“It seems ages since the boys left for the round-up,” remarked Bess to Mrs. West, one afternoon, as they sat sewing. “When do you think they will be home?”
Folding the soft, white cloth, which seemed to accentuate the dark-skinned hands, Mrs. West paused a moment before answering.
“Um, well, let me see! They started about ten days ago. They ought to be through on Sullivan Creek by this time, and then to Dayton Creek and home. Perhaps in four days more.”
“Well, when they come, I think they will discover two things. One, that I have wasted heaps of ammunition, and two—that I can ‘hit the spot’ three times—almost,” laughingly replied Bess, as she sat near the window, unconsciously lifting some faded American Beauty roses from a vase. As if suddenly commanding her thoughts, she gave the flowers such a vigorous thrust back into their receptacle that the water flew into her face.
“Why girlie—what a way to treat your poor roses!” said Mrs. West.
Half ashamed and half defiantly Bess turned. “Why did not Mr. Davis send the roses to you? You were the one who cared for him. He seems to have forgotten that, and I’d like to remind him of it, too,” she said, with a flash in her eye.
“Well, the opportunity is at hand; but please don’t,” replied Mrs. West, for just then she saw Mr. Davis ride into the yard.
So completely was Bess surprised at the unexpected appearance of the subject of her thoughts, that she strove in vain to cover her embarrassment. Hot blood rushed to her cheeks. Fragrant, waving, brown hair half shielded her eyes, and for once she was glad of its unruly fluffiness.
At first she thought only of flight, for somehow she did not feel that she could as yet meet the man whose last words to her still rung in her ears, and caused little qualms of fear in her heart. During the weeks in which she had not seen him she tried in vain to banish him from her mind; but the strange fascination which he held over her only seemed to increase. And yet she knew her heart did not leap for joy at thought of him, but rather its quickened beatings caused her an undesirable pain,—one so strange, and new and foreign. Could it be that this was love,—that great, mysterious thing which, whether we will or no, grips our very souls like bands of steel, and wrings them most piteously. How could she know? She had dreamed that with love came the sense of peace and rest; the feeling of utter repose and satisfaction, the complete knowledge of all that is good and true, the fulness of contentment, the satisfaction of every heart-felt longing; and here, at the very first appearance of the man who had so ardently confessed his devotion for her, her one thought was to flee, to hide and not to see him. Instead, she remained standing, perfectly quiet, and by the time she heard his step in the hall and Mrs. West’s cheery salutation she was quite mistress of herself.
With still a hesitancy in his walk, he came into the room. How his face brightened and his step quickened at sight of Bess. Eagerly he stepped forward and clasped her extended hand.
“I am glad to see you have improved greatly in so short a time,” ventured Bess, in a low voice.
“Thanks; but to me the past weeks have seemed an eternity. Not a word, not a sign from the little girl I left so reluctantly.”
Bess felt like calling to Mrs. West as she passed the doorway,—she could not be alone with Mr. Davis.
“You came to see Mrs. West,” said Bess in a tentative way; “I’ll call her!” But as she stepped forward towards the door, her face lifted and lips parted ready to call, the man abruptly intervened, caught her to him and smothered the sound upon her lips. Again and again he kissed her till she had no breath to give voice to her anger.
“You—you—stop—how dare you frighten me so! You have no right to—to—” but tears choked her voice and she could only gaze at him with flashing eyes.
The man did not move nor offer any words. Slowly he put his hands in his pockets and looked at her with eyes that burned into her very soul and held her spell-bound. How handsome he looked,—so tall and large, health again glowing in his face and form. For a full moment thus he stood, immovable, immutable! Never for an instant did he lift his eyes from the girl’s! Now her eyelids gave a brief quiver, her lips parted in a soft sigh, and her hands fell listlessly by her side. Then he spoke, in a voice so low that it was scarcely audible, so tender that its caress seemed like music.
“Come here, dear!” Lifting one hand in an appealing gesture, he held it poised for a moment and then let it rest gently on a fluffy brown head, which moved slowly and irresolutely near to him. Lifting the girl’s face so that he could look directly into the eyes, he said: “Tell me—have I no right to love you, or to make you—make you love in return? Nothing seems good to me but you; you have my heart and soul to save or destroy; you—little girl—are the keeper of my happiness, my very existence. The miserable days without you have been unbearable; the long nights more miserable still. I love you—do you understand that—love you—I want you—and shall have you!” Again he grew fierce, and held the girl so firmly that he felt her struggle for breath. Slowly relaxing his arms and gently placing the girl before him he continued: “Kiss me now, Bess, of your own free will, and that will tell me that you love me.”
For a moment she stood silent, dumb. A spasmodic quiver shook her body and trembling eyelids covered her eyes. Her hands went to her heart as if trying to restore its beating, and suddenly she stepped back, flung out her chin, and in a voice almost uncontrollable with emotion said, “I’ll call—Mrs.—West—” and ran out of the room before her admirer could prevent.
He stood a moment at the vacant doorway and then, with a sinister smile showing the firm, white teeth set hard together, he said, half audibly: “You—shall!”
