CHAPTER XVIII
The Lie
VB's eyes burned after Gail as she drove away. He followed the car inits flight until it disappeared over the hump in the road; thencontinued staring in that direction with eyes that did not see--thatmerely burned like his throat.
Jed came up the gulch with a load of wood, and VB still stood by thegate.
"I never can get used to these here city ways," he grumbled, "no more'ncan these ponies."
VB noticed casually that a tug had been broken and was patched withrope.
"Runaway?" he asked, scarcely conscious of putting the question.
"Oh, Bob Thorpe's girl come drivin' her automobile along fit to ramstraight through kingdom come, an' don't turn out till she gets soclose I thought we was done for; to be sure, I did. Peter, here, took ajump an' busted a tug." He looked keenly at VB. "Funny!" he remarked."She didn't see me, I know. An' she looked as if she'd been cryin'!"
He could not know the added torture those words carried to the heart ofthe young fellow battling there silently, covering up his agony, tryingto appear at ease.
For the thirst had returned with manifold force, augmenting those otheragonies which racked him. All former ordeals were forgotten before thefury of this assault. By the need of stimulant he was subjected toevery fiendish whim of singing nerves; from knowing that in him was alove which must be killed to save a woman from sacrifice arose atorment that reached into his very vitals.
The glands of his mouth stopped functioning, and it seemed as thoughonly one thing would take the cursed dryness from his tongue and lips.His fingers would not be still; they kept plucking and reaching out forthat hidden chord which would draw him back to himself, or on down intothe depths--somehow, he did not care which. Anything to be out of thatkilling uncertainty!
As he had gained in strength during those months, so it now seemed hadthe thirst grown. It battered down his spirit, whipped it to a pulp,and dragged it through the sloughs of doubt and despair. His will--didhe have a will? He did not know; nor did he seem to care.
It had come--the slipping backward. He had battled well, but now hecould feel himself going, little by little, weakening, fightingoutwardly but at heart knowing the futility of it all. And goingbecause of Gail Thorpe! "I can't put this mark on her!" he moanedagainst the Captain's neck. "She said it--that even those we love mustbear the mark. And she said it was all good. She was wrong, wrong! Sucha thing can't be good!
"Suppose I did keep above it, was sure of myself for a time in a shamway, wouldn't it only be running the risk of a greater disaster?Wouldn't it surely come some time? Wouldn't it, if--
"And then it would kill her, too!"
He hammered the Captain's shoulder with his clenched fist and the greatstallion snuggled his cheek closer to the man, trying to understand,trying to comfort.
Then would come moments when his will rallied and Young VB fought withthe ferocity of a jungle cat, walking back and forth across the corral,talking to the Captain, condemning his weaker self, gesticulating,promising. At those times he doubted whether it was so much the actualthirst that tore him as it was wondering if he could be worthy of her.Then the old desire would come again, in an engulfing wave, and hisfighting would become empty words.
Jed, who had ridden up the gulch to look after a gap in the fence,returned at dusk. As he watched VB feed the Captain he saw in the gloomthe straining of the boy's face; heard him talk to the stallionpiteously; and the old man's lips framed silent words.
"If it's that girl," he declared, shaking his fist at the skies--"ifit's that girl, she ought to be--ought to be spanked. An' if it's th'wantin' of whisky, God pity th' boy!"
Supper was a curious affair. VB tried to help in the preparation butspoiled everything he touched, so far removed was his mind from thework of his hands. Jed ate alone. VB sat down, but could not touch thefood offered. He gulped coffee so steaming hot that Jed cried aloud awarning.
"Burned?" scoffed VB. "Burned by that stuff? Jed, you don't know whatburning is!"
He got to his feet and paced the floor, one hand pressed against histhroat.
The boy sat down twice again and drank from the cup the old man keptfilled, but his lips rebelled at food; his hands would not carry itfrom the plate.
Once Jed rose and tried to restrain the pacing.
"VB, boy," he implored, "set down an' take it easy. Please do! It'sbeen bad before, you know, but it's always turned out good in th' end.It will this time--same as always. Just--"
"Don't, Jed." He spoke weakly, averting his white face and pushing theold man away gently with trembling hands. "You don't understand; youdon't understand!"
