Rim o' the World
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WHEN A LORRIGAN LOVES
Followed a day of sweltering heat, when the horses in the corralswitched flies and sweated doing nothing; when all of the chickenscrawled under the coolest shelter they could find, and panted withtheir wings spread away from their bodies; when the wind was like ablast from an open furnace, and no man of his own choice remained inthe sun.
In the shade of the biggest haystack, Tom and Al squatted on theirboot heels with their faces toward the corral and the houses beyond,and talked for two hours in low monotones while they broke spears offragrant hay into tiny bits and snapped the bits from them with thumband finger. From the house porch Lance saw them there and wonderedwhat they were talking about so long. He even meditated committing thecrime of eavesdropping, but he decided against it. Even if there hadbeen any point from which he could approach the two unseen, his soulrebelled against such tactics employed in cold blood.
Devil's Tooth Ranch dragged somehow through its third day of inaction,and that night prepared itself to sleep if possible, though the hotwind still blew half a gale and the sky was too murky to show anystars.
Daylight found Lance awake and brooding as he had done ever since hisreturn. He heard no sound in the house, and after a while he dressedand went down to the bunk house. It was empty. No extra horses hadbeen corralled the night before, of that he was sure. Yet the boyswere gone again, and with them had gone Tom and Al. He looked and sawCoaley in the box stall.
On this morning Lance asked no questions of Sam Pretty Cow or Shorty,who presently appeared and went listlessly about their tasks. Hereturned to the house, heard Riley grinding coffee, and dressed forriding while he waited for breakfast. He was drinking his first cup ofcoffee when Belle appeared in a thin blue kimono and a lacey breakfastcap which Lance knew had been ordered from the big, dog-earedcatalogue on the living room table. He roused himself from scowlingmeditation and gave her a smile.
"Sleep any?"
"Not much," sighed Belle. "Tom--" she stopped and looked at Lancehesitatingly. "Tom had to push the cattle back from Lava Bed way--hesays this weather's drying up Lava Creek and the stock'll suffer ifthey're left drifting up and down the mud-holes where they've wateredall summer. He took the boys and started about two in the morning--toget out of the heat. I--I didn't think you'd want to go, honey--"
"You thought right. I didn't want to go; it's too hot," Lance assuredher, and refrained from looking at her face and the patheticcheerfulness she was trying so hard to make real.
"It's sultry. I thought yesterday I couldn't stand another hour ofthat wind--but now I wish it would blow. It's going to storm--"
"Yes. It's going to storm." Lance set down his empty cup. "I may gofishing, Belle. Don't look for me back--I may ride over and see howthe AJ is making out. The little Boyle girl is not married yet, Ihope?"
"Oh--no. No, she isn't. Lance, honey--"
Lance waited beside her chair, but Belle seemed to forget that she hadanything to say. She sat leaning her head on one hand, the otherstirring her coffee absent-mindedly. "Don't get caught out," she saidapathetically.
"I won't." Lance lifted the lace frill of the cap and kissed hertemple lightly. "Go back to bed. It's too early for you to be up."
At the stable Sam Pretty Cow looked a question, grunted and went onwith his stall cleaning. Lance saddled Coaley, tied on an emergencyration of grub.
"Fishin's good t'day. Storm's coming. Uh-huh--you bet," Sam PrettyCow observed as Lance mounted.
"Maybe," Lance assented non-committally and rode away.
There were no horse tracks in the trail, yet Lance followed itdoggedly, the new-risen sun burning his back through two thin shirts.He seemed in no doubt this morning as to the course he should take. Hescarcely gave a glance at the trail. His eyes were staring straightbefore him at a sullen row of blue-black "thunder heads" that showedabove the gray skyline. Yet he did not see them, did not give athought to their meaning.
He was thinking poignantly of Mary Hope, fighting the vivid impressionwhich a dream last night had left with him. In his dream Mary Hope hadstood at her door, with her hands held out to him beseechingly, andcalled and called: "Lance! Oh, Lance! I dinna hate you because you'rea Lorrigan--Oh, _Lance!_"
It had been a curious dream from start to finish. Curious because, invarious forms, this was the third time he had seen her stand withhands outstretched, calling to him. He did not believe in dreams. Hehad neither patience for presentiments nor faith in anything thatbordered on the occult.
