CHAPTER VII
BAD NEWS
They found rest for the night at the ranch house. The place was wide andhospitable. The girl looked about her with wonder on the comfortablearrangements for work. If only her mother had had such a kitchen to workin, and such a pleasant, happy home, she might have been living yet. Therewas a pleasant-faced, sweet-voiced woman with gray hair whom the mencalled "mother." She gave the girl a kindly welcome, and made her sit downto a nice warm supper, and, when it was over, led her to a little roomwhere her own bed was, and told her she might sleep with her. The girl laydown in a maze of wonder, but was too weary with the long ride to keepawake and think about it.
They slept, the two travellers, a sound and dreamless sleep, whereinseemed peace and moonlight, and a forgetting of sorrows.
Early the next morning the girl awoke. The woman by her side was alreadystirring. There was breakfast to get for the men. The woman asked her afew questions about her journey.
"He's your brother, ain't he, dearie?" asked the woman as she was about toleave the room.
"No," said the girl.
"O," said the woman, puzzled, "then you and he's goin' to be married inthe town."
"O, no!" said the girl with scarlet cheeks, thinking of the lady in theautomobile.
"Not goin' to be married, dearie? Now that's too bad. Ain't he any kind ofrelation to you? Not an uncle nor cousin nor nothin'?"
"No."
"Then how be's you travellin' lone with him? It don't seem just right.You's a sweet, good girl; an' he's a fine man. But harm's come to more'none. Where'd you take up with each other? Be he a neighbor? He looks likea man from way off, not hereabouts. You sure he ain't deceivin' you,dearie?"
The girl flashed her eyes in answer.
"Yes, I'm sure. He's a good man. He prays to our Father. No, he's not aneighbor, nor an uncle, nor a cousin. He's just a man that got lost. Wewere both lost on the prairie in the night; and he's from the East, andgot lost from his party of hunters. He had nothing to eat, but I had; so Igave him some. Then he saved my life when a snake almost stung me. He'sbeen good to me."
The woman looked relieved.
"And where you goin', dearie, all 'lone? What your folks thinkin' 'bout tolet you go 'lone this way?"
"They're dead," said the girl with great tears in her eyes.
"Dearie me! And you so young! Say, dearie, s'pose you stay here with me.I'm lonesome, an' there's no women near by here. You could help me and becomp'ny. The men would like to have a girl round. There's plenty likelymen on this ranch could make a good home fer a girl sometime. Stay herewith me, dearie."
Had this refuge been offered the girl during her first flight in thewilderness, with what joy and thankfulness she would have accepted! Now itsuddenly seemed a great impossibility for her to stay. She must go on. Shehad a pleasant ride before her, and delightful companionship; and she wasgoing to school. The world was wide, and she had entered it. She had nomind to pause thus on the threshold, and never see further than Montana.Moreover, the closing words of the woman did not please her.
"I cannot stay," she said decidedly. "I'm going to school. And I do notwant a man. I have just run away from a man, a dreadful one. I am going toschool in the East. I have some relations there, and perhaps I can findthem."
"You don't say so!" said the woman, looking disappointed. She had taken agreat fancy to the sweet young face. "Well, dearie, why not stay here alittle while, and write to your folks, and then go on with some one who isgoing your way? I don't like to see you go off with that man. It ain't theproper thing. He knows it himself. I'm afraid he's deceivin' you. I cansee by his clo'es he's one of the fine young fellows that does as theyplease. He won't think any good of you if you keep travellin' 'lone withhim. It's all well 'nough when you get lost, an' he was nice to help youout and save you from snakes; but he knows he ain't no business travellin''lone with you, you pretty little creature!"
"You must not talk so!" said the girl, rising and flashing her eyes again."He's a good man. He's what my brother called 'a white man all through.'Besides, he's got a lady, a beautiful lady, in the East. She rides in somekind of a grand carriage that goes of itself, and he thinks a great dealof her."
The woman looked as if she were but half convinced.
