_CHAPTER NINETEEN_
When Ruth Manning read the note through for the first time she raisedher glance to the bearer. The boy was so sun-blackened that the palerskin of the eyelids made his eyes seem supremely large. He was nowpoised accurately on one foot, rubbing his calloused heel up and downhis shin, while he drank in the particulars of the telegraph office. Hecould hardly be a party to a deception. She looked over the note again,and read:
DEAR MISS MANNING:
I am a couple of miles out of Lukin, in a place to which the bearer of this note will bring you. I am sure you will come, for I am in trouble, out of which you can very easily help me. It is a matter which I cannot confide to any other person in Lukin. I am impatiently expecting you.
BEN CONNOR.
She crumpled the note in her hand thoughtfully, but, on the verge ofdropping it in the waste basket, she smoothed it again, and for thethird time went over the contents. Then she rose abruptly and confidedher place to the lad who idled at the counter.
"The wire's dead," she told him. "Besides, I'll be back in an hour orso."
And she rode off a moment later with the boy. He had a blanket-padwithout stirrups, and he kept prodding the sliding elbows of the horsewith his bare toes while he chattered at Ruth, for the drum of thesounder had fascinated him and he wanted it explained. She listened tohim with a smile of inattention, for she was thinking busily of Connor.Those thoughts made her look down to the dust that puffed up from thefeet of the horses and became a light mist behind them; then, raisingher head, she saw the blue ravines of the farther mountains and the sunhaze about the crests. Connor had always been to her as the ship is to atraveler; the glamour of strange places was about him.
Presently they left the trail, and passing about a hillside, came to anold shack whose unpainted wood had blackened with time.
"There he is," said the boy, and waving his hand to her, turned his ponyon the back trail at a gallop.
Connor called to her from the shack and came to meet her, but she haddismounted before he could reach the stirrup. He kept her hand in hisfor a moment as he greeted her. It surprised him to find how glad he wasto see her. He told her so frankly.
"After the mountains and all that," he said cheerfully, "it's likemeeting an old chum again to see you. How have things been going?"
This direct friendliness in a young man was something new to the girl.The youths who came in to the dances at Lukin were an embarrassed lotwho kept a sulky distance, as though they made it a matter of pride toshow they were able to resist the attraction of a pretty girl. But ifshe gave them the least encouragement, the merest shadow of a friendlysmile, they were at once all eagerness. They would flock around her,sending savage glances to one another, and simpering foolishly at her.They had stock conversation of politeness; they forced out prodigiouscompliments to an accompaniment of much writhing. Social conversationwas a torture to them, and the girl knew it.
Not that she despised them. She understood perfectly well that most ofthem were fine fellows and strong men. But their talents had beencultivated in roping two-year-olds and bulldogging yearlings. They couldencounter the rush of a mad bull far more easily than they couldwithstand a verbal quip. With the familiarity of years, she knew, theylost both their sullenness and their starched politeness. They becamekindly, gentle men with infinite patience, infinite devotion to their"womenfolk." Homelier girls in Lukin had an easier time with them. Butin the presence of Ruth Manning, who was a more or less celebratedbeauty, they were a hopeless lot. In short, she had all her life been inan amphibious position, of the mountain desert and yet not of themountain desert. On the one hand she despised the "slick dudes" who nowand again drifted into Lukin with marvelous neckties and curiouslypatterned clothes; on the other hand, something in her revolted at thethought of becoming one of the "womenfolk."
As a matter of fact, there are two things which every young girl shouldhave. The first is the presence of a mother, which is the oldest oftruisms; the second is the friendship of at least one man of nearly herown age. Ruth had neither. That is the crying hurt of Western life. Themen are too busy to bother with women until the need for a wife and ahome and children, and all the physical destiny of a man, overwhelmsthem. When they reach this point there is no selection. The first girlthey meet they make love to.
And most of this Ruth understood. She wanted to make some of thoselumbering, fearless, strong-handed, gentle-souled men her friends. Butshe dared not make the approaches. The first kind word or the firstwinning smile brought forth a volley of tremendous compliments, close onthe heels of which followed the heavy artillery of a proposal ofmarriage. No wonder that she was rejoiced beyond words to meet thisfrank friendliness in Ben Connor. And what a joy to be able to speakback freely, without putting a guard over eyes and voice!
