put it in his vest-pocket. + +The campaign came on shortly after this, +and Jim Lancy was defeated. "I'm going +to Omaha," said he to the station-master, +"and I've got just enough to buy a ticket +with. There's a kind of satisfaction in giv- +ing the last cent I have to the railroads." + +Two months later, a "plain drunk" was +registered at the station in Nebraska's me- +tropolis. When they searched him they +found nothing in his pockets but a silver +thimble, and Joe Benson, the policeman +who had brought in the "drunk," gave it +to the matron, with his compliments. But +she, when no one noticed, went softly to +where the man was sleeping, and slipped +it back into his pocket, with a sigh. For +she knew somehow -- as women do know +things -- that he had not stolen that thimble. + + + +THE equinoctial line itself is not more +imaginary than the line which divided +the estates of the three Johns. The herds +of the three Johns roamed at will, and +nibbled the short grass far and near without +let or hindrance; and the three Johns them- +selves were utterly indifferent as to boun- +dary lines. Each of them had filed his +application at the office of the government +land-agent; each was engaged in the tedious +task of "proving up;" and each owned +one-third of the L-shaped cabin which stood +at the point where the three ranches touched. +The hundred and sixty acres which would +have completed this quadrangle had not +yet been "taken up." + +The three Johns were not anxious to have +a neighbor. Indeed, they had made up +their minds that if one appeared on that +adjoining "hun'erd an' sixty," it would go +hard with him. For they did not deal in +justice very much -- the three Johns. They +considered it effete. It belonged in the +East along with other outgrown supersti- +tions. And they had given it out widely +that it would be healthier for land applicants +to give them elbow-room. It took a good +many miles of sunburnt prairie to afford +elbow-room for the three Johns. + +They met by accident in Hamilton at the +land-office. John Henderson, fresh from +Cincinnati, manifestly unused to the ways +of the country, looked at John Gillispie with +a lurking smile. Gillispie wore a sombrero, +fresh, white, and expansive. His boots had +high heels, and were of elegant leather and +finely arched at the instep. His corduroys +disappeared in them half-way up the thigh. +About his waist a sash of blue held a laced +shirt of the same color in place. Hender- +son puffed at his cigarette, and continued +to look a trifle quizzical. + +Suddenly Gillispie walked up to him and +said, in a voice of complete suavity, "Damn +yeh, smoke a pipe!" + +"Eh?" said Henderson, stupidly. + +"Smoke a pipe," said the other. "That +thing you have is bad for your complexion." + +"I can take care of my complexion," said +Henderson, firmly. + +The two looked each other straight in the +eye. + +"You don't go on smoking that thing till +you have apologized for that grin you had +on your phiz a moment ago." + +"I laugh when I please, and I smoke +what I please," said Henderson, hotly, his +face flaming as he realized that he was in +for his first "row." + +That was how it began. How it would +have ended is not known -- probably there +would have been only one John -- if it had +not been for the almost miraculous appear- +ance at this moment of the third John. For +just then the two belligerents found them- +selves prostrate, their pistols only half-cocked, +and between them stood a man all gnarled +and squat, like one of those wind-torn oaks +which grow on the arid heights. He was +no older than the others, but the lines in +his face were deep, and his large mouth +twitched as he said: -- + +"Hold on here, yeh fools! There's too +much blood in you to spill. You'll spile +th' floor, and waste good stuff. We need +blood out here!" + +Gillispie bounced to his feet. Henderson +arose suspiciously, keeping his eyes on his +assailants. + +"Oh, get up!" cried the intercessor. +"We don't shoot men hereabouts till they +git on their feet in fightin' trim." + +"What do you know about what we do +here?" interrupted Gillispie. "This is the +first time I ever saw you around." + +"That's so," the other admitted. "I'm +just down from Montana. Came to take up +a quarter section. Where I come from we +give men a show, an' I thought perhaps yeh +did th' same here." + +"Why, yes," admitted Gillispie, "we do. +But I don't want folks to laugh too much +-- not when I'm around -- unless they tell +me what the joke is. I was just mentioning +it to the gentleman," he added, dryly. + +"So I saw," said the other; "you're kind +a emphatic in yer remarks. Yeh ought to +give the gentleman a chance to git used to +the ways of th' country. He'll be as tough +as th' rest of us if you'll give him a chance. +I kin see it in him." + +"Thank you," said Henderson. "I'm +glad you do me justice. I wish you wouldn't +let daylight through me till I've had a chance +to get my quarter section. I'm going to +be one of you, either as a live man or a +corpse. But I prefer a hundred and sixty +acres of land to six feet of it." + +"There, now!" triumphantly cried the +squat man. "Didn't I tell yeh? Give him +a show! 'Tain't no fault of his that he's a +tenderfoot. He'll get over that." + +Gillispie shook hands with first one and +then the other of the men. "It's a square +deal from this on," he said. "Come and +have a drink." + +That's how they met -- John Henderson, +John Gillispie, and John Waite. And a week +later they were putting up a shanty together +for common use, which overlapped each of +their reservations, and satisfied the law with +its sociable subterfuge. + +The life wasn't bad, Henderson decided; +and he adopted all the ways of the country +in an astonishingly short space of time. +There was a freedom about it all which was +certainly complete. The three alternated +in the night watch. Once a week one of +them went to town for provisions. They +were not good at the making of bread, so +they contented themselves with hot cakes. +Then there was salt pork for a staple, and +prunes. They slept in straw-lined bunks, +with warm blankets for a covering. They +made a point of bringing reading-matter +back from town every week, and there were +always cards to fall back on, and Waite sang +songs for them with natural dramatic talent. + +Nevertheless, in spite of their content- +ment, none of them was sorry when the +opportunity offered for going to town. +There was always a bit of stirring gossip to +be picked up, and now and then there was +a "show" at the "opera-house," in which, +it is almost unnecessary to say, no opera +had ever been sung. Then there was the +hotel, at which one not only got good fare, +but a chat with the three daughters of Jim +O'Neal, the proprietor -- girls with the acci- +dent of two Irish parents, who were, not- +withstanding, as typically American as they +well could be. A half-hour's talk with these +cheerful young women was all the more to +be desired for the reason that within riding +distance of the three Johns' ranch there were +only two other women. One was Minerva +Fitch, who had gone out from Michigan +accompanied by an oil-stove and a knowl- +edge of the English grammar, with the +intention of teaching school, but who had +been unable to carry these good intentions +into execution for the reason that there were +no children to teach, -- at least, none but +Bow-legged Joe. He was a sad little fellow, +who looked like a prairie-dog, and who had +very much the same sort of an outlook on life. +The other woman was the brisk and efficient +wife of Mr. Bill Deems, of "Missourah." +Mr. Deems had never in his life done any- +thing, not even so much as bring in a basket +of buffalo chips to supply the scanty fire. +That is to say, he had done nothing strictly +utilitarian. Yet he filled his place. He was +the most accomplished story-teller in the +whole valley, and this accomplishment of his +was held in as high esteem as the improvisa- +tions of a Welsh minstrel were among his +reverencing people. His wife alone depre- +cated his skill, and interrupted his spirited +narratives with sarcastic allusions concerning +the empty cupboard, and the "state of her +back," to which, as she confided to any who +would listen, "there was not a rag fit to wear." + +These two ladies had not, as may be +surmised, any particular attraction for John +Henderson. Truth to tell, Henderson had +not come West with the intention of lik- +ing women, but rather with a determina- +tion to see and think as little of them as +possible. Yet even the most confirmed +misogynist must admit that it is a good +thing to see a woman now and then, and for +this reason Henderson found it amusing to +converse with the amiable Misses O'Neal. +At twenty-five one cannot be unyielding in +one's avoidance of the sex. + +Henderson, with his pony at a fine lope, +was on his way to town one day, in that +comfortable frame of mind adduced by an +absence of any ideas whatever, when he +suddenly became conscious of a shiver that +seemed to run from his legs to the pony, +and back again. The animal gave a startled +leap, and lifted his ears. There was a stir- +ring in the coarse grasses; the sky, which +a moment before had been like sapphire, +dulled with an indescribable grayness. + +Then came a little singing afar off, as if +from a distant convocation of cicadæ, and +before Henderson could guess what it meant, +a cloud of dust was upon him, blinding and +bewildering, pricking with sharp particles +at eyes and nostrils. The pony was an ugly +fellow, and when Henderson felt him put his +forefeet together, he knew what that meant, +and braced himself for the struggle. But it +was useless; he had not yet acquired the +knack of staying on the back of a bucking +bronco, and the next moment he was on +the ground, and around him whirled that +saffron chaos of dust. The temperature +lowered every moment. Henderson in- +stinctively felt that this was but the begin- +ning of the storm. He picked himself up +without useless regrets for his pony, and +made his way on. + +The saffron hue turned to blackness, and +then out of the murk shot a living green +ball of fire, and ploughed into the earth. +Then sheets of water, that seemed to come +simultaneously from earth and sky, swept +the prairie, and in the midst of it struggled +Henderson, weak as a little child, half bereft +of sense by the strange numbness of head +and dullness of eye. Another of those green +balls fell and burst, as it actually appeared +to him, before his horrified eyes, and the +bellow and blare of the explosion made him +cry out in a madness of fright and physical +pain. In the illumination he had seen a +cabin only a few feet in front of him, and +toward it he made frantically, with an ani- +mal's instinctive desire for shelter. + +The door did not yield at once to his +pressure, and in the panic of his fear he +threw his weight against it. There was a +cry from within, a fall, and Henderson flung +himself in the cabin and closed the door. + +In the dusk of the storm he saw a woman +half prostrate. It was she whom he had +pushed from the door. He caught the hook +in its staple, and turned to raise her. She +was not trembling as much as he, but, like +himself, she was dizzy with the shock of +the lightning. In the midst of all the +clamor Henderson heard a shrill crying, and +looking toward the side of the room, he +dimly perceived three tiny forms crouched +in one of the bunks. The woman took the +smallest of the children in her arms, and +kissed and soothed it; and Henderson, after +he had thrown a blanket at the bottom of +the door to keep out the drifting rain, sat +with his back to it, bracing it against the +wind, lest the frail staple should give way. +He managed some way to reach out and lay +hold of the other little ones, and got them +in his arms, -- a boy, so tiny he seemed +hardly human, and a girl somewhat sturdier. +They cuddled in his arms, and clutched his +clothes with their frantic little hands, and +the three sat so while the earth and the +heavens seemed to be meeting in angry +combat. + +And back and forth, back and forth, in +the dimness swayed the body of the woman, +hushing her babe. + +Almost as suddenly as the darkness had +fallen, it lifted. The lightning ceased to +threaten, and almost frolicked, -- little way- +ward flashes of white and yellow dancing +in mid-air. The wind wailed less frequently, +like a child who sobs in its sleep. And at +last Henderson could make his voice heard. + +"Is there anything to build a fire with?" +he shouted. "The children are shiver- +ing so." + +The woman pointed to a basket of buffalo +chips in the corner, and he wrapped his +little companions up in a blanket while he +made a fire in the cooking-stove. The baby +was sleeping by this time, and the woman +began tidying the cabin, and when the +fire was burning brightly, she put some +coffee on. + +"I wish I had some clothes to offer you," +she said, when the wind had subsided suffi- +ciently to make talking possible. "I'm +afraid you'll have to let them get dry on you." + +"Oh, that's of no consequence at all! +We're lucky to get off with our lives. I +never saw anything so terrible. Fancy! +half an hour ago it was summer; now it is +winter!" + +"It seems rather sudden when you're not +used to it," the woman admitted. "I've +lived in the West six years now; you can't +frighten me any more. We never die out +here before our time comes." + +"You seem to know that I haven't been +here long," said Henderson, with some +chagrin. + +"Yes," admitted the woman; "you have +the ear-marks of a man from the East." + +She was a tall woman, with large blue +eyes, and a remarkable quantity of yellow +hair braided on top of her head. Her gown +was of calico, of such a pattern as a widow +might wear. + +"I haven't been out of town a week yet," +she said. "We're not half settled. Not +having any one to help makes it harder; +and the baby is rather fretful." + +"But you're not alone with all these little +codgers?" cried Henderson, in dismay. + +The woman turned toward him with a sort +of defiance. "Yes, I am," she said; "and +I'm as strong as a horse, and I mean to get +through all right. Here were the three +children in my arms, you may say, and no +way to get in a cent. I wasn't going to +stand it just to please other folk. I said, +let them talk if they want to, but I'm going +to hold down a claim, and be accumulating +something while the children are getting up +a bit. Oh, I'm not afraid!" + +In spite of this bold assertion of bravery, +there was a sort of break in her voice. She +was putting dishes on the table as she talked, +and turned some ham in the skillet, and got +the children up before the fire, and dropped +some eggs in water, -- all with a rapidity that +bewildered Henderson. + +"How long have you been alone?" he +asked, softly. + +"Three months before baby was born, +and he's five months old now. I -- I -- you +think I can get on here, don't you? There +was nothing else to do." + +She was folding another blanket over the +sleeping baby now, and the action brought +to her guest the recollection of a thousand +tender moments of his dimly remembered +youth. + +"You'll get on if we have anything to do +with it," he cried, suppressing an oath with +difficulty, just from pure emotion. + +And he told her about the three Johns' +ranch, and found it was only three miles +distant, and that both were on the same +road; only her cabin, having been put up +during the past week, had of course been +unknown to him. So it ended in a sort of +compact that they were to help each other +in such ways as they could. Meanwhile the +fire got genial, and the coffee filled the cabin +with its comfortable scent, and all of them +ate together quite merrily, Henderson cut- +ting up the ham for the youngsters; and he +told how he chanced to come out; and she +entertained him with stories of what she +thought at first when she was brought a +bride to Hamilton, the adjacent village, and +convulsed him with stories of the people, +whom she saw with humorous eyes. + +Henderson marvelled how she could in +those few minutes have rescued the cabin +from the desolation in which the storm had +plunged it. Out of the window he could +see the stricken grasses dripping cold moist- +ure, and the sky still angrily plunging for- +ward like a disturbed sea. Not a tree or a +house broke the view. The desolation of it +swept over him as it never had before. But +within the little ones were chattering to +themselves in odd baby dialect, and the +mother was laughing with them. + +"Women aren't always useless," she said, +at parting; "and you tell your chums that +when they get hungry for a slice of home- +made bread they can get it here. And the +next time they go by, I want them to stop +in and look at the children. It'll do them +good. They may think they won't enjoy +themselves, but they will." + +"Oh, I'll answer for that!" cried he, +shaking hands with her. "I'll tell them we +have just the right sort of a neighbor." + +"Thank you," said she, heartily. "And +you may tell them that her name is Cathe- +rine Ford." + +Once at home, he told his story. + +"H'm!" said Gillispie, "I guess I'll have +to go to town myself to-morrow." + +Henderson looked at him blackly. "She's +a woman alone, Gillispie," said he, severely, +"trying to make her way with handicaps -- " + +"Shet up, can't ye, ye darned fool?" +roared Gillispie. "What do yeh take me +fur?" + +Waite was putting on his rubber coat +preparatory to going out for his night with +the cattle. "Guess you're makin' a mistake, +my boy," he said, gently. "There ain't no +danger of any woman bein' treated rude in +these parts." + +"I know it, by Jove!" cried Henderson, +in quick contriteness. + +"All right," grunted Gillispie, in tacit +acceptance of this apology. "I guess you +thought you was in civilized parts." + +Two days after this Waite came in late +to his supper. "Well, I seen her," he +announced. + +"Oh! did you?" cried Henderson, know- +ing perfectly well whom he meant. "What +was she doing?" + +"Killin' snakes, b'gosh! She says th' +baby's crazy fur um, an' so she takes aroun' +a hoe on her shoulder wherever she goes, +an' when she sees a snake, she has it out +with 'im then an' there. I says to 'er, 'Yer +don't expec' t' git all th' snakes outen this +here country, d' yeh?' 'Well,' she says, +'I'm as good a man as St. Patrick any day.' +She is a jolly one, Henderson. She tuk +me in an' showed me th' kids, and give me +a loaf of gingerbread to bring home. Here +it is; see?" + +"Hu!" said Gillispie. "I'm not in it." +But for all of his scorn he was not above +eating the gingerbread. + +It was gardening time, and the three +Johns were putting in every spare moment +in the little paling made of willow twigs +behind the house. It was little enough +time they had, though, for the cattle were +new to each other and to the country, and +they were hard to manage. It was generally +conceded that Waite had a genius for herd- +ing, and he could take the "mad" out of a +fractious animal in a way that the others +looked on as little less than superhuman. +Thus it was that one day, when the clay had +been well turned, and the seeds arranged on +the kitchen table, and all things prepared +for an afternoon of busy planting, that Waite +and Henderson, who were needed out with +the cattle, felt no little irritation at the inex- +plicable absence of Gillispie, who was to +look after the garden. It was quite night- +fall when he at last returned. Supper was +ready, although it had been Gillispie's turn +to prepare it. + +Henderson was sore from his saddle, and +cross at having to do more than his share +of the work. "Damn yeh!" he cried, as +Gillispie appeared. "Where yeh been?" + +"Making garden," responded Gillispie, +slowly. + +"Making garden!" Henderson indulged +in some more harmless oaths. + +Just then Gillispie drew from under his +coat a large and friendly looking apple-pie. +"Yes," he said, with emphasis; "I've bin +a-makin' garden fur Mis' Ford." + +And so it came about that the three Johns +knew her and served her, and that she never +had a need that they were not ready to +supply if they could. Not one of them +would have thought of going to town with- +out stopping to inquire what was needed +at the village. As for Catherine Ford, she +was fighting her way with native pluck and +maternal unselfishness. If she had feared +solitude she did not suffer from it. The +activity of her life stifled her fresh sorrow. +She was pleasantly excited by the rumors +that a railroad was soon to be built near the +place, which would raise the value of the +claim she was "holding down" many thou- +sand dollars. + +It is marvellous how sorrow shrinks when +one is very healthy and very much occupied. +Although poverty was her close companion, +Catherine had no thought of it in this prim- +itive manner of living. She had come out +there, with the independence and determi- +nation of a Western woman, for the purpose +of living at the least possible expense, and +making the most she could while the baby +was "getting out of her arms." That process +has its pleasures, which every mother feels +in spite of burdens, and the mind is happily +dulled by nature's merciful provision. With +a little child tugging at the breast, care and +fret vanish, not because of the happiness +so much as because of a certain mammal +complacency, which is not at all intellectual, +but serves its purpose better than the pro- +foundest method of reasoning. + +So without any very unbearable misery at +her recent widowhood, this healthy young +woman worked in field and house, cared for +her little ones, milked the two cows out in +the corral, sewed, sang, rode, baked, and +was happy for very wholesomeness. Some- +times she reproached herself that she was +not more miserable, remembering that long +grave back in the unkempt little prairie +cemetery, and she sat down to coax her +sorrow into proper prominence. But the +baby cooing at her from its bunk, the low +of the cattle from the corral begging her to +relieve their heavy bags, the familiar call +of one of her neighbors from without, even +the burning sky of the summer dawns, broke +the spell of this conjured sorrow, and in +spite of herself she was again a very hearty +and happy young woman. Besides, if one +has a liking for comedy, it is impossible to +be dull on a Nebraska prairie. The people +are a merrier divertissement than the theatre +with its hackneyed stories. Catherine Ford +laughed a good deal, and she took the three +Johns into her confidence, and they laughed +with her. There was Minerva Fitch, who +insisted on coming over to tell Catherine +how to raise her children, and who was +almost offended that the children wouldn't +die of sunstroke when she predicted. And +there was Bob Ackerman, who had inflam- +matory rheumatism and a Past, and who +confided the latter to Mrs. Ford while she +doctored the former with homoeopathic +medicines. And there were all the strange +visionaries who came out prospecting, and +quite naturally drifted to Mrs. Ford's cabin +for a meal, and paid her in compliments of +a peculiarly Western type. And there were +the three Johns themselves. Catherine con- +sidered it no treason to laugh at them a +little. + +Yet at Waite she did not laugh much. +There had come to be something pathetic in +the constant service he rendered her. The +beginning of his more particular devotion +had started in a particular way. Malaria +was very bad in the country. It had carried +off some of the most vigorous on the prairie, +and twice that summer Catherine herself had +laid out the cold forms of her neighbors on +ironing-boards, and, with the assistance of +Bill Deems of Missourah, had read the +burial service over them. She had averted +several other fatal runs of fever by the con- +tents of her little medicine-case. These +remedies she dealt out with an intelligence +that astonished her patients, until it was +learned that she was studying medicine at +the time that she met her late husband, and +was persuaded to assume the responsibilities +of matrimony instead of those of the medi- +cal profession. + +One day in midsummer, when the sun +was focussing itself on the raw pine boards +of her shanty, and Catherine had the shades +drawn for coolness and the water-pitcher +swathed in wet rags, East Indian fashion, +she heard the familiar halloo of Waite down +the road. This greeting, which was usually +sent to her from the point where the dip- +ping road lifted itself into the first view of +the house, did not contain its usual note of +cheerfulness. Catherine, wiping her hands +on her checked apron, ran out to wave a +welcome; and Waite, his squat body looking +more distorted than ever, his huge shoulders +lurching as he walked, came fairly plung- +ing down the hill. + +"It's all up with Henderson!" he cried, +as Catherine approached. "He's got the +malery, an' he says he's dyin'." + +"That's no sign he's dying, because he +says so," retorted Catherine. + +"He wants to see yeh," panted Waite, +mopping his big ugly head. "I think he's +got somethin' particular to say." + +"How long has he been down?" + +"Three days; an' yeh wouldn't know +'im." + +The children were playing on the floor at +that side of the house where it was least +hot. Catherine poured out three bowls of +milk, and cut some bread, meanwhile telling +Kitty how to feed the baby. + +"She's a sensible thing, is the little +daughter," said Catherine, as she tied on +her sunbonnet and packed a little basket +with things from the cupboard. She kissed +the babies tenderly, flung her hoe -- her +only weapon of defence -- over her shoulder, +and the two started off. + +They did not speak, for their throats were +soon too parched. The prairie was burned +brown with the sun; the grasses curled as +if they had been on a gridiron. A strong +wind was blowing; but it brought no com- +fort, for it was heavy with a scorching heat. +The skin smarted and blistered under it, and +the eyes felt as if they were filled with sand. +The sun seemed to swing but a little way +above the earth, and though the sky was +intensest blue, around about this burning +ball there was a halo of copper, as if the +very ether were being consumed in yellow +fire. + +Waite put some big burdock-leaves on +Catherine's head under her bonnet, and now +and then he took a bottle of water from his +pocket and made her swallow a mouthful. +She staggered often as she walked, and the +road was black before her. Still, it was not +very long before the oddly shaped shack of +the three Johns came in sight; and as he +caught a glimpse of it, Waite quickened his +footsteps. + +"What if he should be gone?" he said, +under his breath. + +"Oh, come off!" said Catherine, angrily. +"He's not gone. You make me tired!" + +But she was trembling when she stopped +just before the door to compose herself for +a moment. Indeed, she trembled so very +much that Waite put out his sprawling hand +to steady her. She gently felt the pressure +tightening, and Waite whispered in her ear: + +"I guess I'd stand by him as well as any- +body, excep' you, Mis' Ford. He's been +my bes' friend. But I guess you like him +better, eh?" + +Catherine raised her finger. She could +hear Henderson's voice within; it was +pitiably querulous. He was half sitting up +in his bunk, and Gillispie had just handed +him a plate on which two cakes were swim- +ming in black molasses and pork gravy. +Henderson looked at it a moment; then +over his face came a look of utter despair. +He dropped his head in his arms and broke +into uncontrolled crying. + +"Oh, my God, Gillispie," he sobbed, "I +shall die out here in this wretched hole! I +want my mother. Great God, Gillispie, am +I going to die without ever seeing my +mother?" + +Gillispie, maddened at this anguish, which +he could in no way alleviate, sought comfort +by first lighting his pipe and then taking his +revolver out of his hip-pocket and playing +with it. Henderson continued to shake with +sobs, and Catherine, who had never before +in her life heard a man cry, leaned against +the door for a moment to gather courage. +Then she ran into the house quickly, laugh- +ing as she came. She took Henderson's +arms away from his face and laid him back +on the pillow, and she stooped over him +and kissed his forehead in the most matter- +of-fact way. + +"That's what your mother would do if she +were here," she cried, merrily. "Where's +the water?" + +She washed his face and hands a long +time, till they were cool and his convulsive +sobs had ceased. Then she took a slice of +thin bread from her basket and a spoonful +of amber jelly. She beat an egg into some +milk and dropped a little liquor within it, +and served them together on the first clean +napkin that had been in the cabin of the +three Johns since it was built + +At this the great fool on the bed cried +again, only quietly, tears of weak happi- +ness running from his feverish eyes. And +Catherine straightened the disorderly cabin. +She came every day for two weeks, and by +that time Henderson, very uncertain as to the +strength of his legs, but once more accoutred +in his native pluck, sat up in a chair, for +which she had made clean soft cushions, +writing a letter to his mother. The floor +was scrubbed; the cabin had taken to itself +cupboards made of packing-boxes; it had +clothes-presses and shelves; curtains at the +windows; boxes for all sort of necessaries, +from flour to tobacco; and a cook-book on +the wall, with an inscription within which +was more appropriate than respectful. + +The day that she announced that she +would have no further call to come back, +Waite, who was looking after the house +while Gillispie was afield, made a little +speech. + +"After this here," he said, "we four +stands er falls together. Now look here, +there's lots of things can happen to a person +on this cussed praira, and no one be none +th' wiser. So see here, Mis' Ford, every +night one of us is a-goin' to th' roof of this +shack. From there we can see your place. +If anything is th' matter -- it don't signify +how little er how big -- you hang a lantern +on th' stick that I'll put alongside th' house +to-morrow. Yeh can h'ist th' light up with +a string, and every mornin' before we go +out we'll look too, and a white rag'll bring us +quick as we can git there. We don't say +nothin' about what we owe yeh, fur that +ain't our way, but we sticks to each other +from this on." + +Catherine's eyes were moist. She looked +at Henderson. His face had no expression +in it at all. He did not even say good-by +to her, and she turned, with the tears sud- +denly dried under her lids, and walked +down the road in the twilight. + +Weeks went by, and though Gillispie and +Waite were often at Catherine's, Henderson +never came. Gillispie gave it out as his +opinion that Henderson was an ungrateful +puppy; but Waite said nothing. This +strange man, who seemed like a mere unto- +ward accident of nature, had changed dur- +ing the summer. His big ill-shaped body +had grown more gaunt; his deep-set gray +eyes had sunk deeper; the gentleness which +had distinguished him even on the wild +ranges of Montana became more marked. +Late in August he volunteered to take on +himself the entire charge of the night +watch. + +"It's nicer to be out at night," he said +to Catherine. "Then you don't keep look- +ing off at things; you can look inside;" and +he struck his breast with his splay hand. + +Cattle are timorous under the stars. The +vastness of the plains, the sweep of the wind +under the unbroken arch, frighten them; +they are made for the close comforts of the +barn-yard; and the apprehension is con- +tagious, as every ranchman knows. Waite +realized the need of becoming good friends +with his animals. Night after night, riding +up and down in the twilight of the stars, or +dozing, rolled in his blanket, in the shelter +of a knoll, he would hear a low roar; it +was the cry of the alarmist. Then from +every direction the cattle would rise with +trembling awkwardness on their knees, and +answer, giving out sullen bellowings. Some +of them would begin to move from place to +place, spreading the baseless alarm, and +then came the time for action, else over the +plain in mere fruitless frenzy would go the +whole frantic band, lashed to madness by +their own fears, trampling each other, heed- +less of any obstacle, in pitiable, deadly rout. +Waite knew the premonitory signs well, and +at the first warning bellow he was on his +feet, alert and determined, his energy +nerved for a struggle in which he always +conquered. + +Waite had a secret which he told to none, +knowing, in his unanalytical fashion, that it +would not be believed in. But soon as ever +the dark heads of the cattle began to lift +themselves, he sent a resonant voice out +into the stillness. The songs he sang were +hymns, and he made them into a sort of +imperative lullaby. Waite let his lungs +and soul fill with the breath of the night; +he gave himself up to the exaltation of +mastering those trembling brutes. Mount- +ing, melodious, with even and powerful +swing he let his full notes fall on the air +in the confidence of power, and one by one +the reassured cattle would lie down again, +lowing in soft contentment, and so fall +asleep with noses stretched out in mute +attention, till their presence could hardly +be guessed except for the sweet aroma of +their cuds. + One night in the early dusk, he saw Cath- +erine Ford hastening across the prairie with +Bill Deems. He sent a halloo out to them, +which they both answered as they ran on. +Waite knew on what errand of mercy Cath- +erine was bent, and he thought of the chil- +dren over at the cabin alone. The cattle +were quiet, the night beautiful, and he con- +cluded that it was safe enough, since he was +on his pony, to ride down there about mid- +night and see that the little ones were safe. + +The dark sky, pricked with points of in- +tensest light, hung over him so beneficently +that in his heart there leaped a joy which +even his ever-present sorrow could not dis- +turb. This sorrow Waite openly admitted +not only to himself, but to others. He had +said to Catherine: "You see, I'll always hev +to love yeh. An' yeh'll not git cross with +me; I'm not goin' to be in th' way." And +Catherine had told him, with tears in her +eyes, that his love could never be but a com- +fort to any woman. And these words, which +the poor fellow had in no sense mistaken, +comforted him always, became part of his +joy as he rode there, under those piercing +stars, to look after her little ones. He found +them sleeping in their bunks, the baby tight +in Kitty's arms, the little boy above them in +the upper bunk, with his hand in the long +hair of his brown spaniel. Waite softly +kissed each of them, so Kitty, who was half +waking, told her mother afterwards, and +then, bethinking him that Catherine might +not be able to return in time for their break- +fast, found the milk and bread, and set it for +them on the table. Catherine had been +writing, and her unfinished letter lay open +beside the ink. He took up the pen and +wrote, + +"The childdren was all asleep at twelv. + +"J. W." + + +He had not more than got on his pony +again before he heard an ominous sound +that made his heart leap. It was a frantic +dull pounding of hoofs. He knew in a +second what it meant. There was a stam- +pede among the cattle. If the animals had +all been his, he would not have lost his sense +of judgment. But the realization that he +had voluntarily undertaken the care of them, +and that the larger part of them belonged +to his friends, put him in a passion of appre- +hension that, as a ranchman, was almost in- +explicable. He did the very thing of all +others that no cattle-man in his right senses +would think of doing. Gillispie and Hender- +son, talking it over afterward, were never +able to understand it. It is possible -- just +barely possible -- that Waite, still drunk on +his solitary dreams, knew what he was doing, +and chose to bring his little chapter to an +end while the lines were pleasant. At any +rate, he rode straight forward, shouting and +waving his arms in an insane endeavor to +head off that frantic mob. The noise woke +the children, and they peered from the +window as the pawing and bellowing herd +plunged by, trampling the young steers +under their feet. + +In the early morning, Catherine Ford, spent +both in mind and body, came walking slowly +home. In her heart was a prayer of thanks- +giving. Mary Deems lay sleeping back in +her comfortless shack, with her little son by +her side. + +"The wonder of God is in it," said Cath- +erine to herself as she walked home. "All +the ministers of all the world could not have +preached me such a sermon as I've had +to-night." + +So dim had been the light and so per- +turbed her mind that she had not noticed +how torn and trampled was the road. But +suddenly a bulk in her pathway startled her. +It was the dead and mangled body of a steer. +She stooped over it to read the brand on its +flank. "It's one of the three Johns'," she +cried out, looking anxiously about her. +"How could that have happened?" + +The direction which the cattle had taken +was toward her house, and she hastened +homeward. And not a quarter of a mile +from her door she found the body of Waite +beside that of his pony, crushed out of its +familiar form into something unspeakably +shapeless. In her excitement she half +dragged, half carried that mutilated body +home, and then ran up her signal of alarm +on the stick that Waite himself had erected +for her convenience. She thought it would +be a long time before any one reached her, +but she had hardly had time to bathe the +disfigured face and straighten the disfigured +body before Henderson was pounding at her +door. Outside stood his pony panting from +its terrific exertions. Henderson had not +seen her before for six weeks. Now he +stared at her with frightened eyes. + +"What is it? What is it?" he cried. +"What has happened to you, my -- my +love?" + +At least afterward, thinking it over as she +worked by day or tossed in her narrow bunk +at night, it seemed to Catherine that those +were the words he spoke. Yet she could +never feel sure; nothing in his manner after +that justified the impassioned anxiety of his +manner in those first few uncertain moments; +for a second later he saw the body of his +friend and learned the little that Catherine +knew. They buried him the next day in a +little hollow where there was a spring and +some wild aspens. + +"He never liked the prairie," Catherine +said, when she selected the spot. "And I +want him to lie as sheltered as possible." + +After he had been laid at rest, and she +was back, busy with tidying her neglected +shack, she fell to crying so that the children +were scared. + +"There's no one left to care what becomes +of us," she told them, bitterly. "We might +starve out here for all that any one cares." + +And all through the night her tears fell, +and she told herself that they were all for the +man whose last thought was for her and her +babies; she told herself over and over again +that her tears were all for him. After this +the autumn began to hurry on, and the snow +fell capriciously, days of biting cold giving +place to retrospective glances at summer. +The last of the vegetables were taken out of +the garden and buried in the cellar; and a +few tons of coal -- dear almost as diamonds +-- were brought out to provide against the +severest weather. Ordinarily buffalo chips +were the fuel. Catherine was alarmed at +the way her wretched little store of money +began to vanish. The baby was fretful with +its teething, and was really more care than +when she nursed it. The days shortened, +and it seemed to her that she was forever +working by lamp-light The prairies were +brown and forbidding, the sky often a mere +gray pall. The monotony of the life began +to seem terrible. Sometimes her ears ached +for a sound. For a time in the summer so +many had seemed to need her that she had +been happy in spite of her poverty and her +loneliness. Now, suddenly, no one wanted +her. She could find no source of inspiration. +She wondered how she was going to live +through the winter, and keep her patience +and her good-nature. + +"You'll love me," she said, almost fiercely, +one night to the children -- "you'll love +mamma, no matter how cross and homely +she gets, won't you?" + +The cold grew day by day. A strong +winter was setting in. Catherine took up +her study of medicine again, and sat over +her books till midnight. It occurred to her +that she might fit herself for nursing by +spring, and that the children could be put +with some one -- she did not dare to think +with whom. But this was the only solution +she could find to her problem of existence. + +November settled down drearily. Few +passed the shack. Catherine, who had no +one to speak with excepting the children, +continually devised amusements for them. +They got to living in a world of fantasy, +and were never themselves, but always wild +Indians, or arctic explorers, or Robinson +Crusoes. Kitty and Roderick, young as +they were, found a never-ending source of +amusement in these little grotesque dreams +and dramas. The fund of money was get- +ting so low that Catherine was obliged to +economize even in the necessities. If it had +not been for her two cows, she would hardly +have known how to find food for her little +ones. But she had a wonderful way of mak- +ing things with eggs and milk, and she kept +her little table always inviting. The day +before Thanksgiving she determined that +they should all have a frolic. + +"By Christmas," she said to Kitty, "the +snow may be so bad that I cannot get +to town. We'll have our high old time +now." + +There is no denying that Catherine used +slang even in talking to the children. The +little pony had been sold long ago, and +going to town meant a walk of twelve miles. +But Catherine started out early in the +morning, and was back by nightfall, not +so very much the worse, and carrying in +her arms bundles which might have fatigued +a bronco. + +The next morning she was up early, and +was as happy and ridiculously excited over +the prospect of the day's merrymaking as +if she had been Kitty. Busy as she was, +she noticed a peculiar oppression in the air, +which intensified as the day went on. The +sky seemed to hang but a little way above +the rolling stretch of frost-bitten grass. But +Kitty laughing over her new doll, Roderick +startling the sullen silence with his drum, +the smell of the chicken, slaughtered to +make a prairie holiday, browning in the +oven, drove all apprehensions from Cath- +erine's mind. She was a common creature. +Such very little things could make her happy. +She sang as she worked; and what with the +drumming of her boy, and the little exulting +shrieks of her baby, the shack was filled with +a deafening and exhilarating din. + +It was a little past noon, when she became +conscious that there was sweeping down on +her a gray sheet of snow and ice, and not +till then did she realize what those lowering +clouds had signified. For one moment she +stood half paralyzed. She thought of every- +thing, -- of the cattle, of the chance for being +buried in