It had been against much inner protest that he had ridden to theschoolhouse in obedience to the persistent idea that she needed him.That he had not found her there seemed to him conclusive proof thatthere was nothing in telepathy. The dreams, he felt sure, were merelya continuation of that persistent idea--and the persistent idea, hewas beginning to believe, was but a perverse twist given to his ownlonging for her.
"--And I can't go to her--not yet. Not while the Lorrigan name--" Whatcame before, what came after those incomplete phrases he would notpermit his mind to formulate in words. But he could not shake off theeffect of the dream, could not stifle altogether the impulse thatplucked at his resolve.
For more than an hour he rode and tried to fix his mind upon the thinghe had set out to do. He knew perfectly well where he was going--andit was _not_ to see Mary Hope. Neither was his destination Lava Creeknor the drying range on either side. His first two days of hard ridinghad been not altogether fruitless, and he had enough to think ofwithout thinking of Mary Hope. Certain cold facts stared at him, andgibbered their sinister meaning, and dared him to ride on and discoverother facts, blood-brothers of these that haunted him o' nights.
Coaley, feeling his rider's mood, sensing also the portent of theheavy, heat-saturated atmosphere and the rolling thunder heads, slowedhis springy trot to a walk and tossed his head uneasily from side toside. Then, quite without warning, Lance wheeled the horse shortaround and touched the reeking flanks with his heels.
"I'm seventeen kinds of a damn fool--but I can't stand any more ofthis!" he muttered savagely, and rode at a sharp trot with his back tothe slow-gathering storm.
He found Mary Hope half a mile from the Douglas house, at the edge ofthe meadow round which Hugh was driving a mower, the steady, metallicclicking of the shuttle-like sickle sounding distinct from the fartherside of the motionless green expanse. Mary Hope was standing leaningagainst one lone little poplar tree, her hat in her hand, and her eyesstaring dully into the world of sorrowful thoughts. Relief and agreat, hungry tenderness flooded the soul of Lance when he saw her. Hepulled up and swung off beside her.
"Girl--thank the good God you're all right," he said, and took her inhis arms, the veins on his temples beating full with his hot blood. "Ihad to come. I had to see you. You've haunted me. Your voice hascalled me--I was afraid--I had to come--and now I'm not going to letyou go. Oh, girl, you're mine! By all the powers of heaven and earth,you're mine! The Lorrigan name--what does it matter? You're mine--Ilove you. You'll love me. I'll _make_ you love me. You'll love me tillyou won't care who I am or who you are, or whether there are any otherpeople in the world--you'll love me so! And I'll love you always,always,--to death and beyond, and beyond what lies after that. Girl,girl--you do need me! You need my love. You need it because it's thebiggest thing in the world--and your love is going to match it. We'llget married--we'll make a world of our own, just you and I. We won'tcare where we make it--it will be our world, the world of our love.Are you game? Are you game to love Lance the way Lance loves you? Oh,girl, tell me!"
A chill breath swept them like the memory of her father's hate. Adeep, basso rumble drowned whatever reply she stammered. He shelteredher in his arms, kissed her lips, her eyes, her hair, went back to herlips again.
"Oh, girl--when a Lorrigan loves--!" He cried softly, exultantly. "Itried not to--but I had to love you. It's Fate. Are you afraid to loveme back? Are you afraid?"
"No Lorrigan can cry coward to a Douglas," M
ary Hope panted. "But--butmy mother will be that--"
"My mother will be that--all of that, and more," Lance stopped her,still exulting in her love. "All the Lorrigans--what does it matter?Life's for you and me to live, you girl with the bluest eyes in theworld. When will you marry me? To-day? Tell me to-day!"
"Oh!" gasped Mary Hope, breathless still from the suddenness of itall. "Oh, not to-day--oh, but the headlong way you have! I--I cannathink. I--"
"I don't want you to think. I didn't ask you to think. Just loveme--that's all. And marry me soon, Girl-with-the-blue-eyes. Soon. Itmust be soon--sooner than to-morrow--"
Splittingly the thunder crashed close behind them, a vivid white linecleaving sharply the snarling clouds. Like a sleeper Lance opened theeyes he had closed against her hair and lifted his head. "I must takeyou home," he said more calmly. "It's going to storm--hard. But let metell you, sweetheart,--it can't storm as hard as I can love. I'll takeyou home, and then you'll marry me."