"Things have gone on just the same--but I've missed you a lot!"
"That's good to hear."
"You see," she explained, "I've been living in Lukin with just half amind--the rest of it has been living off the wire. And you're about theonly interesting thing that's come to me except in the Morse."
And what a happiness to see that there was no stiffening of his glanceas he tried to read some profound meaning into her words! He acceptedthem as they were, with a good-natured laughter that warmed her heart.
"Sit down over here," he went on, spreading a blanket over a chairlikearrangement of two boulders. "You look tired out."
She accepted with a smile, and letting her head go back against theupper edge of the blanket she closed her eyes for a moment and permittedher mind to drift into utter relaxation.
"I _am_ tired," she whispered. It was inexpressibly pleasant to liethere with the sense of being guarded by this man. "They never guess howtired I get--never--never! I feel--I feel--as if I were living under thewhip all the time."
"Steady up, partner." He had picked up that word in the mountains, andhe liked it. "Steady, partner. Everybody has to let himself go. You tellme what's wrong. I may not be able to fix anything, but it always helpsto let off steam."
She heard him sit down beside her, and for an instant, though her eyeswere still closed, she stiffened a little, fearful that he would touchher hand, attempt a caress. Any other man in Lukin would have becomefamiliar long ago. But Connor did not attempt to approach her.
"Turn and turn about," he was saying smoothly. "When I went into yourtelegraph office the other night my nerves were in a knot. Tell youstraight I never knew I _had_ real nerves before. I went in ready tocurse like a drunk. When I saw you, it straightened me out. By the Lord,it was like a cool wind in my face. You were so steady, Ruth; straighteyes; and it ironed out the wrinkles to hear your voice. I blurted out alot of stuff. But when I remembered it later on I wasn't ashamed. I knewyou'd understand. Besides, I knew that what I'd said would stop withyou. Just about one girl in a million who can keep her mouth shut--andeach one of 'em is worth her weight in gold. You did me several thousanddollars' worth of good that night. That's honest!"
She allowed her eyes to open, slowly, and looked at him with a mistycontent. The mountains had already done him good. The sharp sun hadflushed him a little and tinted his cheeks and strong chin with tan. Helooked more manly, somehow, and stronger in himself. Of course he hadflattered her, but the feeling that she had actually helped him so muchby merely listening on that other night wakened in her a newself-reverence. She was too prone to look on life as a career of manlikeendeavor; it was pleasant to know that a woman could accomplishsomething even more important by simply sitting still and listening. Hewas watching her gravely now, even though she permitted herself theluxury of smiling at him.
All at once she cried softly: "Thank Heaven that you're not a fool, BenConnor!"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I don't think I can tell you." She added hastily: "I'm not trying to bemysterious."
He waved the need of an apology away.
"Tell you what. Never knew a girl yet that w
as worth her salt who couldbe understood all the time, or who even understood herself."
She closed her eyes again to ponder this, lazily. She could not arriveat a conclusion, but she did not care. Missing links in thisconversation were not vitally important.
"Take it easy, Ruth; we'll talk later on," he said after a time.
She did not look at him as she answered: "Tell me why?"
There was a sort of childlike confiding in all this that troubled BenConnor. He had seen her with a mind as direct and an enthusiasm asstrong as that of a man. This relaxing and softening alarmed him,because it showed him another side of her, a new and vital side. She wasvery lovely with the shadows of the sombrero brim cutting across thesoftness of her lips and setting aglow the clear olive tan of her chinand throat. Her hand lay palm upward beside her, very small, verydelicate in the making. But what a power was in that hand! He realizedwith a thrill of not unmixed pleasure that if the girl set herself tothe task she could mold him like wax with the gestures of that hand. Ifinto the softness of her voice she allowed a single note of warmth tocreep, what would happen in Ben Connor? He felt within himself a chordready to vibrate in answer.
