The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains

  XXII. "WHAT IS A RUSTLER?"

  We all know what birds of a feather do. And it may be safely surmisedthat if a bird of any particular feather has been for a long whileunable to see other birds of its kind, it will flock with them all themore assiduously when they happen to alight in its vicinity.

  Now the Ogdens were birds of Molly's feather. They wore Eastern, and notWestern, plumage, and their song was a different song from that whichthe Bear Creek birds sang. To be sure, the piping of little GeorgeTaylor was full of hopeful interest; and many other strains, bothstriking and melodious, were lifted in Cattle Land, and had givenpleasure to Molly's ear. But although Indians, and bears, and mavericks,make worthy themes for song, these are not the only songs in the world.Therefore the Eastern warblings of the Ogdens sounded doubly sweet toMolly Wood. Such words as Newport, Bar Harbor, and Tiffany's thrilledher exceedingly. It made no difference that she herself had never beento Newport or Bar Harbor, and had visited Tiffany's more often to admirethan to purchase. On the contrary, this rather added a dazzle to themusic of the Ogdens. And Molly, whose Eastern song had been silent inthis strange land, began to chirp it again during the visit that shemade at the Sunk Creek Ranch.

  Thus the Virginian's cause by no means prospered at this time. Hisforces were scattered, while Molly's were concentrated. The girl wasnot at that point where absence makes the heart grow fonder. While theVirginian was trundling his long, responsible miles in the caboose,delivering the cattle at Chicago, vanquishing Trampas along theYellowstone, she had regained herself.

  Thus it was that she could tell him so easily during those first hoursthat they were alone after his return, "I expect to like another manbetter than you."

  Absence had recruited her. And then the Ogdens had reenforced her. Theybrought the East back powerfully to her memory, and her thoughts filledwith it. They did not dream that they were assisting in any battle. Noone ever had more unconscious allies than did Molly at that time. Butshe used them consciously, or almost consciously. She frequented them;she spoke of Eastern matters; she found that she had acquaintances whomthe Ogdens also knew, and she often brought them into the conversation.For it may be said, I think, that she was fighting a battle--nay, acampaign. And perhaps this was a hopeful sign for the Virginian (had hebut known it), that the girl resorted to allies. She surrounded herself,she steeped herself, with the East, to have, as it were, a sort ofcounteractant against the spell of the black-haired horse man.

  And his forces were, as I have said, scattered. For his promotion gavehim no more time for love-making. He was foreman now. He had said toJudge Henry, "I'll try to please yu'." And after the throb of emotionwhich these words had both concealed and conveyed, there came to himthat sort of intention to win which amounts to a certainty. Yes, hewould please Judge Henry!

  He did not know how much he had already pleased him. He did not knowthat the Judge was humorously undecided which of his new foreman's firstacts had the more delighted him: his performance with the missionary, orhis magnanimity to Trampas.

  "Good feeling is a great thing in any one," the Judge would say; "but Ilike to know that my foreman has so much sense."

  "I am personally very grateful to him," said Mrs. Henry.

  And indeed so was the whole company. To be afflicted with Dr. MacBridefor one night instead of six was a great liberation.

  But the Virginian never saw his sweetheart alone again; while she was atthe Sunk Creek Ranch, his duties called him away so much that there wasno chance for him. Worse still, that habit of birds of a feather broughtabout a separation more considerable. She arranged to go East with theOgdens. It was so good an opportunity to travel with friends, instead ofmaking the journey alone!

  Molly's term of ministration at the schoolhouse had so pleased BearCreek that she was warmly urged to take a holiday. School could affordto begin a little late. Accordingly, she departed.

  The Virginian hid his sore heart from her during the moment of farewellthat they had.

  "No, I'll not want any more books," he said, "till yu' come back." Andthen he made cheerfulness. "It's just the other way round!" said he.

  "What is the other way round?"

  "Why, last time it was me that went travelling, and you that stayedbehind."

  "So it was!" And here she gave him a last scratch. "But you'll be busierthan ever," she said; "no spare time to grieve about me!"

  She could wound him, and she knew it. Nobody else could. That is why shedid it.

  But he gave her something to remember, too.

  "Next time," he said, "neither of us will stay behind. We'll both gotogether."

  And with these words he gave her no laughing glance. It was a look thatmingled with the words; so that now and again in the train, both cameback to her, and she sat pensive, drawing near to Bennington and hearinghis voice and seeing his eyes.

  How is it that this girl could cry at having to tell Sam Bannett shecould not think of him, and then treat another lover as she treated theVirginian? I cannot tell you, having never (as I said before) been awoman myself.