this drift, of the stock of provi- +sions, of the power of endurance of the +children. While she was still thinking, the +first ice-needles of the blizzard came pepper- +ing the windows. The cattle ran bellowing +to the lee side of the house and crouched +there, and the chickens scurried for the coop. +Catherine seized such blankets and bits of +carpet as she could find, and crammed them +at windows and doors. Then she piled coal +on the fire, and clothed the children in all +they had that was warmest, their out-door gar- +ments included; and with them close about +her, she sat and waited. The wind seemed +to push steadily at the walls of the house. +The howling became horrible. She could +see that the children were crying with fright, +but she could not hear them. The air was +dusky; the cold, in spite of the fire, intol- +erable. In every crevice of the wretched +structure the ice and snow made their way. +It came through the roof, and began piling +up in little pointed strips under the crevices. +Catherine put the children all together in +one bunk, covered them with all the bed- +clothes she had, and then stood before them +defiantly, facing the west, from whence the +wind was driving. Not suddenly, but by +steady pressure, at length the window-sash +yielded, and the next moment that whirlwind +was in the house, -- a maddening tumult of +ice and wind, leaving no room for resistance; +a killing cold, against which it was futile to +fight. Catherine threw the bedclothes over +the heads of the children, and then threw +herself across the bunk, gasping and chok- +ing for breath. Her body would not have +yielded to the suffering yet, so strongly +made and sustained was it; but her dismay +stifled her. She saw in one horrified moment +the frozen forms of her babies, now so pink +and pleasant to the sense; and oblivion came +to save her from further misery. + +She was alive -- just barely alive -- when +Gillispie and Henderson got there, three +hours later, the very balls of their eyes +almost frozen into blindness. But for an +instinct stronger than reason they would +never have been able to have found their +way across that trackless stretch. The chil- +dren lying unconscious under their coverings +were neither dead nor actually frozen, al- +though the men putting their hands on their +little hearts could not at first discover the +beating. Stiff and suffering as these young +fellows were, it was no easy matter to get +the window back into place and re-light the +fire. They had tied flasks of liquor about +their waists; and this beneficent fluid they +used with that sense of appreciation which +only a pioneer can feel toward whiskey. It +was hours before Catherine rewarded them +with a gleam of consciousness. Her body +had been frozen in many places. Her arms, +outstretched over her children and holding +the clothes down about them, were rigid. +But consciousness came at length, dimly +struggling up through her brain; and over +her she saw her friends rubbing and rubbing +those strong firm arms of hers with snow. + +She half raised her head, with a horror of +comprehension in her eyes, and listened. A +cry answered her, -- a cry of dull pain from +the baby. Henderson dropped on his knees +beside her. + +"They are all safe," he said. "And we +will never leave you again. I have been +afraid to tell you how I love you. I thought +I might offend you. I thought I ought to +wait -- you know why. But I will never let +you run the risks of this awful life alone +again. You must rename the baby. From +this day his name is John. And we will +have the three Johns again back at the old +ranch. It doesn't matter whether you love +me or not, Catherine, I am going to take +care of you just the same. Gillispie agrees +with me." + +"Damme, yes," muttered Gillispie, feeling +of his hip-pocket for consolation in his old +manner. + +Catherine struggled to find her voice, but +it would not come. + +"Do not speak," whispered John. "Tell +me with your eyes whether you will come +as my wife or only as our sister." + +Catherine told him. + +"This is Thanksgiving day," said he. +"And we don't know much about praying, +but I guess we all have something in our +hearts that does just as well." + +"Damme, yes," said Gillispie, again, as +he pensively cocked and uncocked his re- +volver. + + + + +A Resuscitation + +AFTER being dead twenty years, he +walked out into the sunshine. + +It was as if the bones of a bleached skele- +ton should join themselves on some forgotten +plain, and look about them for the vanished +flesh. + +To be dead it is not necessary to be in +the grave. There are places where the +worms creep about the heart instead of the +body. + +The penitentiary is one of these. +David Culross had been in the penitentiary +twenty years. Now, with that worm-eaten +heart, he came out into liberty and looked +about him for the habiliments with which +he had formerly clothed himself, -- for +hope, self-respect, courage, pugnacity, and +industry. + +But they had vanished and left no trace, +like the flesh of the dead men on the plains, +and so, morally unapparelled, in the hideous +skeleton of his manhood, he walked on down +the street under the mid-June sunshine. + +You can understand, can you not, how a +skeleton might wish to get back into its +comfortable grave? David Culross had not +walked two blocks before he was seized +with an almost uncontrollable desire to beg +to be shielded once more in that safe and +shameful retreat from which he had just +been released. A horrible perception of the +largeness of the world swept over him. +Space and eternity could seem no larger +to the usual man than earth -- that snug +and insignificant planet -- looked to David +Culross. + +"If I go back," he cried, despairingly, +looking up to the great building that arose +above the stony hills, "they will not take +me in." He was absolutely without a refuge, +utterly without a destination; he did not +have a hope. There was nothing he desired +except the surrounding of those four narrow +walls between which he had lain at night +and dreamed those ever-recurring dreams, -- +dreams which were never prophecies or +promises, but always the hackneyed history +of what he had sacrificed by his crime, and +relinquished by his pride. + +The men who passed him looked at him +with mingled amusement and pity. They +knew the "prison look," and they knew the +prison clothes. For though the State gives +to its discharged convicts clothes which are +like those of other men, it makes a hundred +suits from the same sort of cloth. The +police know the fabric, and even the citizens +recognize it. But, then, were each man +dressed in different garb he could not be +disguised. Every one knows in what dull +school that sidelong glance is learned, that +aimless drooping of the shoulders, that +rhythmic lifting of the heavy foot. + +David Culross wondered if his will were +dead. He put it to the test. He lifted up +his head to a position which it had not held +for many miserable years. He put his hands +in his pockets in a pitiful attempt at non- +chalance, and walked down the street with +a step which was meant to be brisk, but +which was in fact only uncertain. In his +pocket were ten dollars. This much the +State equips a man with when it sends him +out of its penal halls. It gives him also +transportation to any point within reasonable +distance that he may desire to reach. Cul- +ross had requested a ticket to Chicago. He +naturally said Chicago. In the long color- +less days it had been in Chicago that all +those endlessly repeated scenes had been +laid. Walking up the street now with that +wavering ineffectual gait, these scenes came +back to surge in his brain like waters cease- +lessly tossed in a wind-swept basin. + +There was the office, bare and clean, where +the young stoop-shouldered clerks sat writ- +ing. In their faces was a strange resem- +blance, just as there was in the backs of the +ledgers, and in the endless bills on the +spindles. If one of them laughed, it was +not with gayety, but with gratification at +the discomfiture of another. None of them +ate well. None of them were rested after +sleep. All of them rode on the stuffy one- +horse cars to and from their work. Sun- +days they lay in bed very late, and ate more +dinner than they could digest. There was +a certain fellowship among them, -- such fel- +lowship as a band of captives among canni- +bals might feel, each of them waiting with +vital curiosity to see who was the next to be +eaten. But of that fellowship that plans in +unison, suffers in sympathy, enjoys vicari- +ously, strengthens into friendship and com- +munion of soul they knew nothing. Indeed, +such camaraderie would have been disap- +proved of by the Head Clerk. He would +have looked on an emotion with exactly the +same displeasure that he would on an error +in the footing of the year's accounts. It was +tacitly understood that one reached the +proud position of Head Clerk by having no +emotions whatever. + +Culross did not remember having been +born with a pen in his hand, or even with one +behind his ear; but certainly from the day he +had been let out of knickerbockers his con- +stant companion had been that greatly over- +estimated article. His father dying at a time +that cut short David's school-days, he went +out armed with his new knowledge of double- +entry, determined to make a fortune and a +commercial name. Meantime, he lived in a +suite of three rooms on West Madison Street +with his mother, who was a good woman, +and lived where she did that she might +be near her favorite meeting-house. She +prayed, and cooked bad dinners, principally +composed of dispiriting pastry. Her idea +of house-keeping was to keep the shades +down, whatever happened; and when David +left home in the evening for any purpose of +pleasure, she wept. David persuaded him- +self that he despised amusement, and went +to bed each night at half-past nine in a +folding bedstead in the front room, and, by +becoming absolutely stolid from mere vege- +tation, imagined that he was almost fit to be +a Head Clerk. + +Walking down the street now after the +twenty years, thinking of these dead but inno- +cent days, this was the picture he saw; and as +he reflected upon it, even the despoiled and +desolate years just passed seemed richer by +contrast. + +He reached the station thus dreaming, and +found, as he had been told when the warden +bade him good-by, that a train was to be at +hand directly bound to the city. A few +moments later he was on that train. Well +back in the shadow, and out of sight of the +other passengers, he gave himself up to the +enjoyment of the comfortable cushion. He +would willingly have looked from the win- +dow, -- green fields were new and wonderful; +drifting clouds a marvel; men, houses, horses, +farms, all a revelation, -- but those haunting +visions were at him again, and would not +leave brain or eye free for other things. + +But the next scene had warmer tints. It +was the interior of a rich room, -- crimson +and amber fabrics, flowers, the gleam of a +statue beyond the drapings; the sound of a +tender piano unflinging a familiar melody, +and a woman. She was just a part of all the +luxury. + +He himself, very timid and conscious of +his awkwardness, sat near, trying barrenly +to get some of his thoughts out of his brain +on to his tongue. + +"Strange, isn't it," the woman broke in +on her own music, "that we have seen each +other so very often and never spoken? I've +often thought introductions were ridiculous. +Fancy seeing a person year in and year +out, and really knowing all about him, and +being perfectly acquainted with his name +-- at least his or her name, you know -- and +then never speaking! Some one comes +along, and says, 'Miss Le Baron, this is Mr. +Culross,' just as if one didn't know that all +the time! And there you are! You cease +to be dumb folks, and fall to talking, and +say a lot of things neither of you care about, +and after five or six weeks of time and sun- +dry meetings, get down to honestly saying +what you mean. I'm so glad we've got +through with that first stage, and can say +what we think and tell what we really like." + +Then the playing began again, -- a harp- +like intermingling of soft sounds. Zoe Le +Baron's hands were very girlish. Every- +thing about her was unformed. Even her +mind was so. But all promised a full com- +pletion. The voice, the shoulders, the smile, +the words, the lips, the arms, the whole +mind and body, were rounding to maturity. + +"Why do you never come to church in +the morning?" asks Miss Le Baron, wheel- +ing around on her piano-stool suddenly. +"You are only there at night, with your +mother." + +"I go only on her account," replies David, +truthfully. "In the morning I am so tired +with the week's work that I rest at home. +I ought to go, I know." + +"Yes, you ought," returns the young +woman, gravely. "It doesn't really rest +one to lie in bed like that. I've tried it at +boarding-school. It was no good whatever." + +"Should you advise me," asks David, +in a confiding tone, "to arise early on +Sunday?" + +The girl blushes a little. "By all means!" +she cries, her eyes twinkling, "and -- and +come to church. Our morning sermons are +really very much better than those in the +evening." And she plays a waltz, and what +with the music and the warmth of the room +and the perfume of the roses, a something +nameless and mystical steals over the poor +clerk, and swathes him about like the fumes +of opium. They are alone. The silence is +made deeper by that rhythmic unswelling +of sound. As the painter flushes the bare +wall into splendor, these emotions illumi- +nated his soul, and gave to it that high cour- +age that comes when men or women suddenly +realize that each life has its significance, -- +their own lives no less than the lives of +others. + +The man sitting there in the shadow in +that noisy train saw in his vision how the +lad arose and moved, like one under a spell, +toward the piano. He felt again the en- +chantment of the music-ridden quiet, of the +perfume, and the presence of the woman. + +"Knowing you and speaking with you +have not made much difference with me," +he whispers, drunk on the new wine of +passion, "for I have loved you since I saw +you first. And though it is so sweet to hear +you speak, your voice is no more beautiful +than I thought it would be. I have loved +you a long time, and I want to know --" + +The broken man in the shadow remem- +bered how the lad stopped, astonished at his +boldness and his fluency, overcome suddenly +at the thought of what he was saying. The +music stopped with a discord. The girl +arose, trembling and scarlet. + +"I would not have believed it of you," +she cries, "to take advantage of me like +this, when I am alone -- and -- everything. +You know very well that nothing but trouble +could come to either of us from your telling +me a thing like that." + +He puts his hands up to his face to keep +off her anger. He is trembling with +confusion. + +Then she broke in penitently, trying to +pull his hands away from his hot face: +"Never mind! I know you didn't mean +anything. Be good, do, and don't spoil the +lovely times we have together. You know +very well father and mother wouldn't let us +see each other at all if they -- if they thought +you were saying anything such as you said +just now." + +"Oh, but I can't help it!" cries the boy, +despairingly. "I have never loved anybody +at all till now. I don't mean not another +girl, you know. But you are the first being +I ever cared for. I sometimes think mother +cares for me because I pay the rent. And +the office -- you can't imagine what that is +like. The men in it are moving corpses. +They're proud to be that way, and so was I +till I knew you and learned what life was like. +All the happy moments I have had have +been here. Now, if you tell me that we are +not to care for each other --" + +There was some one coming down the +hall. The curtain lifted. A middle-aged +man stood there looking at him. + +"Culross," said he, "I'm disappointed in +you. I didn't mean to listen, but I couldn't +help hearing what you said just now. I +don't blame you particularly. Young men +will be fools. And I do not in any way +mean to insult you when I tell you to stop +your coming here. I don't want to see you +inside this door again, and after a while you +will thank me for it. You have taken a +very unfair advantage of my invitation. I +make allowances for your youth." + +He held back the curtain for the lad to +pass out. David threw a miserable glance +at the girl. She was standing looking at +her father with an expression that David +could not fathom. He went into the hall, +picked up his hat, and walked out in +silence. + +David wondered that night, walking the +chilly streets after he quitted the house, and +often, often afterward, if that comfortable +and prosperous gentleman, safe beyond the +perturbations of youth, had any idea of +what he had done. How COULD he know +anything of the black monotony of the life +of the man he turned from his door? The +"desk's dead wood" and all its hateful +slavery, the dull darkened rooms where his +mother prosed through endless evenings, +the bookless, joyless, hopeless existence +that had cramped him all his days rose up +before him, as a stretch of unbroken plain +may rise before a lost man till it maddens +him. + +The bowed man in the car-seat remem- +bered with a flush of reminiscent misery +how the lad turned suddenly in his walk +and entered the door of a drinking-room +that stood open. It was very comfortable +within. The screens kept out the chill of +the autumn night, the sawdust-sprinkled +floor was clean, the tables placed near +together, the bar glittering, the attendants +white-aproned and brisk. + +David liked the place, and he liked better +still the laughter that came from a room +within. It had a note in it a little different +from anything he had ever heard before in +his life, and one that echoed his mood. He +ventured to ask if he might go into the +farther room. + +It does not mean much when most young +men go to a place like this. They take +their bit of unwholesome dissipation quietly +enough, and are a little coarser and more +careless each time they indulge in it, perhaps. +But certainly their acts, whatever gradual +deterioration they may indicate, bespeak no +sudden moral revolution. With this young +clerk it was different. He was a worse man +from the moment he entered the door, for +he did violence to his principles; he killed +his self-respect. + +He had been paid at the office that night, +and he had the money -- a week's miserable +pittance -- in his pocket. His every action +revealed the fact that he was a novice in +recklessness. His innocent face piqued the +men within. They gave him a welcome +that amazed him. Of course the rest of the +evening was a chaos to him. The throat +down which he poured the liquor was as +tender as a child's. The men turned his +head with their ironical compliments. Their +boisterous good-fellowship was as intoxicat- +ing to this poor young recluse as the liquor. + +It was the revulsion from this feeling, +when he came to a consciousness that the +men were laughing at him and not with +him, that wrecked his life. He had gone +from beer to whiskey, and from whiskey to +brandy, by this time, at the suggestion of +the men, and was making awkward lunges +with a billiard cue, spurred on by the mock- +ing applause of the others. One young +fellow was particularly hilarious at his +expense. His jokes became insults, or so +they seemed to David. + +A quarrel followed, half a jest on the part +of the other, all serious as far as David was +concerned. And then -- Well, who could +tell how it happened? The billiard cue was +in David's hand, and the skull of the jester +was split, a horrible gaping thing, revolt- +ingly animal. + +David never saw his home again. His +mother gave it out in church that her heart +was broken, and she wrote a letter to David +begging him to reform. She said she +would never cease to pray for him, that +he might return to grace. He had an +attorney, an impecunious and very aged +gentleman, whose life was a venerable +failure, and who talked so much about his +personal inconveniences from indigestion +that he forgot to take a very keen interest +in the concerns of his client. David's trial +made no sensation. He did not even have +the cheap sympathy of the morbid. The +court-room was almost empty the dull +spring day when the east wind beat against +the window, jangling the loose panes all +through the reading of the verdict. + +Twenty years! + +Twenty years in the penitentiary! + +David looked up at the judge and smiled. +Men have been known to smile that way +when the car-wheel crashes over their legs, +or a bullet lets the air through their lungs. + +All that followed would have seemed +more terrible if it had not appeared to be +so remote. David had to assure himself +over and over that it was really he who was +put in that disgraceful dress, and locked in +that shameful walk from corridor to work- +room, from work-room to chapel. The work +was not much more monotonous than that +to which he had been accustomed in the +office. Here, as there, one was reproved +for not doing the required amount, but never +praised for extraordinary efforts. Here, as +there, the workers regarded each other with +dislike and suspicion. Here, as there, work +was a penalty and not a pleasure. + +It is the nights that are to be dreaded in +a penitentiary. Speech eases the brain of +free men; but the man condemned to eter- +nal silence is bound to endure