Now he caught himself leaning a little closer to study the purple stainof weariness in her eyelids. Even exhaustion was attractive in her. Itshowed something new, and newly appealing. Weariness gave merely a newedge to her beauty. What if her eyes, opening slowly now, were to lookupon him not with the gentleness of friendship, but with somethingmore--the little shade of difference in a girl's wide eyes that admits aman to her secrets--and traps him in so doing.
Ben Connor drew himself up with a shake of the shoulders. He felt thathe must keep careful guard from now on. What a power she was. What apower! If she set herself to the task who could deal with her? What mancould keep from her? Then the picture of David jumped into his mind outof nothingness. And on the heels of that picture the inspiration camewith a sudden uplifting of the heart, surety, intoxicating insight. Hewanted to jump to his feet and shout until the great ravine beneath themechoed. With an effort he remained quiet. But he was thinkingrapidly--rapidly. He had intended to use her merely to arrange forshipping Shakra away from Lukin Junction. For he dared not linger aboutthe town where expert horse thieves might see the mare. But nowsomething new, something more came to him. The girl was a power? Why notuse her?
What he said was: "Do you know why you close your eyes?"
Still without looking up she answered: "Why?"
"All of these mountains--you see?" She did not see, so he went on todescribe them. "There's that big peak opposite us. Looks a hundred yardsaway, but it's two miles. Comes down in big jags and walks up into thesky--Lord knows how many thousand feet. And behind it the other rangesstepping off into the horizon with purple in the gorges and mist at thetops. Fine picture, eh? But hard to look at, Ruth. Mighty hard to lookat. First thing you know you get to squinting to make out whether that'sa cactus on the side of that mountain or a hundred-foot pine tree. Mightbe either. Can't tell the distance in this air. Well, you begin tosquint. That's how the people around here get that long-distance lookbehind their eyes and the long-distance wrinkles around the corners oftheir eyes. All the men have those wrinkles. But the women have them,too, after a while. You'll get them after a while, Ruth. Wrinkles aroundthe eyes and wrinkles in the mind to match, eh?"
Her eyes opened at last, slowly, slowly. She smiled at him plaintively.
"Don't I know, Ben? It's a man's country. It isn't made for woman."
"Ah, there you've hit the nail on the head. Exactly! A man's country. Doyou know what it does to the women?"
"Tell me."
"Makes 'em like the men. Hardens their hands after a while. Roughenstheir voices. Takes time, but that's what comes after a while.Understand?"
"Oh, don't I understand!"
And he knew how the fear had haunted her, then, for the first time.
"What does this dry, hot wind do to you in the mountains? What does itdo to your skin? Takes the velvet off, after a while; makes it dry andhard. Lord, girl, I'd hate to see the change it's going to make inyou!"
All at once she sat up, wide awake.
"What are you trying to do to me, Ben Connor?"
"I'm trying to wake you up."
"I _am_ awake. But what can I do?"
"You think you're awake, but you're not. Tell you what a girl needs, astage--just like an actor. Think they can put on a play with thesemountains for a setting? Never in the world. Make the actors look toosmall. Make everything they say sound too thin.
"Same way with a girl. She needs a setting. A room, a rug, a picture, acomfortable chair, and a dress that goes with it. Shuts out the rest ofthe world and gives her a chance to make a man focus on her--see herbehind the footlights. See?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Do you know what I've been doing while I watched you just now?"
"Tell me."
He was fighting for a great purpose now, and a quality of earnestemotion crept into his voice. "Around your throat I've been running anedging of yellow old lace. Under your hand that was lying there I put adeep blue velvet; I had your shoulders as white as snow, with a flash to'em like snow when you turned in the light; I had you proud as a queen,Ruth, with a blur of violets at your breast. I took out the tired lookin your face. Instead, I put in happiness."
He stopped and drew a long breath.
"You're pretty now, but you could be--beautiful. Lord, what a flame of abeauty you could be, girl!"
Instead of flushing and smiling under the praise, he saw tears well intoher eyes and her mouth grow tremulous. She winked the tears away.
"What are you trying to do, Ben? Make everything still harder for me?Don't you see I'm helpless--helpless?"
And instead of rising to a wail her voice sank away at the end indespair.
"Oh, you're trapped well enough," he said. "I'm going to bust the trap!I'm going to give you your setting. I'm going to make you what you oughtto be--beautiful!"