Bess found Mrs. West and succeeded rather poorly in trying to be calm. The dear, white-haired woman placed her arm lovingly about the girl and led her gently back into the living-room.
Mr. Davis was standing with his back to the door as they entered, toying carelessly with the faded roses.
“Your beautiful roses were greatly enjoyed and appreciated. We thank you for them, Mr. Davis,” said Bess, in a voice which showed that she had not yet recovered her composure.
She still clung to Mrs. West’s hand, as if she needed her assuring clasp. Mrs. West could not refrain a smile at the extra stress which the girl placed on the “we,” and added: “Yes, and you may judge by their condition, Mr. Davis, how greatly they were prized. American Beauties are not plentiful here, and their rarity as well as their beauty makes them doubly dear.”
“I am sorry, Mrs. West, to have been so tardy in coming to see you. But I found affairs in great confusion when I returned to the Agency. Will you kindly tell me how much I am indebted to you?”
A look of anger and humiliation clouded the woman’s face. She did not reply at once and was relieved from doing so by Bess, who drew herself up to her full height and said with a bravado that astonished both her hearers: “Mr. Davis, do not insult my little Mother by offering money for her kindness towards you. Such indebtedness is only liquidated by—by—gratitude, and by—roses,” she added, glancing at Mrs. West, and pulled the shriveled petals off and dropped them carelessly on the rug.
“I see it is utterly useless to offer anything but my thanks, Mrs. West.” Davis held out his hand to her and turning to the girl he added, “And may I send more roses?”
As he took his departure a moment later, Mrs. West asked Bess if she would ride as far as Polson with Mr. Davis and bring the mail. There did not seem any plausible excuse to offer for not wishing to go, and Davis gladly waited until she had donned her riding habit and a man had brought Mauchacho from the stables.
What a delight to the eye was the tall, lithe form, with its becoming green skirt and soft, fluffy waist. The sombrero was tied on securely with her long, white, silky veil, that caressed the pink cheeks. Long gauntlet gloves with fringed ends dangling, and a dainty quirt, gave her an added touch of individuality. She spurned the proffered assistance to mount, and had gained the saddle before it was fairly given. The little dread which she had at first felt at riding the three miles with Mr. Davis had left her, for somehow the indescribable feeling she had, when he first came, had completely vanished, and she knew that she was again complete mistress of herself—she was the generalissimo!
The horses’ hoofs filled her ears with music as the two rode along, almost without a word, and by the time they reached Polson’s she was completely at ease and all the passion and fear of the past hour were, for the time, at least, forgotten.
Mr. White, seeing their approach, brought the packet of letters out to Bess, who eagerly examined them. At one, her face lighted up with beautiful happiness, and she cried out: “Oh, goody—one at last from Bee!”
After a few desultory remarks to Mr. White, Davis turned his horse to go. Lifting his hat to Miss Fletcher, now buried in the pages of a voluminous letter, he spoke so low that he doubted if she heard, she gave a nod and smile to his, “Remember, the roses are only for you!”
Bess crowded the pages of the letter into its envelope, and thrusting all the mail into her blouse she leaned forward with a quick command to Mauchacho, who almost instantly caught the girl’s eagerness and sped like the wind along the border of the lake for home.
Davis turned in the saddle, resting his hand on his horse’s back, to watch with admiration the beautiful rider. The long, white veil was now streaming far behind her like some dainty, fleecy cloud, trying to keep pace with a fleeing nymph. There was no movement to her body, and she seemed to be flying through space. Davis’ hand unconsciously restrained his horse, who was now standing perfectly still. He watched the girl ride out of sight behind a low hill, and when he again resumed his journey he was filled with greater determination than ever to win her at any cost.
Mrs. West hurried to the door as she saw Bess’ unusual haste, but her anxiety was quickly dispelled as she caught sight of the girl’s happy face. Slipping off her horse’s back, Bess left him with trailing reins, and sprang quickly up the steps.
“Oh, little Mother,” she cried, as she grasped her hand and dragged her to a seat on the steps beside her. Into her blouse she plunged her hand and drew forth a letter which contained some startling news, indeed.
“See! here is a letter from Bee—Berenice, you know, and she writes—let me see, where is it?” She wet her thumb and fumbled among the pages. “Oh, here! ‘At last, dear Bess, I have gained father’s consent to come to visit you, although he knows I will surely be eaten by bears or buffalos or captured by the Indians.’”
Bess laughed as she gave Mrs. West’s hand a pressure of love and assurance. “She thinks, or her father, rather, thinks we are still among savages, doesn’t he?” Then she continued to read: “‘You see, dearie, I am quite worn out with the care of sister—’ Oh! haven’t I told you about it all, little Mother? Well, I will when I’ve finished reading this; ‘with the care of sister, who is much better now, better than she has been before in all these miserable years, although we have given up hope that she will ever be her dear old self again.’”
Compassionate tears were swimming in Bess’ eyes so that with difficulty she continued reading, “that the visit would not take place until early in the autumn.”
