'Firebrand' Trevison

  CHAPTER IX

  STRAIGHT TALK

  Ten years of lonesomeness, of separation from all the things he held dear,with nothing for his soul to feed upon except the bitterness he got from acontemplation of the past; with nothing but his pride and hisdetermination to keep him from becoming what he had seen many men in thiscountry become--dissolute irresponsibles, drifting like ships withoutrudders--had brought into Trevison's heart a great longing. He was like aman who for a long time has been deprived of the solace of good tobacco,and--to use a simile that he himself manufactured--he yearned to capturesomeone from the East, sit beside him and fill his lungs, his brain, hisheart, his soul, with the breath, the aroma, the spirit of the land of hisyouth. The appearance of Miss Benham at Manti had thrilled him. For tenyears he had seen no eastern woman, and at sight of her the old hunger ofthe soul became acute in him, aroused in him a passionate worship thatmade his blood run riot. It was the call of sex to sex, made doublystirring by the girl's beauty, her breeziness, her virile, alluringwomanhood--by the appeal she made to the love of the good and the true inhis character. His affection for Hester Keyes, he had long known, had beenmerely the vanity-tickling regard of the callow youth--the sex attractionof adolescence, the "puppy" love that smites all youth alike. For RosalindBenham a deeper note had been struck. Its force rocked him, intoxicatedhim; his head rang with the music it made.

  During the three weeks of her stay at Blakeley's they had been muchtogether. Rosalind had accepted his companionship as a matter of course.He had told her many things about his past, and was telling her many morethings, as they sat today on an isolated excrescence of sand and rock andbunch grass surrounded by a sea of sage. From where they sat they couldsee Manti--Manti, alive, athrob, its newly-come hundreds busy as ants withtheir different pursuits.

  The intoxication of the girl's presence had never been so great as it wastoday. A dozen times, drunken with the nearness of her, with the delicateodor from her hair, as a stray wisp fluttered into his face, he had comevery near to catching her in his arms. But he had grimly mastered thefeeling, telling himself that he was not a savage, and that such an actionwould be suicidal to his hopes. It cost him an effort, though, to restrainhimself, as his flushed face, his burning eyes and his labored breath,told.

  His broken wrist had healed. His hatred of Corrigan had been kept alive bya recollection of the fight, by a memory of the big man's quickness totake advantage of the banker's foul trick, and by the passion for revengethat had seized him, that held him in a burning clutch. Jealousy of thebig man he would not have admitted; but something swelled his chest whenhe thought of Corrigan coming West in the same car with the girl--a vague,gnawing something that made his teeth clench and his facial muscles cord.

  Rosalind had not told him that she had recognized him, that during the tenyears of his exile he had been her ideal, but she could close her eyes atthis minute and imagine herself on the stair-landing at Hester Keyes'party, could feel the identical wave of thrilling admiration that hadpassed over her when her gaze had first rested on him. Yes, it hadsurvived, that girlhood passion, but she had grown much older andexperienced, and she could not let him see what she felt. But hercuriosity was keener than ever; in no other man of her acquaintance hadshe felt this intense interest.

  "I remember you telling me the other day that your men would have usedtheir rifles, had the railroad company attempted to set men to work in thecut. I presume you must have given them orders to shoot. I can'tunderstand you. You were raised in the East, your parents are wealthy; itis presumed they gave you advantages--in fact, you told me they had sentyou to college. You must have learned respect for the law while there. Andyet you would have had your men resist forcibly."

  "I told you before that I respected the law--so long as the law is justand the fellow I'm fighting is governed by it. But I refuse to fight undera rule that binds one of my hands, while my opponent sails into me withboth hands free. I've never been a believer in the doctrine of 'turn theother cheek.' We are made with a capacity for feeling, and it boils,unrestrained, in me. I never could play the hypocrite; I couldn't say 'no'when I thought 'yes' and make anybody believe it. I couldn't lie and evadeand side-step, even to keep from getting licked. I always told the truthand expressed my feelings in language as straight, simple, and direct as Icould. It wasn't always the discreet way. Perhaps it wasn't always thewise way. I won't argue that. But it was the only way I knew. It caused mea lot of trouble--I was always in trouble. My record in college would makea prize fighter turn green with envy. I'm not proud of what I've made ofmy life. But I haven't changed. I do what my heart prompts me to do, and Isay what I think, regardless of consequences."