"It may seem all right to you, dearie," she said sadly; "but I'm old, andI've seen things happen. You'd find his fine lady wouldn't go jantin'round the world 'lone with him unless she's married. I've lived East, andI know; and what's more, he knows it too. He may mean all right, but younever can trust folks."
The woman went away to prepare breakfast then, and left the girl feelingas if the whole world was against her, trying to hold her. She was gladwhen the man suggested that they hurry their breakfast and get away asquickly as possible. She did not smile when the old woman came out to bidher good-by, and put a detaining hand on the horse's bridle, saying, "Youbetter stay with me, after all, hadn't you, dearie?"
The man looked inquiringly at the two women, and saw like a flash thesuspicion of the older woman, read the trust and haughty anger in thebeautiful younger face, and then smiled down on the old woman whose kindlyhospitality had saved them for a while from the terrors of the open night,and said:
"Don't you worry about her, auntie. I'm going to take good care of her,and perhaps she'll write you a letter some day, and tell you where she isand what she's doing."
Half reassured, the old woman gave him her name and address; and he wrotethem down in a little red notebook.
When they were well started on their way, the man explained that he hadhurried because from conversation with the men he had learned that thisranch where they had spent the night was on the direct trail from Malta toanother small town. It might be that the pursuers would go further thanMalta. Did she think they would go so far? They must have come almost ahundred miles already. Would they not be discouraged?
But the girl looked surprised. A hundred miles on horseback was not far.Her brother often used to ride a hundred miles just to see a fight or havea good time. She felt sure the men would not hesitate to follow a longdistance if something else did not turn them aside.
The man's face looked sternly out from under his wide hat. He felt a greatresponsibility for the girl since he had seen the face of the man who waspursuing her.
Their horses were fresh, and the day was fine. They rode hard as long asthe road was smooth, and did little talking. The girl was turning over inher mind the words the woman had spoken to her. But the thing that stuckthere and troubled her was, "And he knows it is so."
Was she doing something for which this man by her side would not respecther? Was she overstepping some unwritten law of which she had never heard,and did he know it, and yet encourage her in it?
That she need fear him in the least she would not believe. Had she notwatched the look of utmost respect on his face as he stood quietly waitingfor her to awake the first morning they had met? Had he not hadopportunity again and again to show her dishonor by word or look? Yet hehad never been anything but gentle and courteous to her. She did not callthings by these names, but she felt the gentleman in him.
Besides, there was the lady. He had told about her at the beginning. Heevidently honored the lady. The woman had said that the lady would notride with him alone. Was it true? Would he not like to have the lady ridealone with him when she was not his relative in any way? Then was there adifference between his thought of the lady and of herself? Of course,there was some; he loved the lady, but he should not think less honorablyof her than of any lady in the land.
She sat straight and proudly in her man's saddle, and tried to make himfeel that she was worthy of respect. She had tried to show him this whenshe had shot the bird. Now she recognized that there was a fine something,higher than shooting or prowess of any kind, which would command respect.It was something she felt belonged to her, yet she was not sure shecommanded it. What did she lack, and how could she secure it?
He watched her quiet, thoughtful fa
ce, and the lady of his former troubledthoughts was as utterly forgotten by him as if she had never existed. Hewas unconsciously absorbed in the study of eye and lip and brow. His eyeswere growing accustomed to the form and feature of this girl beside him,and he took pleasure in watching her.
They stopped for lunch in a coulee under a pretty cluster of cedar-trees alittle back from the trail, where they might look over the way they hadcome and be warned against pursuers. About three o'clock they reached atown. Here the railroad came directly from Malta, but there was but onetrain a day each way.
The man went to the public stopping-place and asked for a room, and boldlydemanded a private place for his "sister" to rest for a while. "She is mylittle sister," he told himself in excuse for the word. "She is my sisterto care for. That is, if she were my sister, this is what I should wantsome good man to do for her."
He smiled as he went on his way after leaving the girl to rest. Thethought of a sister pleased him. The old woman at the ranch had made himcareful for the girl who was thus thrown in his company.