torments. +Thought, which might be a diversion, be- +comes a curse; it is a painful disease which +becomes chronic. It does not take long to +forget the days of the week and the months +of the year when time brings no variance. +David drugged himself on dreams. He +knew it was weakness, but it was the wine +of forgetfulness, and he indulged in it. He +went over and over, in endless repetition, +every scene in which Zoe Le Baron had +figured. + +He learned by a paper that she had gone +to Europe. He was glad of that. For there +were hours in which he imagined that his +fate might have caused her distress -- not +much, of course, but perhaps an occasional +hour of sympathetic regret. But it was +pleasanter not to think of that. He pre- +ferred to remember the hours they had +spent together while she was teaching him +the joy of life. + +How lovely her gray eyes were! Deep, +yet bright, and full of silent little speeches. +The rooms in which he imagined her as +moving were always splendid; the gowns +she wore were of rustling silk. He never in +any dream, waking or sleeping, associated +her with poverty or sorrow or pain. Gay +and beautiful, she moved from city to city, +in these visions of David's, looking always +at wonderful things, and finding laughter in +every happening. + +It was six months after his entrance into +his silent abode that a letter came for him. + +"By rights, Culross," said the warden, "I +should not give this letter to you. It isn't +the sort we approve of. But you're in for +a good spell, and if there is anything that +can make life seem more tolerable, I don't +know but you're entitled to it. At least, +I'm not the man to deny it to you." + +This was the letter: -- + +"MY DEAR FRIEND, -- I hope you do not +think that all these months, when you have +been suffering so terribly, I have been think- +ing of other things! But I am sure you +know the truth. You know that I could +not send you word or come to see you, or +I would have done it. When I first heard of +what you had done, I saw it all as it hap- +pened, -- that dreadful scene, I mean, in the +saloon. I am sure I have imagined every- +thing just as it was. I begged papa to help +you, but he was very angry. You see, +papa was so peculiar. He thought more +of the appearances of things, perhaps, than +of facts. It infuriated him to think of me +as being concerned about you or with you. +I did not know he could be so angry, and +his anger did not die, but for days it cast +such a shadow over me that I used to wish +I was dead. Only I would not disobey him, +and now I am glad of that. We were in +France three months, and then, coming home, +papa died. It was on the voyage. I wish +he had asked me to forgive him, for then +I think I could have remembered him with +more tenderness. But he did nothing of +the kind. He did not seem to think he had +done wrong in any way, though I feel that +some way we might have saved you. I am +back here in Chicago in the old home. But +I shall not stay in this house. It is so large +and lonesome, and I always see you and +father facing each other angrily there in the +parlor when I enter it. So I am going to +get me some cosey rooms in another part of +the city, and take my aunt, who is a sweet +old lady, to live with me; and I am going +to devote my time -- all of it -- and all of my +brains to getting you out of that terrible +place. What is the use of telling me that +you are a murderer? Do I not know you +could not be brought to hurt anything? +I suppose you must have killed that poor +man, but then it was not you, it was that +dreadful drink -- it was Me! That is what +continually haunts me. If I had been a +braver girl, and spoken the words that were +in my heart, you would not have gone into +that place. You would be innocent to-day. +It was I who was responsible for it all. I +let father kill your heart right there before +me, and never said a word. Yet I knew +how it was with you, and -- this is what I +ought to have said then, and what I must +say now -- and all the time I felt just as +you did. I thought I should die when I +saw you go away, and knew you would +never come back again. Only I was so +selfish, I was so wicked, I would say nothing. + +"I have no right to be comfortable and +hopeful, and to have friends, with you shut +up from liberty and happiness. I will not +have those comfortable rooms, after all. +I will live as you do. I will live alone +in a bare room. For it is I who am guilty! +And then I will feel that I also am being +punished. + +"Do you hate me? Perhaps my telling +you now all these things, and that I felt +toward you just as you did toward me, will +not make you happy. For it may be that +you despise me. + +"Anyway, I have told you the truth now. +I will go as soon as I hear from you to a +lawyer, and try to find out how you may be +liberated. I am sure it can be done when +the facts are known. + +"Poor boy! How I do hope you have +known in your heart that I was not for- +getting you. Indeed, day or night, I have +thought of nothing else. Now I am free to +help you. And be sure, whatever happens, +that I am working for you. + +"ZOE LE BARON." + + +That was all. Just a girlish, constrained +letter, hardly hinting at the hot tears that +had been shed for many weary nights, coyly +telling of the impatient young love and all +the maidenly shame. + +David permitted himself to read it only +once. Then a sudden resolution was born -- +a heroic one. Before he got the letter he +was a crushed and unsophisticated boy; +when he had read it, and absorbed its full +significance, he became suddenly a man, +capable of a great sacrifice. + +"I return your letter," he wrote, without +superscription, "and thank you for your +anxiety about me. But the truth is, I had +forgotten all about you in my trouble. You +were not in the least to blame for what hap- +pened. I might have known I would come +to such an end. You thought I was good, +of course; but it is not easy to find out the +life of a young man. It is rather mortifying +to have a private letter sent here, because +the warden reads them all. I hope you will +enjoy yourself this winter, and hasten to +forget one who had certainly forgotten you +till reminded by your letter, which I return. + +"Respectfully, + +"DAVID CULROSS." + + +That night some deep lines came into +his face which never left it, and which made +him look like a man of middle age. + +He never doubted that his plan would +succeed; that, piqued and indignant at his +ingratitude, she would hate him, and in a +little time forget he ever lived, or remember +him only to blush with shame at her past +association with him. He saw her happy, +loved, living the usual life of women, with +all those things that make life rich. + +For there in the solitude an understand- +ing of deep things came to him. He who +thought never to have a wife grew to know +what the joy of it must be. He perceived +all the subtle rapture of wedded souls. He +learned what the love of children was, the +pride of home, the unselfish ambition for +success that spurs men on. All the emo- +tions passed in procession at night before +him, tricked out in palpable forms. + +A burst of girlish tears would dissipate +whatever lingering pity Zoe felt for him. +How often he said that! With her sensi- +tiveness she would be sure to hate a man +who had mortified her. + +So he fell to dreaming of her again as +moving among happy and luxurious scenes, +exquisitely clothed, with flowers on her +bosom and jewels on her neck; and he saw +men loving her, and was glad, and saw her +at last loving the best of them, and told +himself in the silence of the night that +it was as he wished. + +Yet always, always, from weary week to +weary week, he rehearsed the scenes. They +were his theatre, his opera, his library, his +lecture hall. + +He rehearsed them again there on the +cars. He never wearied of them. To be +sure, other thoughts had come to him at +night. Much that to most men seems com- +plex and puzzling had grown to appear +simple to him. In a way his brain had +quickened and deepened through the years +of solitude. He had thought out a great +many things. He had read a few good +books and digested them, and the visions in +his heart had kept him from being bitter. + +Yet, suddenly confronted with liberty, +turned loose like a pastured colt, without +master or rein, he felt only confusion and +dismay. He might be expected to feel ex- +ultation. He experienced only fright. It +is precisely the same with the liberated colt. + +The train pulled into a bustling station, +in which the multitudinous noises were +thrown back again from the arched iron +roof. The relentless haste of all the people +was inexpressibly cruel to the man who +looked from the window wondering whither +he would go, and if, among all the thousands +that made up that vast and throbbing city, +he would ever find a friend. + +For a moment David longed even for +that unmaternal mother who had forgotten +him in the hour of his distress; but she had +been dead for many years. + +The train stopped. Every one got out. +David forced himself to his feet and followed. +He had been driven back into the world. +It would have seemed less terrible to have +been driven into a desert. He walked +toward the great iron gates, seeing the +people and hearing the noises confusedly. + +As he entered the space beyond the grat- +ing some one caught him by the arm. It +was a little middle-aged woman in plain +clothes, and with sad gray eyes. + +"Is this David?" said she. + +He did not speak, but his face answered +her. + +"I knew you were coming to-day. I've +waited all these years, David. You didn't +think I believed what you said in that letter +did you? This way, David, -- this is the +way home." + + + + +Two Pioneers + +IT was the year of the small-pox. The +Pawnees had died in their cold tepees +by the fifties, the soldiers lay dead in the +trenches without the fort, and many a gay +French voyageur, who had thought to go +singing down the Missouri on his fur-laden +raft in the springtime, would never again +see the lights of St. Louis, or the coin of +the mighty Choteau company. + +It had been a winter of tragedies. The +rigors of the weather and the scourge of +the disease had been fought with Indian +charm and with Catholic prayer. Both +were equally unavailing. If a man was +taken sick at the fort they put him in a +warm room, brought him a jug of water +once a day, and left him to find out what his +constitution was worth. Generally he re- +covered; for the surgeon's supplies had +been exhausted early in the year. But the +Indians, in their torment, rushed into the +river through the ice, and returned to roll +themselves in their blankets and die in +ungroaning stoicism. + +Every one had grown bitter and hard. +The knives of the trappers were sharp, and +not one whit sharper than their tempers. +Some one said that the friendly Pawnees +were conspiring with the Sioux, who were +always treacherous, to sack the settlement. +The trappers doubted this. They and the +Pawnees had been friends many years, and +they had together killed the Sioux in four +famous battles on the Platte. Yet -- who +knows? There was pestilence in the air, +and it had somehow got into men's souls as +well as their bodies. + +So, at least, Father de Smet said. He +alone did not despair. He alone tried +neither charm nor curse. He dressed him +an altar in the wilderness, and he prayed at +it -- but not for impossible things. When +in a day's journey you come across two +lodges of Indians, sixty souls in each, lying +dead and distorted from the plague in their +desolate tepees, you do not pray, if you are +a man like Father de Smet. You go on to +the next lodge where the living yet are, and +teach them how to avoid death. + +Besides, when you are young, it is much +easier to act than to pray. When the chil- +dren cried for food, Father de Smet took +down the rifle from the wall and went out +with it, coming back only when he could +feed the hungry. There were places where +the prairie was black with buffalo, and the +shy deer showed their delicate heads among +the leafless willows of the Papillion. When +they -- the children -- were cold, this young +man brought in baskets of buffalo chips +from the prairie and built them a fire, or he +hung more skins up at the entrance to the +tepees. If he wanted to cross a river and +had no boat at hand, he leaped the uncertain +ice, or, in clear current, swam, with his +clothes on his head in a bundle. + +A wonderful traveller for the time was +Father de Smet. Twice he had gone as far +as the land of the Flathead nation, and he +could climb mountain passes as well as any +guide of the Rockies. He had built a dozen +missions, lying all the way from the Colum- +bia to the Kaw. He had always a jest at +his tongue's end, and served it out with as +much readiness as a prayer; and he had, +withal, an arm trained to do execution. +Every man on the plains understood the +art of self-preservation. Even in Cainsville, +over by the council ground of the western +tribes, which was quite the most civilized +place for hundreds of miles, life was uncer- +tain when the boats came from St. Louis +with bad whiskey in their holds. But no one +dared take liberties with the holy father. +The thrust from his shoulder was straight +and sure, and his fist was hard. + +Yet it was not the sinner that Father de +Smet meant to crush. He always supple- +mented his acts of physical prowess with +that explanation. It was the sin that he +struck at from the shoulder -- and may not +even an anointed one strike at sin? + +Father de Smet could draw a fine line, +too, between the things which were bad in +themselves, and the things which were only +extrinsically bad. For example, there were +the soups of Mademoiselle Ninon. Mam'selle +herself was not above reproach, but her soups +were. Mademoiselle Ninon was the only +Parisian thing in the settlement. And she +was certainly to be avoided -- which was per- +haps the reason that no one avoided her. It +was four years since she had seen Paris. She +was sixteen then, and she followed the for- +tunes of a certain adventurer who found it +advisable to sail for Montreal. Ninon had +been bored back in Paris, it being dull in the +mantua-making shop of Madame Guittar. If +she had been a man she would have taken +to navigation, and might have made herself +famous by sailing to some unknown part of +the New World. Being a woman, she took a +lover who was going to New France, and for- +got to weep when he found an early and vio- +lent death. And there were others at hand, +and Ninon sailed around the cold blue lakes, +past Sault St. Marie, and made her way +across the portages to the Mississippi, and +so down to the sacred rock of St. Louis. +That was a merry place. Ninon had fault +to find neither with the wine nor the dances. +They were all that one could have desired, +and there was no limit to either of them. +But still, after a time, even this grew tire- +some to one of Ninon's spirit, and she took +the first opportunity to sail up the Missouri +with a certain young trapper connected with +the great fur company, and so found her- +self at Cainsville, with the blue bluffs rising +to the east of her, and the low white +stretches of the river flats undulating down +to where the sluggish stream wound its way +southward capriciously. + +Ninon soon tired of her trapper. For +one thing she found out that he was a +coward. She saw him run once in a buffalo +fight. That was when the Pawnee stood +still with a blanket stretched wide in a gaudy +square, and caught the head of the mad +animal fairly in the tough fabric; his mus- +tang's legs trembled under him, but he did +not move, -- for a mustang is the soul of an +Indian, and obeys each thought; the Indian +himself felt his heart pounding at his ribs; +but once with that garment fast over the +baffled eyes of the struggling brute, the +rest was only a matter of judicious knife- +thrusts. Ninon saw this. She rode past +her lover, and snatched the twisted bullion +cord from his hat that she had braided and +put there, and that night she tied it on the +hat of the Pawnee who had killed the buffalo. + +The Pawnees were rather proud of the +episode, and as for the Frenchmen, they did +not mind. The French have always been +very adaptable in America. Ninon was +universally popular. + +And so were her soups. + +Every man has his price. Father de +Smet's was the soups of Mademoiselle Ninon. +Fancy! If you have an educated palate and +are obliged to eat the strong distillation of +buffalo meat, cooked in a pot which has +been wiped out with the greasy petticoat of +a squaw! When Ninon came down from +St. Louis she brought with her a great +box containing neither clothes, furniture, +nor trinkets, but something much more +wonderful! It was a marvellous compound- +ing of spices and seasonings. The aromatic +liquids she set before the enchanted men of +the settlement bore no more relation to +ordinary buffalo soup than Chateaubrand's +Indian maidens did to one of the Paw- +nee girls, who slouched about the settle- +ment with noxious tresses and sullen slavish +coquetries. + +Father de Smet would not at any time +have called Ninon a scarlet woman. But +when he ate the dish of soup or tasted the +hot corn-cakes that she invariably invited +him to partake of as he passed her little +house, he refrained with all the charity of +a true Christian and an accomplished epicure +from even thinking her such. And he re- +membered the words of the Saviour, "Let +him who is without sin among you cast the +first stone." + +To Father de Smet's healthy nature +nothing seemed more superfluous than sin. +And he was averse to thinking that any +committed deeds of which he need be +ashamed. So it was his habit, especially if +the day was pleasant and his own thoughts +happy, to say to himself when he saw one +of the wild young trappers leaving the cabin +of Mademoiselle Ninon: "He has been +for some of the good woman's hot cakes," +till he grew quite to believe that the only +attractions that the adroit Frenchwoman +possessed were of a gastronomic nature. + +To tell the truth, the attractions of Made- +moiselle Ninon were varied. To begin +with, she was the only thing in that wilder- +ness to suggest home. Ninon had a genius +for home-making. Her cabin, in which she +cooked, slept, ate, lived, had become a +boudoir. + +The walls were hung with rare and beau- +tiful skins; the very floor made rich with +huge bear robes, their permeating odors +subdued by heavy perfumes brought, like +the spices, from St. Louis. The bed, in day- +time, was a couch of beaver-skins; the fire- +place had branching antlers above it, on +which were hung some of the evidences of +the fair Ninon's coquetry, such as silken +scarves, of the sort the voyageurs from the +far north wore; and necklaces made by the +Indians of the Pacific coast and brought to +Ninon by -- but it is not polite to inquire +into these matters. There were little moc- +casins also, much decorated with porcupine- +quills, one pair of which Father de Smet +had brought from the Flathead nation, and +presented to Ninon that time when she +nursed him through a frightful run of fever. +She would take no money for her patient +services. + +"Father," said she, gravely, when he +offered it to her, "I am not myself virtuous. +But I have the distinction of having pre- +served the only virtuous creature in the +settlement for further usefulness. Some- +times, perhaps, you will pray for Ninon." + +Father de Smet never forgot those prayers. + +These were wild times, mind you. No +use to keep your skirts coldly clean if you +wished to be of help. These men were sub- +duing a continent. Their primitive qualities +came out. Courage, endurance, sacrifice, +suffering without complaint, friendship to +the death, indomitable hatred, unfaltering +hope, deep-seated greed, splendid gayety +-- it takes these things to subdue a conti- +nent. Vice is also an incidental, -- that is +to say, what one calls vice. This is because +it is the custom to measure these men as if +they were governed by the laws of civili- +zation, where there is neither law nor +civilization. + +This much is certain: gentlemen cannot +conquer a country. They tried gentlemen +back in Virginia, and they died, partly from +lack of intellect, but mostly from lack of +energy. After the yeomen have fought the +conquering fight, it is well enough to bring +in gentlemen, who are sometimes clever +lawmakers, and who look well on thrones +or in presidential chairs. + +But to return to the winter of the small- +pox. It was then that the priest and Ninon +grew to know each other well. They be- +came acquainted first in the cabin where +four of the trappers lay tossing in delirium. +The horrible smell of disease weighted the +air. Outside wet snow fell continuously +and the clouds seemed to rest only a few +feet above the sullen bluffs. The room was +bare of comforts, and very dirty. Ninon +looked about with disgust. + +"You pray," said she to the priest, "and +I will clean the room." + +"Not so," returned the broad-shouldered +father, smilingly, "we will both clean the +room." Thus it came that they scrubbed +the floor together, and made the chimney +so that it would not smoke, and washed the +blankets on the beds, and kept the wood- +pile high. They also devised ventilators, +and let in fresh air without exposing the +patients. They had no medicine, but they +continually rubbed the suffering men with +bear's grease. + +"It's better than medicine," said Ninon, +after the tenth day, as, wan with watching, she +held the cool hand of one of the recovering +men