XXIV. A LETTER WITH A MORAL
The letter which the Virginian wrote to Molly Wood was, as has beenstated, the first that he had ever addressed to her. I think, perhaps,he may have been a little shy as to his skill in the epistolary art, alittle anxious lest any sustained production from his pen might containblunders that would too staringly remind her of his scant learning. Hecould turn off a business communication about steers or stock cars, orany other of the subjects involved in his profession, with a brevityand a clearness that led the Judge to confide three-quarters of suchcorrespondence to his foreman. "Write to the 76 outfit," the Judge wouldsay, "and tell them that my wagon cannot start for the round-up until,"etc.; or "Write to Cheyenne and say that if they will hold a meetingnext Monday week, I will," etc. And then the Virginian would write suchcommunications with ease.
But his first message to his lady was scarcely written with ease. Itmust be classed, I think, among those productions which are styledliterary EFFORTS. It was completed in pencil before it was copied inink; and that first draft of it in pencil was well-nigh illegible witherasures and amendments. The state of mind of the writer during itscomposition may be gathered without further description on my part froma slight interruption which occurred in the middle.
The door opened, and Scipio put his head in. "You coming to dinner?" heinquired.
"You go to hell," replied the Virginian.
"My jinks!" said Scipio, quietly, and he shut the door without furtherobservation.
To tell the truth, I doubt if this letter would ever have beenundertaken, far less completed and despatched, had not the lover's heartbeen wrung with disappointment. All winter long he had looked to thatday when he should knock at the girl's door, and hear her voice bid himcome in. All winter long he had been choosing the ride he would takeher. He had imagined a sunny afternoon, a hidden grove, a shelteringcleft of rock, a running spring, and some words of his that shouldconquer her at last and leave his lips upon hers. And with thiscontrolled fire pent up within him, he had counted the days, scratchingthem off his calendar with a dig each night that once or twice snappedthe pen. Then, when the trail stood open, this meeting was deferred,put off for indefinite days, or weeks; he could not tell how long.So, gripping his pencil and tracing heavy words, he gave himself whatconsolation he could by writing her.
The letter, duly stamped and addressed to Bear Creek, set forth uponits travels; and these were devious and long. When it reached itsdestination, it was some twenty days old. It had gone by private handat the outset, taken the stagecoach at a way point, become late inthat stagecoach, reached a point of transfer, and waited there for thepostmaster to begin, continue, end, and recover from a game of poker,mingled with whiskey. Then it once more proceeded, was dropped atthe right way point, and carried by private hand to Bear Creek. Theexperience of this letter, however, was not at all a remarkable one atthat time in Wyoming.
Molly Wood looked at the envelope. She had never before seen theVirginian's handwriting. She knew it instantly. She closed her door andsat down to read it with a beating heart.
SUNK CREEK RANCH, May 5, 188-
My Dear Miss Wood: I am sorry about this. My plan was different. It wasto get over for a ride with you about now or sooner. This year Spring isearly. The snow is off the flats this side the range and where thesun gets a chance to hit the earth strong all day it is green and hasflowers too, a good many. You can see them bob and mix together in thewind. The quaking-asps down low on the South side are in small leaf andwill soon be twinkling like the flowers do now. I had planned to take alook at this with you and that was a better plan than what I have got todo. The water is high but I could have got over and as for the snow ontop of the mountain a man told me nobody could cross it for a week yet,because he had just done it himself. Was not he a funny man? You oughtto see how the birds have streamed across the sky while Spring wascoming. But you have seen them on your side of the mountain. But I can'tcome now Miss Wood. There is a lot for me to do that has to be done andJudge Henry needs more than two eyes just now. I could not think much ofmyself if I left him for my own wishes.
But the days will be warmer when I come. We will not have to quit byfive, and we can get off and sit too. We could not sit now unless for avery short while. If I know when I can come I will try to let you know,but I think it will be this way. I think you will just see me coming forI have things to do of an unsure nature and a good number of such. Donot believe reports about Indians. They are started by editors to keepthe soldiers in the country. The friends of the editors get the hay andbeef contracts. Indians do not come to settled parts like Bear Creek is.It is all editors and politicianists.
Nothing has happened worth telling you. I have read that play Othello.No man should write down such a thing. Do you know if it is true? I haveseen one worse affair down in Arizona. He killed his little child aswell as his wife but such things should not be put down in fine languagefor the public. I have read Romeo and Juliet. That is beautiful languagebut Romeo is no man. I like his friend Mercutio that gets killed. Heis a man. If he had got Juliet there would have been no foolishness andtrouble.
Well Miss Wood I would like to see you to-day. Do you know what I thinkMonte would do if I rode him out and let the rein slack? He would comestraight to your gate for he is a horse of great judgement. ("That's thefirst word he has misspelled," said Molly.) I suppose you are sittingwith George Taylor and those children right now. Then George will getold enough to help his father but Uncle Hewie's twins will be ready foryou about then and the supply will keep coming from all quarters allsizes for you to say big A little a to them. There is no news here. Onlycalves and cows and the hens are laying now which does always seem newsto a hen every time she does it. Did I ever tell you about a hen Emilywe had here? She was venturesome to an extent I have not seen in otherhens only she had poor judgement and would make no family ties. Shewould keep trying to get interest in the ties of others taking chargeof little chicks and bantams and turkeys and puppies one time, and shethought most anything was an egg. I will tell you about her sometime.She died without family ties one day while I was building a house forher to teach school in. ("The outrageous wretch!" cried Molly! And hercheeks turned deep pink as she sat alone with her lover's letter.)
I am coming the first day I am free. I will be a hundred miles from youmost of the time when I am not more but I will ride a hundred miles forone hour and Monte is up to that. After never seeing you for so long Iwill make one hour do if I have to. Here is a flower I have just beenout and picked. I have kissed it now. That is the best I can do yet.
Molly laid the letter in her lap and looked at the flower. Then suddenlyshe jumped up and pressed it to her lips, and after a long moment heldit away from her.
"No," she said. "No, no, no." She sat down.
It was some time before she finished the letter. Then once more she gotup and put on her hat.
Mrs. Taylor wondered where the girl could be walking so fast. But shewas not walking anywhere, and in half an hour she returned, rosy withher swift exercise, but with a spirit as perturbed as when she had setout.
Next morning at six, when she looked out of her window, there was Montetied to the Taylor's gate. Ah, could he have come the day before, couldshe have found him when she returned from that swift walk of hers!