Mary Hope's face was pale and radiant. She did not say that she wouldmarry him--nor did she say that she would not. Her eyes were mistywith tears until she winked hard, when they shone softly. Lance hadnever seen them so blue. She stood still, her hands clasped togethertightly while he gathered up the reins and mounted. He pulled his footfrom the left stirrup, reached down to her and smiled. Never had sheseen him smile like that. Never had she seen that look in his eyes.She breathed deep, reached up and caught the saddle horn, put her footin the stirrup and let him lift her beside him.
Against Coaley's nervous pull at the bit Lance held a steadying handand laughed. "It's Fate, girl. Let the storm come. We'll beat it--itcan't hurt us. Nothing can hurt us now." He had to shout above thecrashing thunder. "Do you love me, sweetheart?" His eyes, close to herown, flamed softly, making Mary Hope think dizzily of altar fires.
"I do--I do!" She gasped. "Oh, I cannot think how I love you--itscares me to think!" Her arm was around his neck, her face was turnedto his.
He saw her lips form the words, guessed what it was she was saying.The crash on crash of thunder beat the sound of her voice tonothingness. The white glare of the lightning flashes blinded them.Coaley, quivering, his nostrils belling until they showed all redwithin, his big eyes staring, forged ahead, fighting the bit.
"He's rinning away wi' us!" shouted Lance, his lips close to her ear,and laughed boyishly.
"Mother--" he heard her say, and pulled her higher in his arms, sothat he could be sure that she heard him.
"I'll just pick your little old mother up in my arms and make her loveme, too!" he cried. "Nothing can spoil our love--_nothing!_"
As though the gods themselves chided his temerity, the very heavenssplit and shattered all sound with rending uproar. Coaley squatted,stopped and stood shaking, his heart pounding so that Lance felt itstremulous tattoo against his thigh. The rumbling after-note of thethunder seemed like silence.
"It struck close. That shed--look!" Lance's voice was no longer thevoice of the young male whose love would override Fate itself. It wasthe voice of the man who will meet emergencies quietly, unflinchingly,and soothe the woman's fear. "Don't be afraid--it's all right,sweetheart."
He forced Coaley to go on. He smiled at Mary Hope's pallor, hereassured her as they neared her home. A shed, sufficiently detachedto keep its fire to itself, was blazing. The wind puffed suddenly fromnowhere and waved the high, yellow flames like torn ribbons. Greatglobules of water splashed upon them from the pent torrent above.Coaley galloped through the gate, passed the house, shied at somethinglying on the ground, stopped abruptly when Lance pulled sharply on thebit.
"Girl--sweetheart--_be game!_" Lance said sternly when Mary Hopescreamed.
He let her to the ground, swung off and passed her, running to thepitifully still little figure of Mother Douglas lying in the pathway,her checked apron flapping, its starchy stiffness showing limp darkspots where the raindrops splashed.
"She's only shocked. She's all right--_stop that screaming!_ Good God,girl, where's your nerve?"
His severity steadied her. Mary Hope stopped screaming, both handsheld tightly over her mouth. Lance was already on his way to thehouse, carrying Mother Douglas like a sleeping child in his arms. Andthe rain came, a white curtain of water that drenched them to the skinin the first ten seconds.
On the bed where Aleck Douglas had stared at the ceiling, and raved,and died, Lance laid her carefully as though he feared to waken her.He tore open the faded calico dress at the throat, laid his ear uponher heart.
"She's alive, sweetheart," he said hearteningly. "It's only a shock.Bring a basin of water. We'll have her all right in no time."
He worked over the old woman, using all the means he could remember orinvent, while the house shook with the fury of the wind, and thelightning dazzled them and the rain drummed incessantly on the roof.Mary Hope watched him, her eyes wide, her lips refusing to form anywords. For her own sake he sent her on many little errands, kept herbusy at useless little tasks. After what seemed an interminable timehe stood looking down at the gently heaving breast.
"How game is my girl?" he asked, taking Mary Hope in his arms. "Is shegame enough to stay here while Lance goes for a doctor? It won't belong--" He paused while he made a rapid mental calculation of thedistance, and of what a horse may endure. "Three hours. Will my girlbe brave enough to stay here three hours? I'll call the man who wasmowing--if I can find him. But that will take minutes. Threehours--and you won't weaken, will you, dear?"