He rode down through the rough town to the railway station, but a shortdistance from the rude stopping-place; and there he made inquiriesconcerning roads, towns, etc., in the neighboring locality, and sent atelegram to the friends with whom he had been hunting when he got lost. Hesaid he would be at the next town about twenty miles away. He knew that bythis time they would be back home and anxious about him, if they were notalready sending out searching parties for him. His message read:
"Hit the trail all right. Am taking a trip for my health. Send mail to meat ----"
Then after careful inquiry as to directions, and learning that there wasmore than one route to the town he had mentioned in his telegram, he wentback to his companion. She was ready to go, for the presence of otherpeople about her made her uneasy. She feared again there would beobjection to their further progress together. Somehow the old woman'swords had grown into a shadow which hovered over her. She mounted herhorse gladly, and they went forward. He told her what he had just done,and how he expected to get his mail the next morning when they reached thenext town. He explained that there was a ranch half-way there where theymight stop all night.
She was troubled at the thought of another ranch. She knew there would bemore questions, and perhaps other disagreeable words said; but she heldher peace, listening to his plans. Her wonder was great over the telegram.She knew little or nothing about modern discoveries. It was a mystery toher how he could receive word by morning from a place that it had takenthem nearly two days to leave behind, and how had he sent a message over awire? Yes, she had heard of telegrams, but had never been quite sure theywere true. When he saw that she was interested, he went on to tell her ofother wonderful triumphs of science, the telephone, the electric light,gas, and the modern system of water-works. She listened as if it were alla fairy tale. Sometimes she looked at him, and wondered whether it couldbe true, or whether he were not making fun of her; but his earnest, honesteyes forbade doubt.
At the ranch they found two women, a mother and her daughter. The manasked frankly whether they could take care of this young friend of hisovernight, saying that she was going on to the town in the morning, andwas in his care for the journey. This seemed to relieve all suspicion. Thetwo girls eyed each other, and then smiled.
"I'm Myrtle Baker," said the ranch-owner's daughter. "Come; I'll take youwhere you can wash your hands and face, and then we'll have some supper."
Myrtle Baker was a chatterer by nature. She talked incessantly; and,though she asked many questions, she did not wait for half of them to beanswered. Besides, the traveller had grown wary. She did not intend totalk about the relationship between herself and her travelling companion.There was a charm in Myrtle's company which made the girl half regretleaving the next morning, as they did quite early, amid protests fromMyrtle and her mother, who enjoyed a visitor in their isolated home.
But the ride that morning was constrained. Each felt in some subtle waythat their pleasant companionship was coming to a crisis. Ahead in thattown would be letters, communications from the outside world of friends,people who did not know or care what these two had been through together,and who would not hesitate to separate them with a firm hand. Neither putthis thought into words, but it was there in their hearts, in the form ofa vague fear. They talked very little, but each was feeling how pleasantthe journey had been, and dreading what might be before.
They wanted to stay in this Utopia of the plains, forever journeyingtogether, and never reaching any troublesome futures where were laws andopinions by which they must abide.
But the morning grew bright, and the road was not half long enough. Thoughat the last they walked their horses, they reached the town before thedaily train had passed through. They went straight to the station, andfound that the train was an hour late; but a telegram had arrived for theman. He took it nervously, his fingers trembling. He felt a premonitionthat it contained something unpleasant.
The girl sat on her horse by the platform, watching him through the openstation door where he was standing as he tore open the envelope. She saw adeathly pallor overspread his face, and a look of anguish as if an arrowhad pierced his heart. She felt as if the arrow had gone on into her ownheart, and then she sat and waited. It seemed hours before he glanced up,with an old, weary look in his eyes. The message read:
"Your mother seriously ill. Wants you immediately. Will send your baggageon morning train. Have wired you are coming."
It was signed by his cousin with whom he had been taking hishunting-trip, and who was bound by business to go further West within afew days more.
The strong young man was almost bowed under this sudden stroke. His motherwas very dear to him. He had left her well and happy. He must go to her atonce, of course; but what should he do with the girl who had within thelast two days taken so strong a hold upon his--he hesitated, and called it"protection." That word would do in the present emergency.
Then he looked, and saw her own face pale under the tan, and stepped outto the platform to tell her.