She smiled as at any unreal fairy tale.
"How?"
"I can show you better than I can tell you! Come here!" He rose, and shewas on her feet in a flash. He led the way to the door of the shack, andas the shadows fell inside, Shakra tossed up her head.
The girl's bewildered joy was as great as if the horse were a present toher.
"Oh, you beauty, you beauty," she cried.
"Watch yourself," he warned. "She's as wild as a mountain lion."
"But she knows a friend!"
Shakra sniffed the outstretched hand, and then with a shake of her headaccepted the stranger and looked over Ruth's shoulder at Connor asthough for an explanation. Connor himself was smiling and excited; hedrew her back and forgot to release her hand, so that they stood liketwo happy children together. He spoke very softly and rapidly, as thoughhe feared to embarrass the mare.
"Look at the head first--then the bone in the foreleg, then the lengthabove her back--see how she stands! See how she stands! And those blackhoofs, hard as iron, I tell you--put the four of 'em in my double hands,almost--ever see such a nick? But she's no six furlong flash! Thatchest, eh? Run your finger-tips down that shoulder!"
She turned with tears of pleasure in her eyes. "Ben Connor, you've beenin the valley of the grays!"
"I have. And do you know what it means to us?"
"To _us_?"
"I said it. I mean it. You're going to share."
"I--"
"Look at that mare again!"
She obeyed.
"Say something, Ruth!"
"I can't say what I feel!"
"Then try to understand this: you're looking at the fastest horse thatever stepped into a race track. You understand? I'm not speaking incomparisons. I'm talking the cold dope! Here's a pony that could havegiven Salvator twenty pounds, run him sick in six furlongs, and walkedaway to the finish by herself. Here's a mare that could pick up ahundred and fifty pounds and beat the finest horse that ever faced abarrier with a f
ly-weight jockey in the saddle. You're looking athistory, girl! Look again! You're looking at a cold million dollars.You're looking at the blood that's going to change the history of theturf. That's what Shakra means!"
She was trembling with his excitement.
"I see. It's the sure thing you were talking about. The horse that can'tbe beat--that makes the betting safe?"
But Connor grew gloomy at once.
"What do you mean by sure thing? If I could ever get her safely awayfrom the post in a stake race, yes; sure as anything on earth. Butsuppose the train is wrecked? Suppose she puts a foot in a hole? Supposeat the post some rotten, cheap-selling plater kicks her and lays herup!"
He passed a trembling hand along the neck of Shakra.
"God, suppose!"
"But you only brought one; nothing else worth while in the valley?"
"Nothing else? I tell you, the place is full of 'em! And there's astallion as much finer than Shakra as she's finer than that broken-down,low-headed, ewe-necked, straight-shouldered, roach-backed skate you haveout yonder!"
"Mr. Connor, that's the best little pony in Lukin! But I know--comparedwith this--oh, to see her run, just once!"
She sighed, and as her glance fell Connor noted her pallor and herweariness. She looked up again, and the great eyes filled her face withloveliness. Color, too, came into her cheeks and into her parted lips.
"You beauty!" she murmured. "You perfect, perfect beauty!"
Shakra was nervous under the fluttering hands, but in spite of heruneasiness she seemed to enjoy the light-falling touches until thefinger-tips trailed across her forehead; then she tossed her head high,and the girl stood beneath, laughing, delighted. Connor found himselfsmiling in sympathy. The two made a harmonious picture. As harmonious,say, as the strength of Glani and the strength of David Eden. His facegrew tense with it when he drew the girl away.
"Would you like to have a horse like that--half a dozen like it?"
The first leap of hope was followed by a wan smile at this cruelmockery.
He went on with brutal tenseness, jabbing the points at her with hisraised finger.
"And everything else you've ever wanted: beautiful clothes? Manhattan? Alimousine as big as a house. A butler behind your chair and a maid inyour dressing room? A picture in the papers every time you turn around?You want 'em?"
"Do I want heaven?"
"How much will you pay?"
He urged it on her, towering over her as he drew close.
"What's it worth? Is it worth a fight?"
"It's worth--everything."