“Really,” said Bess, “I can scarcely wait so long. Berenice and I have been like sisters and were always roommates in school, before her sister’s health demanded her continual presence at home. I have not even seen her since then.”
She now carefully replaced the letter in its envelope and told Mrs. West briefly the tragedy of the sister of her dearest friend, Berenice Morton. It seems that about five years before this time, Miss Grace Morton, who was attending school in Massachusetts, met a Harvard man with whom she fell deeply in love. He was also enamored with the young woman and became a frequent visitor. At last he persuaded Grace to consent to a secret marriage, so that each might continue in school and complete the year’s work before announcing what they had done.
At first he was more devoted as a husband than as a lover, but when it became imperative to announce their secret marriage before the close of the school year, she sent him an urgent request to come to her and take her home to her parents. In vain she waited for him; days grew into weeks, and still he did not come. Driven to desperation at last, she went home to face her parents, to face the world, to bear her agony alone. The shock was so great that the frail mother could not bear it, and her death resulted a few weeks later. But the strong-hearted father and tender young sister opened their arms to the poor, frail, young woman, and with all their combined efforts sought to lessen her burden. Each day she watched for some word or sign from the man who had so cruelly deserted her, but as each day closed without the pain and longing being satisfied, she gradually sank deeper and deeper in despair. Her dear ones began to hope that with the advent of her child she might regain her health of mind, but when the little one came no flickering breath stirred its lips. In vain she opened her arms to receive her treasure, and when they remained empty her heart broke and her mind fled in search of the tiny wandering soul. During all of these years the brokenhearted father and sister watched in vain for some sign of recovery. Now Berenice had written that she was better! Could it be possible that at length their prayers would be answered?
“You see, in all our letters to each other, I never felt like asking Berenice more than she cared to write voluntarily; I do know, however, that she met the man once while visiting her sister at school shortly after the marriage.”
When Bess had finished telling Mrs. West the history of the tragedy, the little mother’s heart was so wrung with tears and pity that she could not speak, and abruptly entered the house.
“I wonder,” said Mrs. West, after she had again found her voice, “what on earth could have prompted any man to do such a cowardly, dastardly act! I believe if I were placed in a similar position with Mr. Morton and should ever discover the scoundrel, I would—kill him!” she said, half to herself and half to the girl, who had followed her into the living-room, and who was now gazing with wide, astonished eyes at the excited woman. For the first time since Bess had come to the HW ranch had she seen the latent savagery aroused. How grand and imposing the woman looked, standing straight and rigid, her black eyes emitting flashes of fire! One hand was thrust into the white tresses, while the other, half upraised and clenched, seemed to grasp an imaginary weapon! She truly looked as if she meant what she said, and as if she could do what she meant. Presently she walked over to an open window, as if she needed the fresh air which gently swayed the curtains. When she had grown quite calm again she turned to Bess, awed at the woman’s magnificent rage.
“My dear, I am glad you are here with me, and quite safe from those vultures who swoop down upon any woman as legitimate prey, simply for the gratification of a momentary passion. They do not hesitate to match their strength against the weak, nor to use every wile, hidden by suavity of manner and equivocal promises, to accomplish their purpose. I do not say all are like this, but the few are ever ready, waiting.”
The girl’s brown eyes filled with a strange light, as if they did not comprehend the subtle significance of the words, or perhaps saw for the first time the full significance of what, heretofore, had seemed like a faint, quavering intuition. Her personal experience with men had been so very limited, and withal so pleasant, that she had felt a sort of brotherly interest in those whom she knew. But somehow, now, there was creeping into her soul an indescribable timidity or fear, and for what she could scarcely define. Into her mind flashed remnants of incidents she had heard of brokenhearted girls, and the tragedy of her friend’s sister stood out clear and ominous! With a start she recalled the day when she and Henry West stood near his sister Helen’s grave, and the half incoherent words again came into her mind and assumed a new and terrible meaning. Yet, here stood the unsuspecting mother, now grown sweet and calm once more; surely, Bess’ surmises must be wrong, for how could any mother have such a secret knowledge and still be able to smile—or even to live?
“No,” Bess thought, “I must not even think such a thing of that dear, sweet, sleeping stranger.”
At length Mrs. West came over to Bess, and folding her in her arms stroked the soft tresses as if she were her own daughter, still tiny, still sweet, still living!
“I fear that I have alarmed you, dear, but somehow those things always make me lose control of myself, and I feel like the wild creatures who are ever guarding their young against the onslaughts of danger.”
Bess permitted herself to be held in the protecting embrace for several moments, then suddenly releasing herself, she sprang to the center of the room, and dramatically drawing herself up to her full height, throwing back her head and clenching her hands, she said, with emotion quavering in her voice: “Look—tell me—shall I always be able to protect myself? Look!”
Mrs. West was held entranced for a moment by the beautiful girl. Health glowed in her eye and reddened her lips and cheeks; strength of character was stamped in every feature; the strong will-power showed in the rigid jaw and tense nostrils.
“Yes—I know you will always have the courage, and God will give you strength.”