Mary Hope leaned against him, clutched him, shivered at the crashingthunder. "It's awful," she moaned. "I'm afraid you might be hit--"
"Afraid? A Douglas not as game as a Lorrigan?" He shook her, liftedhis eyebrows at her, pursed his lips at her, shook her again andkissed her. "I can't love a girl who's afraid of thunder. Yourmother's all right, you know. We saw where that bolt struck--fiftyyards, almost, from where she was. She got a shock, that's all. Butwe'll have a doctor here and make him take the responsibility. AndI'll be back in three hours, and you're going to be game--just as gameas you've always been."
He pulled his hat down over his eyes, buttoned his wet coat to thechin, laid his hand for a minute over the faintly pulsating heart ofMother Douglas, swept Mary Hope up in his arms and kissed her again,pulled open the door and was gone.
Through a rain-blurred window Mary Hope saw him run to the stable,lead out Coaley who had taken refuge there, vault into the saddlewithout troubling about the stirrup, and come thundering back past thehouse and out of the gate, his head bent to the storm.
She looked at the clock. Three hours? He could never do it in threehours! She went back and knelt beside the bed, and prayed as hermother had taught her to pray. And not all of her petition was for hermother. Every lightning flash, every crack, every distant boom of thethunder made her cringe. Lance--Lance was out in the storm, at themercy of its terrible sword-thrusts that seemed to smite even theinnocent. Her mother--even her own mother, who had held unswervinglyto her faith--even she had been struck down!
A mile down the road Lance was leaning forward, encouraging Coaley tomore speed, because there the trail ran level and fairly free fromrocks. Later, he pulled the horse down to a walk, breathing him up ahill; let him trot down the slope beyond, picked him into a swiftgallop when they again struck the level. He gauged, with coldbloodedattention to certain rough miles in the journey, just how swiftlyCoaley could cover ground and live. He knew horses. He knew Coaley,and he knew that never yet had Coaley been pushed to the actual limitof his endurance. But the girl Lance loved--ah, it was a Lorrigan wholoved!--was back there alone, and she would be counting the minutes.It might be that he might return to find her weeping over her dead. SoLance counted miles and a horse's strength, and bent to the storm androde.
Ten minutes past the hour, and he was snapping orders to the telegraphoperator. The storm, happily, had swept on down the canyon and hadgiven Jumpoff little more than a wetting and a few lightning flashes.
"And order out a special engine and coac
h,--what do I care what itwill cost? I'll pay. Wire your Lava chief that the money is here. Sendthe doctor on ahead of the regular train--can't wait for that."
He had the Lorrigan habit of carrying a good deal of money on hisperson, and he counted out banknotes until the operator lifted hishand and said it was enough. He slammed out, then, mounted and rode toa livery stable and gave orders there.
"--And I'll _buy_ the damn team, so kill 'em if you have to. Only getthe doctor out there." He was in the saddle and gone again before thestableman had recovered from his sag-jawed astonishment.
"Guess there's something in that talk of him and the Douglas girl,"the stableman gossiped to a friend while he harnessed his swiftestteam.
In ten minutes under the three hours Lance stopped at the house, wentin and saw that Mary Hope was still being game, and was very glad tobe in his arms, and that Mother Douglas was alive and staring up atthe ceiling, her face set in a deadly kind of calm.
"She moves her eyes to me, sometimes--she's been awake for almost anhour. But she hasn't moved--" Her voice broke.
"It's all right--the doctor is on his way. And I'm here, sweetheart--youwon't be alone again. Where's that man of yours? I'll send him overwith a note to Belle. She'll come--she's a wonder with sick folks."
"Mother--I'm afraid mother wouldn't let her--she's that _set!_"
Lance looked at the corpse-like figure with the wide-open eyes and aflicker of the lids now and then to show that she was alive, andswallowed a lump in his throat. Mother Douglas would probably not knowwho was with her, he thought.
Coaley, the proud-spirited, shambled slowly to the stable, his headdrooping, his eyes dulled with exhaustion. He had done his part. Lancerubbed him down, blanketed him, working swiftly, his thoughts withMary Hope and her love and her fresh grief. He found Hugh, scribbled anote to Belle and got him started on Jamie.
Mother Douglas moved her eyes, stared at him sharply when he went toher. But she did not speak, did not move a muscle of her face. Theheart of Lance went heavy, but he could smile still at Mary Hope andtell her that it was all right, and that the doctor ought to be therein an hour or so, and that Belle would come, and that he loved her,loved her, loved her.