For the first time he was beyond comfort from the little old man whohad showed him the lighted way, who had encouraged and comforted andheld faith in him.
After a while a calm fell on VB and he stopped his walking, helped withthe work, and then sat, still and white, in his chair. Jed watched himnarrowly and comfort came to the old soul, for he believed the boy hadwon another fight over the old foe; was so sure of it that he whistledas he prepared for the night.
The candle burned on, low against the neck of the bottle, but stillbright and steady. VB watched it, fascinated, thought tagging thoughtthrough his mind. Then a tremor shot through his body.
"Jed," he said in a voice that was strained but even, "let's play alittle pitch, won't you?"
It was his last hope, the last attempt to divert the attack on his willand bolster his waning forces. His nerves jumped and cringed andquivered, but outwardly he was calm, his face drawn to mask the torture.
Jed, aroused, rubbed his sleepy eyes and lighted his pipe. He put onhis steel-rimmed spectacles and took down the greasy, cornerless deckof cards to shuffle them slowly, with method, as though it were a rite.
VB sat motionless and a little limp in his chair, too far from thetable for comfortable playing. Jed peered at him over his glasses.
"You might get th' coffee beans," he said, with a great yawn.
When the other did not answer he said again: "You might get th' coffeebeans, VB. Sleepy?"
The young chap arose then to follow the suggestion, but ignored thequery. He went to the cupboard and brought back a handful of the beans,the cowman's poker chips. His hand was waiting for him.
"Good deal?" Jed asked.
VB shook his head. "Not better than a couple."
"O-ho, I'm better off!" and Jed slammed down the ace of hearts.
VB leaned low and played the four-spot, almost viciously, gritting histeeth to force his mind into the game. It rebelled, told him theuselessness of such things, the hopelessness before him, tried to playon the aridness of his throat. But for the moment his will was strongand he followed the game as though gambling for a life.
Suddenly the thought surged through him that he was gambling for alife--his _own_ life, and possibly for a woman's life!
Jed made his points, and again, on his own bid, he swept up the coffeecounters. Then he took off his glasses and laid them aside with anotheryawn.
VB wanted to cry aloud to him to keep on playing; he wanted to let JedAvery know all that the simple, foolish little game of cards meant tohim. But somehow his waning faith had taken with it the power toconfide.
Jed made four inexcusable blunders in playing that hand, and each timehis muttered apologies became shorter. When the hand was over and hehad won a point he did not notice that the boy failed to give him thecounter.
VB dealt, picked up his cards, and waited for the bid. But Jed's chinwas on his breast, one hand lay loosely over the scattered cards beforehim; the other hung at his side limply. His breath came and wentregularly. Sleep had stolen in on VB's final stand!
Oh, if Jed Avery had only known! If his kindly old heart had only readVB better, divining the difference between calm and peace! For a longtime VB looked at the old man, his breath gradually quickening, theflame in his eyes growing sharper, more keen, as the consuming fire inhim ate away the last barriers of resistance. Once
his gaze went to thecandle, burning so low against the bottle, yet so brightly, its moltenwax running down and adding to the incrustment. He stared wanly at thebright little beacon and shook his head, terror wiping out the vestigesof a smile.
Action! That was what he wanted! Action! He must move or lose his mindand babble and scream! He must move and move rapidly--as rapidly as therush of those thoughts through his inflamed mind.
He trembled in every limb as he sat there, realizing the need forbodily activity.
And yet, guilefully, craftily, softly, that voice down within him toldthat action could be of only one sort, could take him only in onedirection. It whined and wheedled and gave him a cowardly assurance,made him lie in his own thoughts; made him cautious in his sneakingdetermination, for he knew any question Jed might ask would bringfrenzy.
VB rose, slowly, carefully, so that there might be no creaking of theboots or scraping of chair legs. He picked up his hat, his muffler, hisjumper, and moved stealthily toward the door, opened it inch by inch,and shut it behind him quickly, silently, cutting off the draft ofnight air--for such a thing might be as disastrous as a cry aloud.
The moon rode above the ridge and the air had lost its winter's edge.It was mild, but with the tang of mountain nights. It was quiet below,but as he stood in the open, pulling on his jumper, he heard thestirring of wind on the points above. It was a soughing, the sort ofwind that makes stock uneasy; and VB caught that disquieting vibration.