in her own. "If we had had medicines +we should have killed these men." + +"You are a woman of remarkable sense," +said the holy father, who was eating a dish +of corn-meal and milk that Ninon had just +prepared, "and a woman also of Christian +courage." + +"Christian courage?" echoed Ninon; "do +you think that is what you call it? I am +not afraid, no, not I; but it is not Christian +courage. You mistake in calling it that." +There were tears in her eyes. The priest +saw them. + +"God lead you at last into peaceful ways," +said he, softly, lifting one hand in blessing. +"Your vigil is ended. Go to your home +and sleep. You know the value of the +temporal life that God has given to man. +In the hours of the night, Ninon, think of +the value of eternal life, which it is also +His to give." + +Ninon stared at him a moment with a +dawning horror in her eyes. + +Then she pointed to the table. + +"Whatever you do," said she, "don't +forget the bear's grease." And she went +out laughing. The priest did not pause +to recommend her soul to further blessing. +He obeyed her directions. + +March was wearing away tediously. The +river was not yet open, and the belated +boats with needed supplies were moored +far down the river. Many of the reduced +settlers were dependent on the meat the +Indians brought them for sustenance. The +mud made the roads almost impassable; for +the frost lay in a solid bed six inches below +the surface, and all above that was semi- +liquid muck. Snow and rain alternated, +and the frightful disease did not cease its +ravages. + +The priest got little sleep. Now he was +at the bed of a little half-breed child, +smoothing the straight black locks from +the narrow brow; now at the cot of some +hulking trapper, who wept at the pain, but +died finally with a grin of bravado on his +lips; now in a foul tepee, where some grave +Pawnee wrapped his mantle about him, and +gazed with prophetic and unflinching eyes +into the land of the hereafter. + +The little school that the priest started +had been long since abandoned. It was only +the preservation of life that one thought of +in these days. And recklessness had made +the men desperate. To the ravages of dis- +ease were added horrible murders. Moral +health is always low when physical health +is so. + +Give a nation two winters of grippe, and +it will have an epidemic of suicide. Give +it starvation and small-pox, and it will have +a contagion of murders. There are subtle +laws underlying these things, -- laws which +the physicians think they can explain; but +they are mistaken. The reason is not so +material as it seems. + +But spring was near in spite of falling +snow and the dirty ice in the river. There +was not even a flushing of the willow twigs +to tell it by, nor a clearing of the leaden +sky, -- only the almanac. Yet all men +were looking forward to it The trappers +put in the feeble days of convalescence, +making long rafts on which to pile the +skins dried over winter, -- a fine variety, +worth all but their weight in gold. Money +was easily got in those days; but there +are circumstances under which money is +valueless. + +Father de Smet thought of this the day +before Easter, as he plunged through the +mud of the winding street in his bearskin +gaiters. Stout were his legs, firm his lungs, +as he turned to breathe in the west wind; +clear his sharp and humorous eyes. He +was going to the little chapel where the +mission school had previously been held. +Here was a rude pulpit, and back of it a +much-disfigured virgin, dressed in turkey- +red calico. Two cheap candles in their tin +sticks guarded this figure, and beneath, on +the floor, was spread an otter-skin of perfect +beauty. The seats were of pine, without +backs, and the wind whistled through the +chinks between the logs. Moreover, the +place was dirty. Lenten service had been +out of the question. The living had neither +time nor strength to come to worship; and +the dead were not given the honor of a +burial from church in these times of terror. +The priest looked about him in dismay, the +place was so utterly forsaken; yet to let +Easter go by without recognition was not +to his liking. He had been the night before +to every house in the settlement, bidding +the people to come to devotions on Sunday +morning. He knew that not one of them +would refuse his invitation. There was no +hero larger in the eyes of these unfortunates +than the simple priest who walked among +them with his unpretentious piety. The +promises were given with whispered bless- +ings, and there were voices that broke in +making them, and hands that shook with +honest gratitude. The priest, remembering +these things, and all the awful suffering of +the winter, determined to make the ser- +vice symbolic, indeed, of the resurrection +and the life, -- the annual resurrection and +life that comes each year, a palpable miracle, +to teach the dullest that God reigns. + +"How are you going to trim the altar?" +cried a voice behind him. + +He turned, startled, and in the doorway +stood Mademoiselle Ninon, her short skirt +belted with a red silk scarf, -- the token of +some trapper, -- her ankles protected with +fringed leggins, her head covered with a be- +ribboned hat of felt, such as the voyageurs +wore. + +"Our devotions will be the only decora- +tions we can hang on it. But gratitude is +better than blossoms, and humanity more +beautiful than green wreaths," said the +father, gently. + +It was a curious thing, and one that he +had often noticed himself; he gave this +woman -- unworthy as she was -- the best +of his simple thoughts. + +Ninon tiptoed toward the priest with one +finger coquettishly raised to insure secrecy. + +"You will never believe it," she whis- +pered, "no one would believe it! But the +fact is, father, I have two lilies." + +"Lilies," cried the priest, incredulously, +"two lilies?" + +"That's what I say, father -- two marvel- +lously fair lilies with little sceptres of gold in +them, and leaves as white as snow. The bulbs +were brought me last autumn by --; that +is to say, they were brought from St. Louis. +Only now have they blossomed. Heavens, +how I have watched the buds! I have said +to myself every morning for a fortnight: +'Will they open in time for the good +father's Easter morning service?' Then I +said: 'They will open too soon. Buds,' I +have cried to them, 'do not dare to open yet, +or you will be horribly passée by Easter. +Have the kindness, will you, to save your- +selves for a great event.' And they did it; +yes, father, you may not believe, but no +later than this morning these sensible +flowers opened up their leaves boldly, quite +conscious that they were doing the right +thing, and to-morrow, if you please, they +will be here. And they will perfume the +whole place; yes." + +She stopped suddenly, and relaxed her +vivacious expression for one of pain. + +"You are certainly ill," cried the priest. +"Rest yourself." He tried to push her on +to one of the seats; but a sort of convulsive +rigidity came over her, very alarming to +look at. + +"You are worn out," her companion said +gravely. "And you are chilled." + +"Yes, I'm cold," confessed Ninon. "But +I had to come to tell you about the lilies. +But, do you see, I never could bring myself +to put them in this room as it is now. It +would be too absurd to place them among +this dirt. We must clean the place." + +"The place will be cleaned. I will see to +it. But as for you, go home and care for +yourself." Ninon started toward the door +with an uncertain step. Suddenly she came +back. + +"It is too funny," she said, " that red +calico there on the Virgin. Father, I have +some laces which were my mother's, who +was a good woman, and which have never +been worn by me. They are all I have to +remember France by and the days when I +was -- different. If I might be permitted --" +she hesitated and looked timidly at the priest. + +"'She hath done what she could,'" mur- +mured Father de Smet, softly. "Bring your +laces, Ninon." He would have added: +"Thy sins be forgiven thee." But un- +fortunately, at this moment, Pierre came +lounging down the street, through the mud, +fresh from Fort Laramie. His rifle was +slung across his back, and a full game-bag +revealed the fact that he had amused him- +self on his way. His curly and wind-bleached +hair blew out in time-torn banners from the +edge of his wide hat. His piercing, black +eyes were those of a man who drinks deep, +fights hard, and lives always in the open air. +Wild animals have such eyes, only there is +this difference: the viciousness of an +animal is natural; at least one-half of the +viciousness of man is artificial and devised. + +When Ninon saw the frost-reddened face +of this gallant of the plains, she gave a little +cry of delight, and the color rushed back +into her face. The trapper saw her, and +gave a rude shout of welcome. The next +moment, he had swung her clear of the +chapel steps; and then the two went down +the street together, Pierre pausing only long +enough to doff his hat to the priest. + +"The Virgin will wear no fresh laces," +said the priest, with some bitterness; but he +was mistaken. An hour later, Ninon was +back, not only with a box of laces, but also +with a collection of cosmetics, with which +she proceeded to make startling the scratched +and faded face of the wooden Virgin, who +wore, after the completion of Ninon's labors, +a decidedly piquant and saucy expression. +The very manner in which the laces were +draped had a suggestion of Ninon's still +unforgotten art as a maker of millinery, and +was really a very good presentment of Paris +fashions four years past. Pierre, meantime, +amused himself by filling up the chinks in +the logs with fresh mud, -- a commodity of +which there was no lack, -- and others of +the neighbors, incited by these extraordinary +efforts, washed the dirt from seats, floor, and +windows, and brought furs with which to make +presentable the floor about the pulpit. + +Father de Smet worked harder than any +of them. In his happy enthusiasm he chose +to think this energy on the part of the others +was prompted by piety, though well he +knew it was only a refuge from the insuffer- +able ennui that pervaded the place. Ninon +suddenly came up to him with a white face. + +"I am not well," she said. Her teeth +were chattering, and her eyes had a little +blue glaze over them. "I am going home. +In the morning I will send the lilies." + +The priest caught her by the hand. + +"Ninon," he whispered, "it is on my soul +not to let you go to-night. Something tells +me that the hour of your salvation is come. +Women worse than you, Ninon, have come +to lead holy lives. Pray, Ninon, pray to +the Mother of Sorrows, who knows the suf- +ferings and sins of the heart." He pointed +to the befrilled and highly fashionable Virgin +with her rouge-stained cheeks. + +Ninon shrank from him, and the same +convulsive rigidity he had noticed before, +held her immovable. A moment later, she +was on the street again, and the priest, +watching her down the street, saw her enter +her cabin with Pierre. + +....... + + +It was past midnight when the priest was +awakened from his sleep by a knock on the +door. He wrapped his great buffalo-coat +about him, and answered the summons. +Without in the damp darkness stood Pierre. + +"Father," he cried, "Ninon has sent for +you. Since she left you, she has been very +ill. I have done what I could; but now she +hardly speaks, but I make out that she +wants you." Ten minutes later, they were +in Ninon's cabin. When Father de Smet +looked at her he knew she was dying. He +had seen the Indians like that many times +during the winter. It was the plague, but +driven in to prey upon the system by the +exposure. The Parisienne's teeth were set, +but she managed to smile upon her visitor +as he threw off his coat and bent over her. +He poured some whiskey for her; but she +could not get the liquid over her throat. + +"Do not," she said fiercely between those +set white teeth, "do not forget the lilies." She +sank back and fixed her glazing eyes on the +antlers, and kept them there watching those +dangling silken scarves, while the priest, in +haste, spoke the words for the departing soul. + +The next morning she lay dead among +those half barbaric relics of her coquetry, +and two white lilies with hearts of gold +shed perfume from an altar in a wilderness. + + + +Up the Gulch + +"GO West?" sighed Kate. "Why, + yes! I'd like to go West." + +She looked at the babies, who were play- +ing on the floor with their father, and +sighed again. + +"You've got to go somewhere, you know, +Kate. It might as well be west as in any +other direction. And this is such a chance! +We can't have mamma lying around on +sofas without any roses in her cheeks, can +we?" He put this last to the children, +who, being yet at the age when they talked +in "Early English," as their father called +it, made a clamorous but inarticulate reply. + +Major Shelly, the grandfather of these +very young persons, stroked his mustache +and looked indulgent. + +"Show almost human intelligence, don't +they?" said their father, as he lay flat on +his back and permitted the babies to climb +over him. + +"Ya-as," drawled the major. "They do. +Don't see how you account for it, Jack." + +Jack roared, and the lips of the babies +trembled with fear. + +Their mother said nothing. She was on +the sofa, her hands lying inert, her eyes +fixed on her rosy babies with an expression +which her father-in-law and her husband +tried hard not to notice. + +It was not easy to tell why Kate was +ailing. Of course, the babies were young, +but there were other reasons. + +"I believe you're too happy," Jack some- +times said to her. "Try not to be quite so +happy, Kate. At least, try not to take +your happiness so seriously. Please don't +adore me so; I'm only a commonplace +fellow. And the babies -- they're not +going to blow away." + +But Kate continued to look with intense +eyes at her little world, and to draw into +it with loving and generous hands all who +were willing to come. + +"Kate is just like a kite," Jack explained +to his father, the major; "she can't keep +afloat without just so many bobs." + +Kate's "bobs" were the unfortunates she +collected around her. These absorbed her +strength. She felt their misery with sym- +pathies that were abnormal. The very +laborer in the streets felt his toil less +keenly than she, as she watched the drops +gather on his brow. + +"Is life worth keeping at the cost of a +lot like that?" she would ask. She felt +ashamed of her own ease. She apologized +for her own serene and perfect happiness. +She even felt sorry for those mothers who +had not children as radiantly beautiful as +her own. + +"Kate must have a change," the major +had given out. He was going West on +business and insisted on taking her with +him. Jack looked doubtful. He wasn't +sure how he would get along without Kate +to look after everything. Secretly, he had +an idea that servants were a kind of wild +animal that had to be fed by an experienced +keeper. But when the time came, he kissed +her good-by in as jocular a manner as he +could summon, and refused to see the tears +that gathered in her eyes. + +Until Chicago was reached, there was +nothing very different from that which +Kate had been in the habit of seeing. +After that, she set herself to watch for +Western characteristics. She felt that she +would know them as soon as she saw them. + +"I expected to be stirred up and shocked," +she explained to the major. But somehow, +the Western type did not appear. Common- +place women with worn faces -- browned +and seamed, though not aged -- were at +the stations, waiting for something or some +one. Men with a hurried, nervous air +were everywhere. Kate looked in vain for +the gayety and heartiness which she had +always associated with the West. + +After they got beyond the timber country +and rode hour after hour on a tract smooth +as a becalmed ocean, she gave herself up to +the feeling of immeasurable vastness which +took possession of her. The sun rolled out +of the sky into oblivion with a frantic, head- +long haste. Nothing softened the aspect +of its wrath. Near, red, familiar, it seemed +to visibly bowl along the heavens. In the +morning it rose as baldly as it had set. +And back and forth over the awful plain +blew the winds, -- blew from east to west +and back again, strong as if fresh from the +chambers of their birth, full of elemental +scents and of mighty murmurings. + +"This is the West!" Kate cried, again +and again. + +The major listened to her unsmilingly. +It always seemed to him a waste of muscu- +lar energy to smile. He did not talk much. +Conversation had never appealed to him in +the light of an art. He spoke when there +was a direction or a command to be given, +or an inquiry to be made. The major, if +the truth must be known, was material. +Things that he could taste, touch, see, +appealed to him. He had been a volunteer +in the civil war, -- a volunteer with a good +record, -- which he never mentioned; and, +having acquitted himself decently, let the +matter go without asking reprisal or pay- +ment for what he had freely given. He +went into business and sold cereal foods. + +"I believe in useful things," the major +expressed himself. "Oatmeal, wheat, -- +men have to have them. God intended +they should. There's Jack -- my son -- +Jack Shelly -- lawyer. What's the use of +litigation? God didn't design litigation. +It doesn't do anybody any good. It isn't +justice you get. It's something entirely +different, -- a verdict according to law. +They say Jack's clever. But I'm mighty +glad I sell wheat." + +He didn't sell it as a speculator, how- +ever. That wasn't his way. + +"I earn what I make," he often said; and +he had grown rich in the selling of his +wholesome foods. + +. . . . . . . + +Helena lies among round, brown hills. +Above it is a sky of deep and illimitable +blue. In the streets are crumbs of gold, +but it no longer pays to mine for these; +because, as real estate, the property is more +valuable. It is a place of fictitious values. +There is excitement in the air. Men have +the faces of speculators. Every laborer is +patient at his task because he cherishes a +hope that some day he will be a million- +naire. There is hospitality, and cordiality +and good fellowship, and an undeniable +democracy. There is wealth and luxurious +living. There is even culture, -- but it is +obtruded as a sort of novelty; it is not +accepted as a matter of course. + +Kate and the major were driven over two +or three miles of dusty, hard road to a dis- +tant hotel, which stands in the midst of +greenness, -- in an oasis. Immediately +above the green sward that surrounds it the +brown hills rise, the grass scorched by the +sun. + +Kate yielded herself to the almost absurd +luxury of the place with ease and compla- +cency. She took kindly to the great veran- +das. She adapted herself to the elaborate +and ill-assorted meals. She bathed in the +marvellous pool, warm with the heat of +eternal fires in mid-earth. This pool was +covered with a picturesque Moorish struct- +ure, and at one end a cascade tumbled, over +which the sun, coming through colored win- +dows, made a mimic prism in the white +spray. The life was not unendurable. The +major was seldom with her, being obliged +to go about his business; and Kate amused +herself by driving over the hills, by watch- +ing the inhabitants, by wondering about the +lives in the great, pretentious, unhomelike +houses with their treeless yards and their +closed shutters. The sunlight, white as +the glare on Arabian sands, penetrated +everywhere. It seemed to fairly scorch the +eye-balls. + +"Oh, we're West, now," Kate said, exult- +antly. "I've seen a thousand types. But +yet -- not quite THE type -- not the imper- +sonation of simplicity and daring that I was +looking for." + +The major didn't know quite what she +was talking about. But he acquiesced. +All he cared about was to see her grow +stronger; and that she was doing every day. +She was growing amazingly lovely, too, -- +at least the major thought so. Every one +looked at her; but that was, perhaps, be- +cause she was such a sylph of a woman. +Beside the stalwart major, she looked like a +fairy princess. + +One day she suddenly realized the fact +that she had had a companion on the +veranda for several mornings. Of course, +there were a great many persons -- invalids, +largely -- sitting about, but one of them +had been obtruding himself persistently +into her consciousness. It was not that he +was rude; it was only that he was thinking +about her. A person with a temperament +like Kate's could not long be oblivious to a +thing like that; and she furtively observed +the offender with that genius for psycho- +logical perception which was at once her +greatest danger and her charm. + +The man was dressed with a childish +attempt at display. His shirt-front was +decorated with a diamond, and his cuff- +buttons were of onyx with diamond settings. +His clothes were expensive and perceptibly +new, and he often changed his costumes, +but with a noticeable disregard for pro- +priety. He was very conscious of his silk +hat, and frequently wiped it with a handker- +chief on which his monogram was worked +in blue. + +When the 'busses brought up their loads, +he was always on hand to watch the new- +comers. He took a long time at his din- +ners, and appeared to order a great deal and +eat very little. There were card-rooms and +a billiard-hall, not to mention a bowling- +alley and a tennis-court, where the other +guests of the hotel spent much time. But +this man never