  Bennington opened its arms to its venturesome daughter. Much was madeof Molly Wood. Old faces and old places welcomed her. Fatted calves ofvarying dimensions made their appearance. And although the fatted calfis an animal that can assume more divergent shapes than any other knowncreature,--being sometimes champagne and partridges, and again cake andcurrant wine,--through each disguise you can always identify the samecalf. The girl from Bear Creek met it at every turn.

  The Bannetts at Hoosic Falls offered a large specimen to Molly--a dinner(perhaps I should say a banquet) of twenty-four. And Sam Bannett ofcourse took her to drive more than once.

  "I want to see the Hoosic Bridge," she would say. And when they reachedthat well-remembered point, "How lovely it is!" she exclaimed. And asshe gazed at the view up and down the valley, she would grow pensive."How natural the church looks," she continued. And then, having crossedboth bridges, "Oh, there's the dear old lodge gate!" Or again, whilethey drove up the valley of the little Hoosic: "I had forgotten it wasso nice and lonely. But after all, no woods are so interesting asthose where you might possibly see a bear or an elk." And upon anotheroccasion, after a cry of enthusiasm at the view from the top of MountAnthony, "It's lovely, lovely, lovely," she said, with diminishingcadence, ending in pensiveness once more. "Do you see that little bitjust there? No, not where the trees are--that bare spot that looksbrown and warm in the sun. With a little sagebrush, that spot would looksomething like a place I know on Bear Creek. Only of course you don'tget the clear air here."

  "I don't forget you," said Sam. "Do you remember me? Or is it out ofsight out of mind?"

  And with this beginning he renewed his suit. She told him that sheforgot no one; that she should return always, lest they might forgether.

  "Return always!" he exclaimed. "You talk as if your anchor wasdragging."

  Was it? At all events, Sam failed in his suit.

  Over in the house at Dunbarton, the old lady held Molly's hand andlooked a long while at her. "You have changed very much," she saidfinally.

  "I am a year older," said the girl.

  "Pshaw, my dear!" said the great-aunt. "Who is he?"

  "Nobody!" cried Molly, with indignation.

  "Then you shouldn't answer so loud," said the great-aunt.

  The girl suddenly hid her face. "I don't believe I can love any one,"she said, "except myself."

  And then that old lady, who in her day had made her courtesy toLafayette, began to stroke her niece's buried head, because she morethan half understood. And understanding thus much, she asked no pryingquestions, but thought of the days of her own youth, and only spoke alittle quiet love and confidence to Molly.

  "I am an old, old woman," she said. "But I haven't forgotten about it.They objected to him because he had no fortune. But he was brave andhandsome, and I loved him, my dear. Only I ought to have loved him more.I gave him my promise to think about it. And he and his ship were lost."The great-au
nt's voice had become very soft and low, and she spoke withmany pauses. "So then I knew. If I had--if--perhaps I should have losthim; but it would have been after--ah, well! So long as you can helpit, never marry! But when you cannot help it a moment longer, thenlisten to nothing but that; for, my dear, I know your choice would beworthy of the Starks. And now--let me see his picture."

  "Why, aunty!" said Molly.

  "Well, I won't pretend to be supernatural," said the aunt, "but Ithought you kept one back when you were showing us those Western viewslast night."

  Now this was the precise truth. Molly had brought a number ofphotographs from Wyoming to show to her friends at home. These, however,with one exception, were not portraits. They were views of scenery andof cattle round-ups, and other scenes characteristic of ranch life. Ofyoung men she had in her possession several photographs, and all but oneof these she had left behind her. Her aunt's penetration had in a waymesmerized the girl; she rose obediently and sought that picture ofthe Virginian. It was full length, displaying him in all his cow-boytrappings,--the leathern chaps, the belt and pistol, and in his hand acoil of rope.

  Not one of her family had seen it, or suspected its existence. She nowbrought it downstairs and placed it in her aunt's hand.

  "Mercy!" cried the old lady.

  Molly was silent, but her eye grew warlike.

  "Is that the way--" began the aunt. "Mercy!" she murmured; and she satstaring at the picture.

  Molly remained silent.

  Her aunt looked slowly up at her. "Has a man like that presumed--"

  "He's not a bit like that. Yes, he's exactly like that," said Molly. Andshe would have snatched the photograph away, but her aunt retained it.

  "Well," she said, "I suppose there are days when he does not killpeople."

  "He never killed anybody!" And Molly laughed.

  "Are you seriously--" said the old lady.

  "I almost might--at times. He is perfectly splendid."