  "That would be a very good method--if everybody followed it," said thegirl. "Unfortunately, it invites enmity. Subtlety will take you farther inthe world." She was smitten with an impulse, unwise, unconventional. Butthe conventions! The East seemed effete and far. Besides, she spokelightly:

  "Let us be perfectly frank, then. I think that perhaps you take yourselftoo seriously. Life is a tragedy to the tragic, a joke to the humorous, adrab canvas to the unimaginative. It all depends upon what temperament onesees it through. I dare say that I see you differently than you seeyourself. 'O wad some power the giftie gi'e us to see oursel's as itherssee us'," she quoted, and laughed at the queer look in his eyes, for hisadmiration for her had leaped like a living thing at her bubbling spirits,and he was, figuratively, forced to place his heel upon it. "I confess itseems to me that you take a too tragic view of things," she went on. "Youare like D'Artagnan, always eager to fly at somebody's throat. Possibly,you don't give other people credit for unselfish motives; you are toosuspicious; and what you call plain talk may seem impertinence toothers--don't you think? In any event, people don't like to hear the truthtold about themselves--especially by a big, earnest, sober-faced man whoseems to speak with conviction, and, perhaps, authority. I think you lookfor trouble, instead of trying to evade it. I think, too," she said,looking straight at him, "that you face the world in a too physicalfashion; that you place too much dependence upon brawn and fire. That,following your own method of speaking your mind, is what I think of you. Itremble to imagine what you think of me for speaking so plainly."

  He laughed, his voice vibrating, and bold passion gleamed in his eyes. Helooked fairly at her, holding her gaze, compelling it with the intensityof his own, and she drew a deep, tremulous breath of understanding. Therefollowed a tense, breathless silence. And then--

  "You've brought it on yourself," he said. "I love you. You are going tomarry me--someday. That's what I think of you!"

  "YOU ARE GOING TO MARRY ME--SOME DAY. THAT'SWHAT I THINK OF YOU!"]

  She got to her feet, her cheeks flaming, confused, half-frightened, thougha fierce exultation surged within her. She had half expected this, halfdreaded it, and now that it had burst upon her in such volcanic fashionshe realized that she had not been entirely prepared. She sought refuge inbanter, facing him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dancing.

  "'Firebrand,'" she said. "The name fits you--Mr. Carson was right. Iwarned you--if you remember--that you placed too much dependence on brawnand fire. You are making it very hard for me to see you again."

  He had risen too, and stood before her, and he now laughed frankly.

  "I told you I couldn't play the hypocrite. I have said what I think. Iwant you. But that doesn't mean that I am going to carry you away to themountains. I've got it off my mind, and I promise not to mention itagain--until you wish it. But don't forget that some day you are going tolove me."

  "How marvelous," said she, tauntingly, though in her confusion she couldnot meet his gaze, looking downward. "How do you purpose to bring itabout?"

  "By loving you so strongly that you can't help yourself."

  "With your confidence--" she began. But he interrupted, laughing:

  "We're going to forget it, now," he said. "I promised to show you that_Pueblo_, and we'll have just about time enough to make it and back
to theBar B before dark."

  And they rode away presently, chatting on indifferent subjects. And,keeping his promise, he said not another word about his declaration. Butthe girl, stealing glances at him, wondered much--and reached nodecision.

  When they reached the abandoned Indian village, many of its houses stillstanding, he laughed. "That would make a dandy fort."

  "Always thinking of fighting," she mocked. But her eyes flashed as shelooked at him.