visited them. He sat often +with one of the late reviews in his hand, +looking as if he intended giving his atten- +tion to it at any moment. But after he had +scrupulously cut the leaves with a little +carved ivory paper-cutter, he sat staring +straight before him with the book open, but +unread, in his hand. + +Kate took more interest in this melan- +choly, middle-aged man than she would +have done if she had not been on the out- +look for her Western type, -- the man who +was to combine all the qualities of chivalry, +daring, bombast, and generosity, seasoned +with piquant grammar, which she firmly +believed to be the real thing. But notwith- +standing this kindly and somewhat curious +interest, she might never have made his +acquaintance if it had not been for a rather +unpleasant adventure. + +The major was "closing up a deal" and +had hurried away after breakfast, and Kate, +in the luxury of convalescence, half-reclined +in a great chair on the veranda and watched +the dusky blue mist twining itself around +the brown hills. She was not thinking +of the babies; she was not worrying about +home; she was not longing for anything, or +even indulging in a dream. That vacuous +content which engrosses the body after long +indisposition, held her imperatively. Sud- +denly she was aroused from this happy con- +dition of nothingness by the spectacle of +an enormous bull-dog approaching her with +threatening teeth. She had noticed the +monster often in his kennel near the sta- +bles, and it was well understood that he was +never to be permitted his freedom. Now he +walked toward her with a solid step and an +alarming deliberateness. Kate sat still and +tried to assure herself that he meant no mis- +chief, but by the time the great body had +made itself felt on the skirt of her gown she +could restrain her fear no longer, and gave +a nervous cry of alarm. The brute answered +with a growl. If he had lacked provocation +before, he considered that he had it now. +He showed his teeth and flung his detestable +body upon her; and Kate felt herself grow- +ing dizzy with fear. But just then an arm +was interposed and the dog was flung back. +There was a momentary struggle. Some +gentlemen came hurrying out of the office; +and as they beat the dog back to its retreat, +Kate summoned words from her parched +throat to thank her benefactor. + +It was the melancholy man with the new +clothes. This morning he was dressed in +a suit of the lightest gray, with a white +marseilles waistcoat, over which his glitter- +ing chain shone ostentatiously. White +tennis-shoes, a white rose in his button- +hole, and a white straw hat in his hand com- +pleted a toilet over which much time had +evidently been spent. Kate noted these +details as she held out her hand. + +"I may have been alarmed without cause," +she said; "but I was horribly frightened. +Thank you so much for coming to my res- +cue. And I think, if you would add to your +kindness by getting me a glass of water --" + +When he came back, his hand was trem- +bling a little; and as Kate looked up to +learn the cause, she saw that his face was +flushed. He was embarrassed. She decided +that he was not accustomed to the society +of ladies. "Brutes like that dog ain't no +place in th' world -- that's my opinion. +There are some bad things we can't help +havin' aroun'; but a bull-dog ain't one +of 'em." + +"I quite agree with you," Kate acqui- +esced, as she drank the water. "But as +this is the first unpleasant experience of +any kind that I have had since I came +here, I don't feel that I have any right to +complain." + +"You're here fur yur health?" + +"Yes. And I am getting it. You're +not an invalid, I imagine?" + +"No -- no-op. I'm here be -- well, I've +thought fur a long time I'd like t' stay at +this here hotel." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes. I've been up th' gulch these fif- +teen years. Bin livin' on a shelf of black rock. +Th' sun got 'round 'bout ten. Couldn't +make a thing grow." The man was look- +ing off toward the hills, with an expression +of deep sadness in his eyes. "Didn't +never live in a place where nothin' 'd +grow, did you? I took geraniums up thar +time an' time agin. Red ones. Made me +think of mother; she's in Germany. Watered +'em mornin' an' night. Th' damned things +died." + +The oath slipped out with an artless un- +consciousness, and there was a little moist- +ure in his eyes. Kate felt she ought to +bring the conversation to a close. She +wondered what Jack would say if he saw +her talking with a perfect stranger who used +oaths! She would have gone into the house +but for something that caught her eye. It +was the hand of the man; that hand was +a bludgeon. All grace and flexibility had +gone out of it, and it had become a mere +instrument of toil. It was seamed and +misshapen; yet it had been carefully mani- +cured, and the pointed nails looked fantastic +and animal-like. A great seal-ring bore an +elaborate monogram, while the little finger +displayed a collection of diamonds and +emeralds truly dazzling to behold. An +impulse of humanity and a sort of artistic +curiosity, much stronger than her discretion, +urged Kate to continue her conversation. + +"What were you doing up the gulch?" +she said. + +The man leaned back in his chair and +regarded her a moment before answering. +He realized the significance of her question. +He took it as a sign that she was willing +to be friendly. A look of gratitude, almost +tender, sprang into his eyes, -- dull gray +eyes, they were, with a kindliness for their +only recommendation. + +"Makin' my pile," he replied. "I've +been in these parts twenty years. When I +come here, I thought I was goin' to make a +fortune right off. I had all th' money that +mother could give me, and I lost everything I +had in three months. I went up th' gulch." +He paused, and wiped his forehead with his +handkerchief. + +There was something in his remark and the +intonation which made Kate say softly: + +"I suppose you've had a hard time of it." + +"Thar you were!" he cried. "Thar was +th' rock -- risin', risin', black! At th' +bottom wus th' creek, howlin' day an' +night! Lonesome! Gee! No one t' talk +to. Of course, th' men. Had some with +me always. They didn't talk. It's too -- +too quiet t' talk much. They played cards. +Curious, but I never played cards. Don't +think I'd find it amusin'. No, I worked. +Came down here once in six months or +three months. Had t' come -- grub-staked +th' men, you know. Did you ever eat salt +pork?" He turned to Kate suddenly with +this question. + +"Why, yes; a few times. Did you have +it?" + +"Nothin' else, much. I used t' think of +th' things mother cooked. Mother under- +stood cookin', if ever a woman did. I'll +never forget th' dinner she gave me th' day +I came away. A woman ought t' cook. I +hear American women don't go in much +for cookin'." + +"Oh, I think that's a mistake," Kate +hastened to interrupt. "All that I know un- +derstand how to serve excellent dinners. Of +course, they may not cook them themselves, +but I think they could if it were necessary." + +"Hum!" He picked up a long glove that +had fallen from Kate's lap and fingered it +before returning it. + +"I s'pose you cook?" + +"I make a specialty of salads and sor- +bets," smiled Kate. "I guess I could roast +meat and make bread; but circumstances +have not yet compelled me to do it. But +I've a theory that an American woman can +do anything she puts her mind to." + +The man laughed out loud, -- a laugh +quite out of proportion to the mild good +humor of the remark; but it was evident +that he could no longer conceal his delight +at this companionship. + +"How about raisin' flowers?" he asked. +"Are you strong on that?" + +"I've only to look at a plant to make +it grow," Kate cried, with enthusiasm. +"When my friends are in despair over a +plant, they bring it to me, and I just pet it +a little, and it brightens up. I've the most +wonderful fernery you ever saw. It's green, +summer and winter. Hundreds of people +stop and look up at it, it is so green and +enticing, there above the city streets." + +"What city?" + +"Philadelphia." + +"Mother's jest that way. She has a gar- +den of roses. And the mignonette --" + +But he broke off suddenly, and sat once +more staring before him. + +"But not a damned thing," he added, with +poetic pensiveness, "would grow in that +gulch." + +"Why did you stay there so long?" asked +Kate, after a little pause in which she man- +aged to regain her waning courage. + +"Bad luck. You never see a place with +so many false leads. To-day you'd get a +streak that looked big. To-morrow you'd +find it a pocket. One night I'd go t' bed +with my heart goin' like a race-horse. +Next night it would be ploddin' along like +a winded burro. Don't know what made +me stick t' it. It was hot there, too! And +cold! Always roastin' ur freezin'. It'd +been different if I'd had any one t' help me +stand it. But th' men were always findin' +fault. They blamed me fur everythin'. I +used t' lie awake at night an' hear 'em +talkin' me over. It made me lonesome, I +tell you! Thar wasn't no one! Mother +used t' write. But I never told her th' +truth. She ain't a suspicion of what I've +been a-goin' through." + +Kate sat and looked at him in silence. +His face was seamed, though far from old. +His body was awkward, but impressed her +with a sense of magnificent strength. + +"I couldn't ask no woman t' share my +hard times," he resumed after a time. "I +always said when I got a woman, it was +goin' t' be t' make her happy. It wer'n't +t' be t' ask her t' drudge." + +There was another silence. This man +out of the solitude seemed to be elated past +expression at his new companionship. He +looked with appreciation at the little pointed +toes of Kate's slippers, as they glanced from +below the skirt of her dainty organdie. He +noted the band of pearls on her finger. His +eyes rested long on the daisies at her waist. +The wind tossed up little curls of her warm +brown hair. Her eyes suffused with inter- +est, her tender mouth seemed ready to lend +itself to any emotion, and withal she was +so small, so compact, so exquisite. The +man wiped his forehead again, in mere +exuberance. + +"Here's my card," he said, very solemnly, +as he drew an engraved bit of pasteboard +from its leather case. Kate bowed and +took it. + +"Mr. Peter Roeder," she read. +"I've no card," she said. "My name is +Shelly. I'm here for my health, as I told +you." She rose at this point, and held out +her hand. "I must thank you once more +for your kindness," she said. + +His eyes fastened on hers with an appeal +for a less formal word. There was something +almost terrible in their silent eloquence. + +"I hope we may meet again," she said. + +Mr. Peter Roeder made a very low and +awkward bow, and opened the door into the +corridor for her. + +That evening the major announced that he +was obliged to go to Seattle. The journey +was not an inviting one; Kate was well +placed where she was, and he decided to +leave her. + +She was well enough now to take longer +drives; and she found strange, lonely can- +yons, wild and beautiful, where yellow +waters burst through rocky barriers with roar +and fury, -- tortuous, terrible places, such +as she had never dreamed of. Coming back +from one of these drives, two days after +her conversation on the piazza with Peter +Roeder, she met him riding a massive roan. +He sat the animal with that air of perfect +unconsciousness which is the attribute of +the Western man, and his attire, even to +his English stock, was faultless, -- faultily +faultless. + +"I hope you won't object to havin' me +ride beside you," he said, wheeling his +horse. To tell the truth, Kate did not +object. She was a little dull, and had been +conscious all the morning of that peculiar +physical depression which marks the begin- +ning of a fit of homesickness. + +"The wind gits a fine sweep," said +Roeder, after having obtained the permis- +sion he desired. "Now in the gulch we +either had a dead stagnation, or else the +wind was tearin' up and down like a wild +beast." + +Kate did not reply, and they went on +together, facing the riotous wind. + +"You can't guess how queer it seems t' +be here," he said, confidentially. "It seems +t' me as if I had come from some other +planet. Thar don't rightly seem t' be no +place fur me. I tell you what it's like. +It's as if I'd come down t' enlist in th' +ranks, an' found 'em full, -- every man +marchin' along in his place, an' no place +left fur me." + +Kate could not find a reply. + +"I ain't a friend, -- not a friend! I ain't +complainin'. It ain't th' fault of any one +-- but myself. You don' know what a +durned fool I've bin. Someway, up thar in +th' gulch I got t' seemin' so sort of impor- +tant t' myself, and my makin' my stake +seemed such a big thing, that I thought I +had only t' come down here t' Helena t' +have folks want t' know me. I didn't +particular want th' money because it wus +money. But out here you work fur it, jest +as you work fur other things in other places, +-- jest because every one is workin' fur it, +and it's the man who gets th' most that +beats. It ain't that they are any more +greedy than men anywhere else. My pile's +a pretty good-sized one. An' it's likely to +be bigger; but no one else seems t' care. +Th' paper printed some pieces about it. +Some of th' men came round t' see me; +but I saw their game. I said I guessed +I'd look further fur my acquaintances. I +ain't spoken to a lady, -- not a real lady, +you know, -- t' talk with, friendly like, but +you, fur -- years." + +His face flushed in that sudden way again. +They were passing some of those preten- +tious houses which rise in the midst of +Helena's ragged streets with such an extra- +neous air, and Kate leaned forward to look +at them. The driver, seeing her interest, +drew up the horses for a moment. + +"Fine, fine!" ejaculated Roeder. "But +they ain't got no garden. A house don't +seem anythin' t' me without a garden. +Do you know what I think would be th' +most beautiful thing in th' world? A +baby in a rose-garden! Do you know, I +ain't had a baby in my hands, excep' Ned +Ramsey's little kid, once, for ten year!" + +Kate's face shone with sympathy. + +"How dreadful!" she cried. "I couldn't +live without a baby about." + +"Like babies, do you? Well, well. +Boys? Like boys?" + +"Not a bit better than girls," said Kate, +stoutly. + +"I like boys," responded Roeder, with +conviction. "My mother liked boys. She +had three girls, but she liked me a damned +sight the best." + +Kate laughed outright. + +"Why do you swear?" she said. "I +never heard a man swear before, -- at least, +not one with whom I was talking. That's +one of your gulch habits. You must get +over it." + +Roeder's blond face turned scarlet. + +"You must excuse me," he pleaded. +"I'll cure myself of it! Jest give me a +chance." + +This was a little more personal than Kate +approved of, and she raised her parasol to +conceal her annoyance. It was a brilliant +little fluff of a thing which looked as if it +were made of butterflies' wings. Roeder +touched it with awe. + +"You have sech beautiful things," he +said. "I didn't know women wore sech +nice things. Now that dress -- it's like +-- I don't know what it's like." It was a +simple little taffeta, with warp and woof of +azure and of cream, and gay knots of ribbon +about it. + +"We have the advantage of men," she +said. "I often think one of the greatest +drawbacks to being a man would be the +sombre clothes. I like to wear the prettiest +things that can be found." + +"Lace?" queried Roeder. "Do you like +lace?" + +"I should say so! Did you ever see a +woman who didn't?" + +"Hu -- um! These women I've known +don't know lace, -- these wives of th' men +out here. They're th' only kind I've seen +this long time." + +"Oh, of course, but I mean --" + +"I know what you mean. My mother has +a chest full of linen an' lace. She showed +it t' me th' day I left. 'Peter,' she said, +'some day you bring a wife home with you, +an' I'll give you that lace an' that linen.' +An' I'm goin' t' do it, too," he said quietly. + +"I hope so," said Kate, with her eyes +moist. "I hope you will, and that your +mother will be very happy." + +. . . . . . . + +There was a hop at the hotel that night, +and it was almost a matter of courtesy for +Kate to go. Ladies were in demand, for +there were not very many of them at the +hotel. Every one was expected to do his +best to make it a success; and Kate, not at +all averse to a waltz or two, dressed herself +for the occasion with her habitual striving +after artistic effect. She was one of those +women who make a picture of themselves as +naturally as a bird sings. She had an opal +necklace which Jack had given her because, +he said, she had as many moods as an opal +had colors; and she wore this with a crépe +gown, the tint of the green lights in her +necklace. A box of flowers came for her as +she was dressing; they were Puritan roses, +and Peter Roeder's card was in the midst +of them. She was used to having flowers +given her. It would have seemed remark- +able if some one had not sent her a bouquet +when she was going to a ball. + +"I shall dance but twice," she said to +those who sought her for a partner. +"Neither more nor less." + +"Ain't you goin' t' dance with me at +all?" Roeder managed to say to her in the +midst of her laughing altercation with the +gentlemen. + +"Dance with you!" cried Kate. "How +do men learn to dance when they are up a +gulch?" + +"I ken dance," he said stubbornly. He +was mortified at her chaffing. + +"Then you may have the second waltz, " +she said, in quick contrition. "Now you +other gentlemen have been dancing any +number of times these last fifteen years. +But Mr. Roeder is just back from a hard +campaign, -- a campaign against fate. My +second waltz is his. And I shall dance my +best." + +It happened to be just the right sort of +speech. The women tried good-naturedly +to make Roeder's evening a pleasant one. +They were filled with compassion for a man +who had not enjoyed the society of their sex +for fifteen years. They found much amuse- +ment in leading him through the square +dances, the forms of which were utterly +unknown to him. But he waltzed with a +sort of serious alertness that was not so bad +as it might have been. + +Kate danced well. Her slight body +seemed as full of the spirit of the waltz as +a thrush's body is of song. Peter Roeder +moved along with her in a maze, only half- +answering her questions, his gray eyes full +of mystery. + +Once they stopped for a moment, and he +looked down at her, as with flushed face she +stood smiling and waving her gossamer fan, +each motion stirring the frail leaves of the +roses he had sent her. + +"It's cur'ous," he said softly, "but I keep +thinkin' about that black gulch." + +"Forget it," she said. "Why do you +think of a gulch when --" She stopped +with a sudden recollection that he was not +used to persiflage. But he anticipated what +she was about to say. + +"Why think of the gulch when you are +here?" he said. "Why, because it is only +th' gulch that seems real. All this, -- these +pleasant, polite people, this beautiful room, +th' flowers everywhere, and you, and me as +I am, seem as if I was dreamin'. Thar +ain't anything in it all that is like what I +thought it would be." + +"Not as you thought it would be?" + +"No. Different. I thought it would be +-- well, I thought th' people would not be +quite so high-toned. I hope you don't mind +that word." + +"Not in the least," she said. " It's a mu- +sical term. It applies very well to people." + +They took up the dance again and waltzed +breathlessly till the close. Kate was tired; +the exertion had been a little more than she +had bargained for. She sat very still on the +veranda under the white glare of an electric +ball, and let Roeder do the talking. Her +thoughts, in spite of the entertainment she +was deriving from her present experiences, +would go back to the babies. She saw them +tucked well in bed, each in a little iron crib, +with the muslin curtains shielding their rosy +faces from the light. She wondered if Jack +were reading alone in the library or was at +the club, or perhaps at the summer con- +cert, with the swell of the violins in his +ears. Jack did so love music. As she +thought how delicate his perceptions were, +how he responded to everything most subtle +in nature and in art, of how life itself was +a fine art with him, and joy a thing to be +cultivated, she turned with a sense of deep +compassion to the simple man by her side. +His rough face looked a little more unat- +tractive than usual. His evening clothes +were almost grotesque. His face wore a +look of solitude, of hunger. + +"What were you saying?" she said, +dreamily. "I beg your pardon." + +"I was sayin' how I used t' dream of +sittin' on the steps of a hotel like this, and +not havin' a thing t' do. When I used t' +come down here out of the gulch, and see +men who had had good dinners, an' good +baths, sittin' around smokin', with money +t' go over there t' th' bookstan' an' get any- +thin' they'd want, it used t' seem t' me +about all a single man could wish fur." + +"Well, you've got it all now." + +"But I didn't any of th' time suppose +that would satisfy a man long. Only I was +so darned tired I couldn't help wantin' t' +rest. But I'm not so selfish ur s' narrow +as to be satisfied with THAT. No, I'm not +goin' t' spend m' pile that way -- quite!" + +He laughed out loud, and then sat in +silence watching Kate as she lay back +wearily in her chair. + +"I've got t' have that there garden," he +said, laughingly. "Got t' get