"I'm talking shop. I'm talking business. Will you play partners withme?"
"To the very end."
"The big deaf-mute doesn't own the grays in that valley they call theGarden of Eden. They're owned by a white man. They call him David Eden.And David Eden has never been out in the world. It's part of his creednot to. It's part of his creed, however, to go out just once, find awoman for his wife, and bring her back with him. Is that clear?"
"I--"
"You're to go up there. That old gray gelding we saw in Lukin the day ofthe race. I'll finance you to the sky. Ride it to the gates of theGarden of Eden. Tell the guards that you've got to have another horsebecause the one you own is old. Insist on seeing David. Smile at 'em;win 'em over. Make them let you see David. And the minute you see him,he's ours! You understand? I don't mean marriage. One smile will knockhim stiff. Then play him. Get him to follow you out of the valley. Tellhim you have to go back home. He'll follow you. Once we have him outsideyou can keep him from going back and you can make him bring out hishorses, too. Easy? It's a sure thing! We don't rob him, you see? Wesimply use his horses. I race them and play them. I split the winningswith you and David. Millions, I tell you; millions. Don't answer. Gimmea chance to talk!"
There was a rickety old box leaning against the wall; he made her sit onit, and dropping upon one knee, he poured out plan, reason, hopes,ambitions in fierce confusion. It ended logically enough. David wasunder what he considered a divine order to marry, and he would be clayin the hands of the first girl who met him. She would be a fool indeedif she were not able to lead him out of the valley.
"Think it over for one minute before you answer," concluded Connor, andthen rose and folded his arms. He controlled his very breathing for fearof breaking in on the dream which he saw forming in her eyes.
Then she shook herself clear of the temptation.
"Ben, it's crooked! I'm to lie to him--live a lie until we have what wewant!"
"God A'mighty, girl! Don't you see that we'd be doing the poor fathead agood turn by getting him out of his hermitage and letting him live inthe world? A lie? Call it that if you want. Aren't there such things aswhite lies? If there are, this is one of 'em or I'm not Ben Connor."
His voice softened. "Why, Ruth, you know damned well that I wouldn't putthe thing up to you if I didn't figure that in the end it would be thebest thing in the world for you? I'm giving you your chance. To saveDave Eden from being a fossil. To earn your own freedom. To geteverything you've longed for. Think!"
"I'm trying to think--but I only keep feeling, inside, 'It's wrong! It'swrong! It's wrong!' I'm not a moralizer, but--tell me about David Eden!"
Connor saw his opening.
"Think of a horse that's four years old and never had a bit in histeeth. That's David Eden. The minute you see him you'll want to tamehim. But you'll have to go easy. Keep gloves on. He's as proud as asulky kid. Kind of a chap you can't force a step, but you could coax himover a cliff. Why, he'd be thread for you to wind around your littlefinger if you worked him right. But it wouldn't be easy. If he had asingle suspicion he'd smash everything in a minute, and he's strongenough to tear down a house. Put the temper of a panther in the size ofa bear and you get a small idea of David Eden."
He was purposely making the task difficult and he saw that she wasexcited. His own work with Ruth Manning was as difficult as hers wouldbe with David. The fickle color left her all at once and he found herlooking wistfully at him.
She returned neither answer, argument, nor comment. In vain he detailedeach step of her way into the Garden and how she could pass the gate.Sometimes he was not even sure that she heard him, as she listened tothe silent voice which spoke against him. He had gathered all his energyfor a last outburst, he was training his tongue for a convincing stormof eloquence, when Shakra, as though she wearied of all this humanchatter, pushed in between them her beautiful head and went slowlytoward Ruth with pricking ears, inquisitive, searching for those light,caressing touches.
The voice of Connor became an insidious whisper.
"Look at her, Ruth. Look at her. She's begging you to come. You can haveher. She'll be a present to you. Quick! What's the answer!"
A strange answer! She threw her arms around the shoulder of thebeautiful gray, buried her face in the mane, and burst into tears.
For a moment Connor watched her, dismayed, but presently, as onesatisfied, he withdrew to the open air and mopped his forehead. It hadbeen hard work, but it had paid. He looked over the distant blue wavesof mountains with the eye of possession.