He stepped out from the cabin and a soft calling from the corralreached him.
"Coming, Captain, coming," he answered.
And with a guilty glance behind him he felt for the gun nestlingagainst his side. His jaw-muscles tightened as he assured himself itwas fastened there securely.
The Captain was waiting at the gate. VB let it swing open, then turnedand walked toward the saddle rack. The horse followed closely, ears upas though in wonder at this procedure.
"It's all right, Captain," VB whispered as he threw on the saddleblanket. As he drew the cinch tight he muttered: "Or else all wrong!"
Action, action! his body begged. He must have it; nothing else wouldsuffice! He wanted to fly along, skimming the tops of those ghostbushes, ripping through the night, feeling the ripple of wind on thatthroat, the cooling currents of air against those hammering temples.
And VB knew it was a lie! A rank, deliberate, hypocritical lie! He knewwhat that action meant, he knew in what direction it would take him. Heknew; he knew!
"Oh, Captain!" he sobbed, drawing the bridled head against his chest."You know what it is to fight! You know what it is to yield! But theyielding didn't break you, boy! It couldn't. You were too big, toogreat to be broken; they could only bend and--"
With a breath of nervous rage he was in the saddle. The Captain's feetrattled on the hard ground with impatience. An instant VB hesitated,gathering the reins, separating them from the strands of thick mane.Then, leaning low, uttering a throaty wail, he gave the Captain hishead and into the veiled night they bolted.
The cattle were coming on him, and he was powerless to move! They werebunched, running shoulder to shoulder, and his bed was in their path!Jed tried to raise his arms and could barely move them; his legsrebelled. The stampede was roaring at him! Oh, the rumble of thosehoofs, those sharp, cloven, blind, merciless hoofs, that would mangleand tear and trample!
Jed Avery awoke with a start. He was on his feet in the middle of thefloor before consciousness came, gasping quickly at the horror of hisdream, his excited heart racing!
But it was no stampede. Running hoofs, but no stampede! He stumbled tothe door and flung it open. His old eyes caught the flash of a lean,dark object as it raced across the dooryard straight at the gate, neverpausing, never hesitating, and taking the bars with a sturdy leap thatidentified the horse instantly.
"VB!"
He called the name shrilly into the night, but his cry was drowned tothe rider's ears, for the Captain's hoofs had caught ground again andwere spurning it viciously as he clawed for the speed, the action, thatwas to satisfy the outraged nerves of his master!
That lie! It was not the action that would satisfy. The flight was onlyan accessory, an agency that would transport VB to the scene of therenunciation of all that for which he had battled through those longmonths.
For a long moment Jed stood in the doorway as he had poised at first,stiff, rigid. The sounds of the rushing horse diminuendoed quickly andbecame only a murmur in the night. Jed Avery's figure lost its tensity,went slack, and he leaned limply against the door frame.
"He's gone!" he moaned. "He's gone! It's broke in on him--Oh, VB, I'mafraid it has! No good takes you south at this time, after th' spellyou've had!"
He slammed the door shut and turned back into the room. Unsteady feettook him to his chair, and he settled into it heavily, leaning againstthe table, his eyes registering the sight of no objects.
"He was fightin' harder'n ever," he whispered dryly, "an' I set heresleepin'. To be sure, I wasn't on hand when VB needed me most!"
The ending of his self-accusation was almost a sob, and his headdropped forward. He sat like that for an hour. The fire in the stovewent out, and the cool of night penetrated the log walls of the cabin.He gazed unblinkingly at the floor; now and then his lips formedsoundless words.
The candle, burning low, fed the flame too fiercely with the last bitof itself. The neck of the bottle was a globule of molten wax in whichthe short wick swam. The flame had become larger, but it was dead andthe smoke rose thickly from its heavy edges. The grease seemed to bedisturbed. It quivered, steadied, then settled. The flame slipped downthe neck of the bottle and was snuffed out by the confines of the thing.
Jed Avery drew a long, quivering breath, a breath of horror. He turnedhis face toward the place where the light had been, hoping that hissight had failed. Then he reached out and found the bottle. His hardfingers ran over it, felt the empty neck, paused, and drew away asthough it were an infectious thing.
The old man sagged forward to the table, his face in his arms.