them roses. +An' I'll have a big bath-house, -- plenty of +springs in this country. You ken have a +bath here that won't freeze summer NOR +winter. An' a baby! I've got t' have a +baby. He'll go with th' roses an' th' +bath." He laughed again heartily. + +"It's a queer joke, isn't it?" Roeder +asked. "Talkin' about my baby, an' I +haven't even a wife." His face flushed and +he turned his eyes away. + +"Have I shown you the pictures of my +babies?" Kate inquired. "You'd like my +boy, I know. And my girl is just like me, +-- in miniature." + +There was a silence. She looked up +after a moment. Roeder appeared to be +examining the monogram on his ring as if +he had never seen it before. + +"I didn't understand that you were mar- +ried," he said gently. + +"Didn't you? I don't think you ever +called me by any name at all, or I should +have noticed your mistake and set you right. +Yes, I'm married. I came out here to get +strong for the babies." + +"Got a boy an' a girl, eh?" + +"Yes." + +"How old's th' boy?" + +"Five." + +"An' th' girl?" + +"She'll soon be four." + +"An' yer husband -- he's livin'?" + +"I should say so! I'm a very happy +woman, Mr. Roeder. If only I were +stronger!" + +"Yer lookin' much better," he said, +gravely, "than when you come. You'll be +all right." + +The moon began to come up scarlet +beyond the eastern hills. The two watched +it in silence. Kate had a feeling of guilt, +as if she had been hurting some helpless +thing. + +"I was in hopes," he said, suddenly, in a +voice that seemed abrupt and shrill, "thet +you'd see fit t' stay here." + +"Here in Helena? Oh, no!" + +"I was thinkin' I'd offer you that two +hundred thousand dollars, if you'd stay." + +"Mr. Roeder! You don't mean -- +surely --" + +"Why, yes. Why not?" He spoke +rather doggedly. "I'll never see no other +woman like you. You're different from +others. How good you've been t' me!" + +"Good! I'm afraid I've been very bad +-- at least, very stupid." + +"I say, now -- your husband's good t' +you, ain't he?" + +"He is the kindest man that ever lived." + +"Oh, well, I didn't know." + +A rather awkward pause followed which +was broken by Roeder. + +"I don't see jest what I'm goin' t' do +with that thar two hundred thousand dol- +lars," he said, mournfully. + +"Do with it? Why, live with it! Send +some to your mother." + +"Oh, I've done that. Five thousand +dollars. It don't seem much here; but it'll +seem a lot t' her. I'd send her more, only +it would've bothered her." + +"Then there is your house, -- the house +with the bath-room. But I suppose you'll +have other rooms?" + +Peter laughed a little in spite of himself. + +"I guess I won't have a house," he said. +"An' I couldn't make a garden alone." + +"Hire a man to help you." Kate was +trembling, but she kept talking gayly. She +was praying that nothing very serious would +happen. There was an undercurrent of som- +breness in the man's manner that frightened +her. + +"I guess I'll jest have t' keep on +dreamin' of that boy playin' with th' roses." + +"No, no," cried Kate; "he will come +true some day! I know he'll come true." + +Peter got up and stood by her chair. + +"You don't know nothin' about it," he +said. "You don't know, an' you can't know +what it's bin t' me t' talk with you. Here +I come out of a place where there ain't no +sound but the water and the pines. Years +come an' go. Still no sound. Only +thinkin', thinkin', thinkin'! Missin' all +th' things men care fur! Dreamin' of a +time when I sh'd strike th' pile. Then I +seed home, wife, a boy, flowers, everythin'. +You're so beautiful, an' you're so good. +You've a way of pickin' a man's heart right +out of him. First time I set my eyes on +you I thought you were th' nicest thing I +ever see! And how little you are! That +hand of yours, -- look at it, -- it's like a +leaf! An' how easy you smile. Up th' +gulch we didn't smile; we laughed, but +gen'ly because some one got in a fix. Then +your voice! Ah, I've thought fur years +that some day I might hear a voice like +that! Don't you go! Sit still! I'm not +blamin' you fur anythin'; but I may +never, 's long's I live, find any one who +will understand things th' way you under- +stand 'em. Here! I tell you about that +gulch an' you see that gulch. You know +how th' rain sounded thar, an' how th' +shack looked, an' th' life I led, an' all th' +thoughts I had, an' th' long nights, an' +th' times when -- but never mind. I know +you know it all. I saw it in yer eyes. I +tell you of mother, an' you see 'er. You +know 'er old German face, an' 'er proud +ways, an' her pride in me, an' how she +would think I wuz awfully rich. An' you +see how she would give out them linens, all +marked fur my wife, an' how I would sit +an' watch her doin' it, an' -- you see every- +thing. I know you do. I could feel you +doin' it. Then I say to myself: 'Here is +th' one woman in th' world made fur me. +Whatever I have, she shall have. I'll +spend my life waitin' on her. She'll tell +me all th' things I ought t' know, an' hev +missed knowin'; she'll read t' me; she'll +be patient when she finds how dull I've +grown. And thar'll be th' boy --'" + +He seized her hand and wrung it, and was +gone. Kate saw him no more that night. + +The next morning the major returned. +Kate threw her arms around his neck and +wept. + +"I want the babies," she explained when +the major showed his consternation. "Don't +mind my crying. You ought to be used to +seeing me cry by this time. I must get +home, that's all. I must see Jack." + +So that night they started. + +At the door of the carriage stood Peter +Roeder, waiting. + +"I'm going t' ride down with you," he +said. The major looked nonplussed. + +Kate got in and the major followed. + +"Come," she said to Roeder. He sat +opposite and looked at her as if he would +fasten her image on his mind. + +"You remember," he said after a time, +"that I told you I used t' dream of sittin' on +the veranda of th' hotel and havin' nothin' +t' do?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I don't think I care fur it. I've +had a month of it. I'm goin' back up +th' gulch." + +"No!" cried Kate, instinctively reaching +out her hands toward him. + +"Why not? I guess you don't know me. +I knew that somewhere I'd find a friend. I +found that friend; an' now I'm alone +again. It's pretty quiet up thar in the +gulch; but I'll try it." + +"No, no. Go to Europe; go to see your +mother." + +"I thought about that a good deal, a +while ago. But I don't seem t' have no +heart fur it now. I feel as if I'd be safer +in th' gulch." + +"Safer?" + +"The world looks pretty big. It's safe +and close in th' gulch." + +At the station the major went to look +after the trunks, and Roeder put Kate in +her seat. + +"I wanted t' give you something " he +said, seating himself beside her, "but I +didn't dare." + +"Oh, my dear friend," she cried, laying +her little gloved hand on his red and knotted +one, "don't go back into the shadow. Do +not return to that terrible silence. Wait. +Have patience. Fate has brought you +wealth. It will bring you love." + +"I've somethin' to ask," he said, paying +no attention to her appeal. "You must +answer it. If we 'a' met long ago, an' you +hadn't a husband or -- anythin' -- do you +think you'd've loved me then?" + +She felt herself turning white. + +"No," she said softly. "I could never +have loved you, my dear friend. We are +not the same. Believe me, there is a +woman somewhere who will love you; but +I am not that woman -- nor could I have +ever been." + +The train was starting. The major came +bustling in. + +"Well, good-by," said Roeder, holding +out his hand to Kate. + +"Good-by," she cried. "Don't go back +up the gulch." + +"Oh," he said, reassuringly, "don't you +worry about me, my -- don't worry. The +gulch is a nice, quiet place. An' you know +what I told you about th' ranks all bein' +full. Good-by." The train was well under +way. He sprang off, and stood on the +platform waving his handkerchief. + +"Well, Kate," said the major, seating +himself down comfortably and adjusting his +travelling cap, "did you find the Western +type?" + +"I don't quite know," said she, slowly. +"But I have made the discovery that a +human soul is much the same wherever you +meet it." + +"Dear me! You haven't been meeting +a soul, have you?" the major said, face- +tiously, unbuckling his travelling-bag. "I'll +tell Jack." + +"No, I'll tell Jack. And he'll feel +quite as badly as I do to think that I could +do nothing for its proper adjustment." + +The major's face took on a look of com- +prehension. + +"Was that the soul," he asked, "that just +came down in the carriage with us?" + +"That was it," assented Kate. "It was +born; it has had its mortal day; and it +has gone back up the gulch." + + + + +A Michigan Man + +A PINE forest is nature's expression of +solemnity and solitude. Sunlight, +rivers, cascades, people, music, laughter, or +dancing could not make it gay. With its +unceasing reverberations and its eternal +shadows, it is as awful and as holy as a +cathedral. + +Thirty good fellows working together by +day and drinking together by night can keep +up but a moody imitation of jollity. Spend +twenty-five of your forty years, as Luther +Dallas did, in this perennial gloom, and +your soul -- that which enjoys, aspires, +competes -- will be drugged as deep as if +you had quaffed the cup of oblivion. +Luther Dallas was counted one of the most +experienced axe-men in the northern camps. +He could fell a tree with the swift surety of +an executioner, and in revenge for his many +arboral murders the woodland had taken +captive his mind, captured and chained it +as Prospero did Ariel. The resounding +footsteps of Progress driven on so merci- +lessly in this mad age could not reach his +fastness. It did not concern him that men +were thinking, investigating, inventing. +His senses responded only to the sonorous +music of the woods; a steadfast wind ring- +ing metallic melody from the pine-tops con- +tented him as the sound of the sea does the +sailor; and dear as the odors of the ocean to +the mariner were the resinous scents of the +forest to him. Like a sailor, too, he had +his superstitions. He had a presentiment +that he was to die by one of these trees, -- +that some day, in chopping, the tree would +fall upon and crush him as it did his father +the day they brought him back to the camp +on a litter of pine boughs. + +One day the gang-boss noticed a tree that +Dallas had left standing in a most unwood- +manlike manner in the section which was +allotted to him. + +"What in thunder is that standing there +for?" he asked. + +Dallas raised his eyes to the pine, tower- +ing in stern dignity a hundred feet above +them. + +"Well," he said feebly, "I noticed it, but +kind-a left it t' the last." + +"Cut it down to-morrow," was the +response. + +The wind was rising, and the tree mut- +tered savagely. Luther thought it sounded +like a menace, and turned pale. No trou- +ble has yet been found that will keep a man +awake in the keen air of the pineries after +he has been swinging his axe all day, but +the sleep of the chopper was so broken with +disturbing dreams that night that the beads +gathered on his brow, and twice he cried +aloud. He ate his coarse flap-jacks in the +morning and escaped from the smoky shanty +as soon as he could. + +"It'll bring bad luck, I'm afraid," he +muttered as he went to get his axe from the +rack. He was as fond of his axe as a soldier +of his musket, but to-day he shouldered it +with reluctance. He felt like a man with +his destiny before him. The tree stood +like a sentinel. He raised his axe, once, +twice, a dozen times, but could not bring +himself to make a cut in the bark. He +walked backwards a few steps and looked up. +The funereal green seemed to grow darker +and darker till it became black. It was the +embodiment of sorrow. Was it not shaking +giant arms at him? Did it not cry out in +angry challenge? Luther did not try to +laugh at his fears; he had never seen any +humor in life. A gust of wind had some- +way crept through the dense barricade of +foliage that flanked the clearing, and struck +him with an icy chill. He looked at the +sky; the day was advancing rapidly. He +went at his work with an energy as deter- +mined as despair. The axe in his practised +hand made clean straight cuts in the trunk, +now on this side, now on that. His task +was not an easy one, but he finished it with +wonderful expedition. After the chopping +was finished, the tree stood firm a moment; +then, as the tensely-strained fibres began a +weird moaning, he sprang aside, and stood +waiting. In the distance he saw two men +hewing a log. The axe-man sent them a +shout and threw up his arms for them to +look. The tree stood out clear and beauti- +ful against the gray sky; the men ceased +their work and watched it. The vibrations +became more violent, and the sounds they +produced grew louder and louder till they +reached a shrill wild cry. There came a +pause, then a deep shuddering groan. The +topmost branches began to move slowly, the +whole stately bulk swayed, and then shot +towards the ground. The gigantic trunk +bounded from the stump, recoiled like a +cannon, crashed down, and lay conquered, +with a roar as of an earthquake, in a cloud +of flying twigs and chips. + +When the dust had cleared away, the men +at the log on the outside of the clearing +could not see Luther. They ran to the +spot, and found him lying on the ground +with his chest crushed in. His fearful eyes +had not rightly calculated the distance from +the stump to the top of the pine, nor rightly +weighed the power of the massed branches, +and so, standing spell-bound, watching the +descending trunk as one might watch his +Nemesis, the rebound came and left him +lying worse than dead. + +Three months later, when the logs, +lopped of their branches, drifted down the +streams, the woodman, a human log lopped +of his strength, drifted to a great city. A +change, the doctor said, might prolong his +life. The lumbermen made up a purse, and +he started out, not very definitely knowing +his destination. He had a sister, much +younger than himself, who at the age of six- +teen had married and gone, he believed, to +Chicago. That was years ago, but he had +an idea that he might find her. He was +not troubled by his lack of resources; he +did not believe that any man would want +for a meal unless he were "shiftless." +He had always been able to turn his hand +to something. + +He felt too ill from the jostling of the +cars to notice much of anything on the jour- +ney. The dizzy scenes whirling past made +him faint, and he was glad to lie with +closed eyes. He imagined that his little +sister in her pink calico frock and bare feet +(as he remembered her) would be at the sta- +tion to meet him. "Oh, Lu!" she would +call from some hiding-place, and he would +go and find her. + +The conductor stopped by Luther's seat +and said that they were in the city at last; +but it seemed to the sick man as if they +went miles after that, with a multitude of +twinkling lights on one side and a blank +darkness, that they told him was the lake, +on the other. The conductor again stopped +by his seat. + +"Well, my man," said he, "how are you +feeling?" + +Luther, the possessor of the toughest +muscles in. the gang, felt a sick man's irri- +tation at the tone of pity. + +"Oh, I'm all right!" he said, gruffly, and +shook off the assistance the conductor tried +to offer with his overcoat. "I'm going to +my sister's," he explained, in answer to the +inquiry as to where he was going. The +man, somewhat piqued at the spirit in +which his overtures were met, left him, and +Luther stepped on to the platform. There +was a long vista of semi-light, down which +crowds of people walked and baggage-men +rushed. The building, if it deserved the +name, seemed a ruin, and through the arched +doors Luther could see men -- hackmen -- +dancing and howling like dervishes. Trains +were coming and going, and the whistles +and bells kept up a ceaseless clangor. +Luther, with his small satchel and uncouth +dress, slouched by the crowd unnoticed, and +reached the street. He walked amid such +an illumination as he had never dreamed +of, and paused half blinded in the glare of +a broad sheet of electric light that filled a +pillared entrance into which many people +passed. He looked about him. Above on +every side rose great, many-windowed build- +ings; on the street the cars and carriages +thronged, and jostling crowds dashed head- +long among the vehicles. After a time he +turned down a street that seemed to him a +pandemonium filled with madmen. It went +to his head like wine, and hardly left him +the presence of mind to sustain a quiet +exterior. The wind was laden with a pene- +trating moisture that chilled him as the dry +icy breezes from Huron never had done, and +the pain in his lungs made him faint and +dizzy. He wondered if his red-cheeked +little sister could live in one of those vast, +impregnable buildings. He thought of +stopping some of those serious-looking men +and asking them if they knew her; but he +could not muster up the courage. The +distressing experience that comes to almost +every one some time in life, of losing all +identity in the universal humanity, was +becoming his. The tears began to roll +down his wasted face from loneliness and +exhaustion. He grew hungry with longing +for the dirty but familiar cabins of the +camp, and staggered along with eyes half +closed, conjuring visions of the warm inte- +riors, the leaping fires, the groups of +laughing men seen dimly through clouds of +tobacco-smoke. + +A delicious scent of coffee met his hun- +gry sense and made him really think he was +taking the savory black draught from his +familiar tin cup; but the muddy streets, +the blinding lights, the cruel, rushing peo- +ple, were still there. The buildings, how- +ever, now became different. They were +lower and meaner, with dirty windows. +Women laughing loudly crowded about the +doors, and the establishments seemed to +be equally divided between saloon-keepers, +pawnbrokers, and dealers in second-hand +clothes. Luther wondered where they all +drew their support from. Upon one sign- +board he read, "Lodgings 10 cents to 50 +cents. A Square Meal for 15 cents," and, +thankful for some haven, entered. Here he +spent his first night and other nights, while +his purse dwindled and his strength waned. +At last he got a man in a drug-store to +search the directory for his sister's resi- +dence. They found a name he took to be +his brother-in-law's. It was two days later +when he found the address, -- a great, many- +storied mansion on one of the southern +boulevards, -- and found also that his search +had been in vain. Sore and faint, he stag- +gered back to his miserable shelter, only to +arise feverish and ill in the morning. He +frequented the great shop doors, thronged +with brilliantly-dressed ladies, and watched +to see if his little sister might not dash up +in one of those satin-lined coaches and take +him where he would be warm and safe and +would sleep undisturbed by drunken, ribald +songs and loathsome surroundings. There +were days when he almost forgot his name, +and, striving to remember, would lose his +senses for a moment and drift back to the +harmonious solitudes of the North and +breathe the resin-scented frosty atmosphere. +He grew terrified at the blood he coughed +from his lacerated lungs, and wondered bit- +terly why the boys did not come to take +him home. + +One day, as he painfully dragged himself +down a residence street, he tried to collect +his thoughts and form some plan for the +future. He had no trade, understood no +handiwork; he could fell trees. He looked +at the gaunt, scrawny, transplanted speci- +mens that met his eye, and gave himself up +to the homesickness that filled his soul. +He slept that night in the shelter of a sta- +ble, and spent his last money in the morn- +ing for a biscuit. + +He travelled many miles that afternoon +looking for something to which he might +turn his hand. Once he got permission to +carry a hod for half an hour. At the end of +that time he fainted. When he recovered, +the foreman paid him twenty-five cents. +"For God's sake, man, go home," he said. +Luther stared at him with a white face and +went on. + +There came days when he so forgot his +native dignity as to beg. He seldom +received anything; he was referred to vari- +ous charitable institutions the existence of +which he had never heard. + +One morning, when a pall of smoke enve- +loped the city and the odors of coal-gas +refused to lift their nauseating poison +through the heavy air, Luther, chilled with +dew and famished, awoke to a happier life. +The loneliness at his heart was gone. The +feeling of hopeless imprisonment that the +miles and miles of streets had terrified him +with gave place to one of freedom and exal- +tation. Above him he heard the rasping of +pine boughs; his feet trod on a rebounding +mat of decay; the sky was as coldly blue as +the bosom of Huron. He walked as if on +ether, singing a senseless jargon the wood- +men had aroused the echoes with, -- + + +"Hi yi halloo! +The owl sees you! +Look what you do! +Hi yi halloo!" + + +Swung over his shoulder was a stick he +had used to assist his limping gait, but now +transformed into the beloved axe. He +would reach the clearing soon, he thought, +and strode on like a giant, while people hur- +ried from his path. Suddenly a smooth +trunk, stripped of its bark and bleached by +weather, arose before him. + +"Hi yi halloo!" High went the wasted +arm -- crash! -- a broken staff, a jingle of +wires, a maddened, shouting man the