  "My dear, you have fallen in love with his clothes."

  "It's not his clothes. And I'm not in love. He often wears others. Hewears a white collar like anybody."

  "Then that would be a more suitable way to be photographed, I think. Hecouldn't go round like that here. I could not receive him myself."

  "He'd never think of such a thing. Why, you talk as if he were asavage."

  The old lady studied the picture closely for a minute. "I think it is agood face," she finally remarked. "Is the fellow as handsome as that, mydear?"

  More so, Molly thought. And who was he, and what were his prospects?were the aunt's next inquiries. She shook her head at the answers whichshe received; and she also shook her head over her niece's emphaticdenial that her heart was lost to this man. But when their parting came,the old lady said: "God bless you and keep you, my dear. I'll not try tomanage you. They managed me--" A sigh spoke the rest of this sentence."But I'm not worried about you--at least, not very much. You have neverdone anything that was not worthy of the Starks. And if you're goingto take him, do it before I die so that I can bid him welcome for yoursake. God bless you, my dear."

  And after the girl had gone back to Bennington, the great-aunt had thisthought: "She is like us all. She wants a man that is a man." Nor didthe old lady breathe her knowledge to any member of the family. For shewas a loyal spirit, and her girl's confidence was sacred to her.

  "Besides," she reflected, "if even I can do nothing with her, what amess THEY'D make of it! We should hear of her elopement next."

  So Molly's immediate family never saw that photograph, and never hearda word from her upon this subject. But on the day that she left for BearCreek, as they sat missing her and discussing her visit in the evening,Mrs. Bell observed: "Mother, how did you think she was?"--"I never sawher better, Sarah. That horrible place seems to agree with her."--"Oh,yes, agree. It seemed to me--"--"Well?"--"Oh, just somehow that shewas thinking."--"Thinking?"--"Well, I believe she has something on hermind."--"You mean a man," said Andrew Bell.--"A man, Andrew?"--"Yes,Mrs. Wood, that's what Sarah always means."

  It may be mentioned that Sarah's surmises did not greatly contribute toher mother's happiness. And rumor is so strange a thing that presentlyfrom the malicious outside air came a vague and dreadful word--one ofthose words that cannot be traced to its source. Somebody said to AndrewBell that they heard Miss Molly Wood was engaged to marry a RUSTLER.

  "Heavens, Andrew!" said his wife; "what is a rustler?"

  It was not in any dictionary, and current translations of it wereinconsistent. A man at Hoosic Falls said that he had passed throughCheyenne, and heard the term applied in a complimentary way to peoplewho were alive and pushing. Another man had always supposed it meantsome kind of horse. But the most alarming version of all was that arustler was a cattle thief.

  Now the truth is that all these meanings were right. The word ran a sortof progress in the cattle country, gathering many meanings as it went.It gathered more, however, in Bennington. In a very few days, gossip hadit that Molly was engaged to a gambler, a gold miner, an escaped stagerobber, and a Mexican bandit; while Mrs. Flynt feared she had married aMormon.

  Along Bear Creek, however, Molly and her "rustler" took a ride soonafter her return. They were neither married nor engaged, and she wastelling him about Vermont.

  "I never was there," said he. "Never happened to strike in thatdirection."

  "What decided your direction?"

  "Oh, looking for chances. I reckon I must have been more ambitious thanmy brothers--or more restless. They stayed around on farms. But I gotout. When I went back again six years afterward, I was twenty. They wastalking about the same old things. Men of twenty-five and thirty--yetjust sittin' and talkin' about the same old things. I told my motherabout what I'd seen here and there, and she liked it, right to herdeath. But the others--well, when I found this whole world was hawgs andturkeys to them, with a little gunnin' afteh small game throwed in, Iput on my hat one mawnin' and told 'em maybe when I was fifty I'd lookin on 'em again to see if they'd got any new subjects. But they'llnever. My brothers don't seem to want chances."

  "You have lost a good many yourself," said Molly.

  "That's correct."

  "And yet," said she, "sometimes I think you know a great deal more thanI ever shall."

  "Why, of course I do," said he, quite simply. "I have earned my livingsince I was fourteen. And that's from old Mexico to British Columbia.I have never stolen or begged a cent. I'd not want yu' to know what Iknow."

  She was looking at him, half listening and half thinking of hergreat-aunt.

  "I am not losing chances any more," he continued. "And you are the bestI've got."

  She was not sorry to have Georgie Taylor come galloping along at thismoment and join them. But the Virginian swore profanely under hisbreath. And on this ride nothing more happened.