centre +of a group of amused spectators! A few +moments later, four broad-shouldered men +in blue had him in their grasp, pinioned and +guarded, clattering over the noisy streets +behind two spirited horses. They drew +after them a troop of noisy, jeering boys, +who danced about the wagon like a swirl +of autumn leaves. Then came a halt, and +Luther was dragged up the steps of a square +brick building with a belfry on the top. +They entered a large bare room with +benches ranged about the walls, and brought +him before a man at a desk. + +"What is your name?" asked the man at +the desk. + +"Hi yi halloo!" said Luther. + +"He's drunk, sergeant," said one of the +men in blue, and the axe-man was led into +the basement. He was conscious of an +involuntary resistance, a short struggle, and +a final shock of pain, -- then oblivion. + +The chopper awoke to the realization of +three stone walls and an iron grating in +front. Through this he looked out upon +a stone flooring across which was a row of +similar apartments. He neither knew nor +cared where he was. The feeling of im- +prisonment was no greater than he had felt +on the endless, cheerless streets. He laid +himself on the bench that ran along a side +wall, and, closing his eyes, listened to the +babble of the clear stream and the thunder +of the "drive" on its journey. How the +logs hurried and jostled! crushing, whirling, +ducking, with the merry lads leaping about +them with shouts and laughter. Suddenly +he was recalled by a voice. Some one +handed a narrow tin cup full of coffee and +a thick slice of bread through the grating. +Across the way he dimly saw a man eating +a similar slice of bread. Men in other com- +partments were swearing and singing. He +knew these now for the voices he had heard +in his dreams. He tried to force some of +the bread down his parched and swollen +throat, but failed; the coffee strangled him, +and he threw himself upon the bench. + +The forest again, the night-wind, the +whistle of the axe through the air. Once +when he opened his eyes he found it dark. +It would soon be time to go to work. He +fancied there would be hoar-frost on the +trees in the morning. How close the cabin +seemed! Ha! -- here came his little sister. +Her voice sounded like the wind on a +spring morning. How loud it swelled now! +"Lu! Lu!" she cried. + +The next morning the lock-up keeper +opened the cell door. Luther lay with his +head in a pool of blood. His soul had +escaped from the thrall of the forest. + +"Well, well!" said the little fat police- +justice, when he was told of it. "We ought +to have a doctor around to look after such +cases." + + + + +A Lady of Yesterday + +"A LIGHT wind blew from the gates +of the sun," the morning she first +walked down the street of the little Iowa +town. Not a cloud flecked the blue; there +was a humming of happy insects; a smell of +rich and moist loam perfumed the air, and +in the dusk of beeches and of oaks stood the +quiet homes. She paused now and then, +looking in the gardens, or at a group of +children, then passed on, smiling in content. + +Her accent was so strange, that the agent +for real estate, whom she visited, asked her, +twice and once again, what it was she said. + +"I want," she had repeated smilingly, +"an upland meadow, where clover will +grow, and mignonette." + +At the tea-tables that night, there was a +mighty chattering. The brisk village made +a mystery of this lady with the slow step, +the foreign trick of speech, the long black +gown, and the gentle voice. The men, +concealing their curiosity in presence of the +women, gratified it secretly, by sauntering +to the tavern in the evening. There the +keeper and his wife stood ready to convey +any neighborly intelligence. + +"Elizabeth Astrado" was written in the +register, -- a name conveying little, unaccom- +panied by title or by place of residence. + +"She eats alone," the tavern-keeper's +wife confided to their eager ears, "and asks +for no service. Oh, she's a curiosity! +She's got her story, -- you'll see!" + +In a town where every man knew every +other man, and whether or not he paid his +taxes on time, and what his standing was in +church, and all the skeletons of his home, a +stranger alien to their ways disturbed their +peace of mind. + +"An upland meadow where clover and +mignonette will grow," she had said, and +such an one she found, and planted thick +with fine white clover and with mignonette. +Then, while the carpenters raised her cabin +at the border of the meadow, near the street, +she passed among the villagers, mingling +with them gently, winning their good-will, +in spite of themselves. + +The cabin was of unbarked maple logs, +with four rooms and a rustic portico. Then +all the villagers stared in very truth. They, +living in their trim and ugly little homes, +accounted houses of logs as the misfortune +of their pioneer parents. A shed for wood, +a barn for the Jersey cow, a rustic fence, +tall, with a high swinging gate, completed +the domain. In the front room of the cabin +was a fireplace of rude brick. In the bed- +rooms, cots as bare and hard as a nun's, and +in the kitchen the domestic necessaries; +that was all. The poorest house-holder in +the town would not have confessed to such +scant furnishing. Yet the richest man +might well have hesitated before he sent to +France for hives and hives of bees, as she +did, setting them up along the southern +border of her meadow. + +Later there came strong boxes, marked +with many marks of foreign transportation +lines, and the neighbor-gossips, seeing +them, imagined wealth of curious furniture; +but the man who carted them told his wife, +who told her friend, who told her friend, +that every box to the last one was placed in +the dry cemented cellar, and left there in +the dark. + +"An' a mighty ridic'lous expense a cellar +like that is, t' put under a house of that +char'cter," said the man to his wife -- who +repeated it to her friend. + +"But that ain't all," the carpenter's wife +had said when she heard about it all, +"Hank says there is one little room, not fit +for buttery nor yet fur closit, with a window +high up -- well, you ken see yourself -- +an' a strong door. Jus' in passin' th' other +day, when he was there, hangin' some +shelves, he tried it, an' it was locked!" + +"Well!" said the women who listened. + +However, they were not unfriendly, these +brisk gossips. Two of them, plucking up +tardy courage, did call one afternoon. Their +hostess was out among her bees, crooning to +them, as it seemed, while they lighted all +about her, lit on the flower in her dark hair, +buzzed vivaciously about her snow-white +linen gown, lighted on her long, dark hands. +She came in brightly when she saw her +guests, and placed chairs for them, courte- +ously, steeped them a cup of pale and fra- +grant tea, and served them with little cakes. +Though her manner was so quiet and so +kind, the women were shy before her. She, +turning to one and then the other, asked +questions in her quaint way. + +"You have children, have you not?" + +Both of them had. + +"Ah," she cried, clasping those slender +hands, "but you are very fortunate! Your +little ones, -- what are their ages?" + +They told her, she listening smilingly. + +"And you nurse your little babes -- you +nurse them at the breast?" + +The modest women blushed. They were +not used to speaking with such freedom. +But they confessed they did, not liking arti- +ficial means. + +"No," said the lady, looking at them +with a soft light in her eyes, "as you say, +there is nothing like the good mother +Nature. The little ones God sends should +lie at the breast. 'Tis not the milk alone +that they imbibe; it is the breath of life, -- +it is the human magnetism, the power, -- +how shall I say? Happy the mother who +has a little babe to hold!" + +They wanted to ask a question, but they +dared not -- wanted to ask a hundred ques- +tions. But back of the gentleness was a +hauteur, and they were still. + +"Tell me," she said, breaking her +reverie, "of what your husbands do. Are +they carpenters? Do they build houses for +men, like the blessed Jesus? Or are they +tillers of the soil? Do they bring fruits out +of this bountiful valley?" + +They answered, with a reservation of ap- +proval. "The blessed Jesus!" It sounded +like popery. + +She had gone from these brief personal +matters to other things. + +"How very strong you people seem," she +had remarked. "Both your men and your +women are large and strong. You should +be, being appointed to subdue a continent. +Men think they choose their destinies, but +indeed, good neighbors, I think not so. +Men are driven by the winds of God's will. +They are as much bidden to build up this +valley, this storehouse for the nations, as +coral insects are bidden to make the reefs +with their own little bodies, dying as they +build. Is it not so?" + +"We are the creatures of God's will, I +suppose," said one of her visitors, piously. + +She had given them little confidences in +return. + +"I make my bread," she said, with child- +ish pride, "pray see if you do not think it +excellent!" And she cut a flaky loaf to dis- +play its whiteness. One guest summoned +the bravado to inquire, -- + +"Then you are not used to doing house- +work?" + +"I?" she said, with a slow smile, "I have +never got used to anything, -- not even liv- +ing." And so she baffled them all, yet won +them. + +The weeks went by. Elizabeth Astrado +attended to her bees, milked her cow, fed +her fowls, baked, washed, and cleaned, like +the simple women about her, saving that as +she did it a look of ineffable content lighted +up her face, and she sang for happiness. +Sometimes, amid the ballads that she +hummed, a strain slipped in of some great +melody, which she, singing unaware, as it +were, corrected, shaking her finger in self- +reproval, and returning again to the ballads +and the hymns. Nor was she remiss in +neighborly offices; but if any were ailing, +or had a festivity, she was at hand to assist, +condole, or congratulate, carrying always +some simple gift in her hand, appropriate to +the occasion. + +She had her wider charities too, for all +she kept close to her home. When, one +day, a story came to her of a laborer struck +down with heat in putting in a culvert on +the railroad, and gossip said he could not +speak English, she hastened to him, caught +dying words from his lips, whispered a +reply, and then what seemed to be a prayer, +while he held fast her hand, and sank to +coma with wistful eyes upon her face. +Moreover 'twas she who buried him, rais- +ing a cross above his grave, and she who +planted rose-bushes about the mound. + +"He spoke like an Italian," said the phy- +sician to her warily. + +"And so he was," she had replied. + +"A fellow-countryman of yours, no +doubt?" + +"Are not all men our countrymen, my +friend?" she said, gently. "What are little +lines drawn in the imagination of men, +dividing territory, that they should divide +our sympathies? The world is my country +-- and yours, I hope. Is it not so?" + +Then there had also been a hapless pair of +lovers, shamed before their community, who, +desperate, impoverished, and bewildered at +the war between nature and society, had +been helped by her into a new part of the +world. There had been a widow with many +children, who had found baskets of cooked +food and bundles of well-made clothing on +her step. And as the days passed, with +these pleasant offices, the face of the strange +woman glowed with an ever-increasing con- +tent, and her dark, delicate beauty grew. + +John Hartington spent his vacation at +Des Moines, having a laudable desire to +see something of the world before returning +to his native town, with his college honors +fresh upon him. Swiftest of the college +runners was John Hartington, famed for his +leaping too, and measuring widest at the +chest and waist of all the hearty fellows at +the university. His blond curls clustered +above a brow almost as innocent as a +child's; his frank and brave blue eyes, his +free step, his mellow laugh, bespoke the +perfect animal, unharmed by civilization, +unperplexed by the closing century's falla- +cies and passions. The wholesome oak +that spreads its roots deep in the generous +soil, could not be more a part of nature +than he. Conscientious, unimaginative, +direct, sincere, industrious, he was the +ideal man of his kind, and his return to +town caused a flutter among the maidens +which they did not even attempt to conceal. +They told him all the chat, of course, and, +among other things, mentioned the great +sensation of the year, -- the coming of the +woman with her mystery, the purchase of +the sunny upland, the planting it with +clover and with mignonette, the building +of the house of logs, the keeping of the +bees, the barren rooms, the busy, silent +life, the charities, the never-ending wonder +of it all. And then the woman -- kind, yet +different from the rest, with the foreign +trick of tongue, the slow, proud walk, the +delicate, slight hands, the beautiful, beau- +tiful smile, the air as of a creature from +another world. + +Hartington, strolling beyond the village +streets, up where the sunset died in daffodil +above the upland, saw the little cot of logs, +and out before it, among blood-red poppies, +the woman of whom he had heard. Her +gown of white gleamed in that eerie radi- +ance, glorified, her sad great eyes bent on +him in magnetic scrutiny. A peace and +plenitude of power came radiating from +her, and reached him where he stood, sud- +denly, and for the first time in his careless +life, struck dumb and awed. She, too, +seemed suddenly abashed at this great bulk +of youthful manhood, innocent and strong. +She gazed on him, and he on her, both +chained with some mysterious enchant- +ment. Yet neither spoke, and he, turning +in bewilderment at last, went back to town, +while she placed one hand on her lips to +keep from calling him. And neither slept +that night, and in the morning when she +went with milking pail and stool out to the +grassy field, there he stood at the bars, +waiting. Again they gazed, like creatures +held in thrall by some magician, till she +held out her hand and said, -- + +"We must be friends, although we have +not met. Perhaps we ARE old friends. +They say there have been worlds before this +one. I have not seen you in these habili- +ments of flesh and blood, and yet -- we +may be friends?" + +John Hartington, used to the thin jests +of the village girls, and all their simple +talk, rose, nevertheless, enlightened as +he was with some strange sympathy with +her, to understand and answer what she +said. + +"I think perhaps it may be so. May I +come in beside you in the field? Give me +the pail. I'll milk the cow for you." + +She threw her head back and laughed +like a girl from school, and he laughed too, +and they shook hands. Then she sat near +him while he milked, both keeping silence, +save for the p-rring noise he made with his +lips to the patient beast. Being through, +she served him with a cupful of the fra- +grant milk; but he bade her drink first, +then drank himself, and then they laughed +again, as if they both had found something +new and good in life. + +Then she, -- + +"Come see how well my bees are doing." +And they went. She served him with the +lucent syrup of the bees, perfumed with the +mignonette, -- such honey as there never +was before. He sat on the broad doorstep, +near the scarlet poppies, she on the grass, +and then they talked -- was it one golden +hour -- or two? Ah, well, 'twas long +enough for her to learn all of his simple +life, long enough for her to know that he +was victor at the races at the school, that +he could play the pipe, like any shepherd +of the ancient days, and when he went he +asked her if he might return. + +"Well," laughed she, "sometimes I am +lonely. Come see me -- in a week." + +Yet he was there that day at twilight, +and he brought his silver pipe, and piped +to her under the stars, and she sung ballads +to him, -- songs of Strephon and times +when the hills were young, and flocks were +fairer than they ever be these days. + +"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-mor- +row," and still the intercourse, still her +dark loveliness waxing, still the weaving +of the mystic spell, still happiness as primi- +tive and as sweet as ever Eden knew. + +Then came a twilight when the sweet +rain fell, and on the heavy air the perfumes +of the fields floated. The woman stood by +the window of the cot, looking out. Tall, +graceful, full of that subtle power which +drew his soul; clothed in white linen, fra- +grant from her fields, with breath freighted +with fresh milk, with eyes of flame, she +was there to be adored. And he, being +man of manliest type, forgot all that might +have checked the words, and poured his +soul out at her feet. She drew herself up +like a queen, but only that she might +look queenlier for his sake, and, bending, +kissed his brow, and whispered back his +vows. + +And they were married. + +The villagers pitied Hartington. + +"She's more than a match for him in +years -- an' in some other ways, as like as +not," they said. "Besides, she ain't much +inclined to mention anything about her +past. 'Twon't bear the tellin' probably." + +As for the lovers, they laughed as they +went about their honest tasks, or sat +together arms encircling each at evening, +now under the stars, and now before their +fire of wood. They talked together of their +farm, added a field for winter wheat, +bought other cattle, and some horses, which +they rode out over the rolling prairies side +by side. He never stopped to chat about +the town; she never ventured on the street +without him by her side. Truth to tell, +their neighbors envied them, marvelling +how one could extract a heaven out of +earth, and what such perfect joy could +mean. + +Yet, for all their prosperity, not one ad- +dition did they make to that most simple +home. It stood there, with its bare neces- +sities, made beautiful only with their love. +But when the winter was most gone, he +made a little cradle of hard wood, in which +she placed pillows of down, and over which +she hung linen curtains embroidered by her +hand. + +In the long evenings, by the flicker of +the fire, they sat together, cheek to cheek, +and looked at this little bed, singing low +songs together. + +"This happiness is terrible, my John," +she said to him one night, -- a wondrous +night, when the eastern wind had flung the +tassels out on all the budding trees of +spring, and the air was throbbing with +awakening life, and balmy puffs of breeze, +and odors of the earth. "And we are grow- +ing young. Do you not think that we are +very young and strong?" + +He kissed her on the lips. "I know that +you are beautiful," he said. + +"Oh, we have lived at Nature's heart, +you see, my love. The cattle and the +fowls, the honey and the wheat, the cot -- +the cradle, John, and you and me! These +things make happiness. They are nature. +But then, you cannot understand. You +have never known the artificial --" + +"And you, Elizabeth?" + +"John, if you wish, you shall hear all I +have to tell. 'Tis a long, long, weary tale. +Will you hear it now? Believe me, it will +make us sad." + +She grasped his arm till he shrank with +pain. + +"Tell what you will and when you will, +Elizabeth. Perhaps, some day -- when --" +he pointed to the little crib. + +"As you say." And so it dropped. + +There came a day when Hartington, sit- +ting upon the portico, where perfumes of +the budding clover came to him, hated the +humming of the happy bees, hated the rust- +ling of the trees, hated the sight of earth. + +"The child is dead," the nurse had said, +"as for your wife, perhaps --" but that was +all. Finally he heard the nurse's step +upon the floor. + +"Come, "she said, motioning him. And +he had gone, laid cheek against that dying +cheek, whispered his love once more, saw +it returned even then, in those deep eyes, +and laid her back upon her pillow, dead. + +He buried her among the mignonette, +levelled the earth, sowed thick the seed +again. + +"'Tis as she wished," he said. + +With his strong hands he wrenched the +little crib, laid it piece by piece upon their +hearth, and scattered then the sacred ashes +on the wind. Then, with hard-coming +breath, broke open the locked door of that +room which he had never entered, thinking +to find there, perhaps, some sign of that +unguessable life of hers, but found there +only an altar, with votive lamps before the +Blessed Virgin, and lilies faded and fallen +from their stems. + +Then down into the cellar went he, to +those boxes, with the foreign marks. And +then, indeed, he found a hint of that dead +life. Gowns of velvet and of silk, such as +princesses might wear, wonders of lace, +yellowed with time, great cloaks of snowy +fur, lustrous robes, jewels of worth, -- a vast +array of brilliant trumpery. Then there +were books in many tongues, with rich old +bindings and illuminated page, and in +them written the dead woman's name, -- a +name of many parts, with titles of impress, +and in the midst of all the name, "Eliza- +beth Astrado," as she said. + +And that was all, or if there were more +he might have learned, following trails +that fell within his way, he never learned +it, being content, and thankful that he +had held her for a time within his arms, +and looked in her great soul, which, weary- +ing of life's sad complexities, had sim- +plified itself, and made his love its best +adornment. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of A Mountain Woman, by Elia W. 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