The Trail Horde

  CHAPTER XXIII

  A WOMAN'S WILES

  From the ceiling of the cabin Lawler had suspended a spare blanket. Ithung between the two tiers of bunks, thus providing a certain privacyfor both Miss Wharton and Lawler.

  Lawler had been scrupulously considerate, and with a delicacy that musthave earned her applause--had she been serious-minded--he had sought toseem unaware or indifferent to the many inevitable intimacies forcedupon them by the nature of their association.

  He knew, however, that the girl was secretly laughing at him. Certainsigns were convincing. On the first night of their enforced jointoccupancy of the cabin, she had silently watched him tack the blanket tothe ceiling; and though she had said nothing, he had noted a gleam inher eyes which had made him wonder if he should not have waited until_she_ suggested it.

  At other times he felt her gaze upon him--her eyes always glowing withthe suggestion of silent mirth. She seemed to be amused over thedelicacy he exhibited--to be wondering at it. Whether she appreciated itor not he did not know, or care. For he had noted other things that hadincreased his contempt of her. She was betraying absolutely noperturbation over her enforced stay in the cabin with him. On thecontrary, her manner gave him the impression that she was enjoyingherself and not thinking of the future. She was contented with thepresent.

  Moreover, he could not fail to be aware of her interest in him; for themany signs were infallible. Glances, the intonations of her voice, a wayshe had of standing close to him, of touching his hands or hisshoulders--all was evidence of the guile he had detected in her,convincing him that she thought him desirable, and that she had decidedto win him.

  But vanity in Lawler had long since been ruthlessly overwhelmed by theserious business of life. He had never had time--in his later years--toyield to the fatuous imaginings of youth. He had lived a rough, hardlife, in which values were computed by the rule of sheer worth--a lifethat had taught him that performance, and not appearances, must be thestandard by which all men and women must ultimately be judged.

  Lawler was not flattered by Della Wharton's feminine blandishments. Hewas grimly amused--when he was not disgusted; though he continued totreat her with the utmost courtesy and gentleness, trying to keep herfrom divining his emotions.

  Also, he had tried to lessen the dread monotony that encompassed them.There was nothing they could do. Beyond the mechanical tasks of eating,or of cooking and sleeping, of plunging outside to the water hole forwater, or of caring for the horses and bringing wood for the fire, therewas no diversion except that of talking. And, as the days dragged andthe storm did not abate, even talking began to irk Lawler. There wouldbe periods during which they would be silent, listening to the howlingand moaning of the wind--hours at a stretch when the cold outside wouldseem to threaten, to tighten its constricting circle, when a great aweoppressed them; when it seemed that the whole world was snowbound, andthat it would keep piling over and around them and all life would beextinct.

  It was on the morning of the tenth day that Lawler began to notice thatthe dread monotony and the white, ever-present menace were beginning toaffect the girl. Her face was white and in her eyes was a haunting gleamof fear. He noted how she clasped her hands; how she nervously twinedand untwined her fingers, and how she kept pushing her chair toward him,as though for protection.

  A swift sympathy seized him; he laughed, lowly, reaching out a hand andlaying it lightly on her shoulder as she started at the sound of hisvoice and drew a quick, startled breath.

  "Oh!" she said; "will it never end?"

  "It can't last much longer, Miss Wharton," he smiled. "It has held onlonger, now, than it should at this season."

  The sound of his voice reassured her--it was calm, quiet, confident.Some color came back into her face, and she smiled.

  "I believe I was beginning to get the doldrums," she said.

  "That wouldn't be startling, Miss Wharton. Life in a line camp doesbecome monotonous. It is to be expected. It becomes tragic. Also, it hasa humorous side--viewed from a distance--chiefly afterward. In thefall, men go into line camps fast friends. We always pair them that way.Any other method would be fatal, for when the men come out in the springthey invariably are deadly enemies. You can imagine what would happen ifwe sent into a line cabin two men who did not think well of each other."

  She shuddered and snuggled closer to him, letting her head fall to hisshoulder. A pulse of pity stirred him, and he permitted her head to staywhere she had laid it, while he gently smoothed her hair.

  He would have done as much for any woman in her position; the emotionthat filled him was entirely that of pity. She was vain andfrivolous--employing every artifice, but she was a woman despite that,and entitled, in the present circumstances, to what comfort and sympathyhe could give her.

  However, to Della, the moment of victory was at hand. She _had_ been atrifle worried just an instant before; and the white world outside _had_seemed to threaten to rush in and crush out her life--the life she lovedso well--and she had been just a little afraid.

  But she had not been too frightened to note Lawler's sympathy--the quickglow in his eyes, and the atmosphere of tenderness that suddenly seemedto envelop him. It was surrender, she thought, the breaking down of thatquiet, steady reserve in him which had filled her with resentment.

  She caught his free hand and held it tightly, while she turned her headso that she could look into his eyes.

  "Lawler," she said then, in a low voice; "I lied to you."

  "Lied?" He stiffened, dropped his hand from her head and looked straightat her.

  She laughed, lightly. "Yes; I lied, Lawler. The day we met inWillets--you remember? Well, I loved you from that moment, Lawler. Youlooked so big and fine and strong. I just couldn't help it. I didoverhear Gary Warden telling those two men to cut the fence; and Ididn't want them to set all those cattle adrift. But I didn't intend tocome here. I started out to find your ranch--the Circle L. I thought Iwould find you there, and I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to theTwo Diamond right away--that you would have to keep me at your houseuntil the storm was over. But I got lost, and when I saw the light inthe window, here, I knew I had better go toward it. But I came because Iwanted to be near you, Lawler. And now--" She laughed and tried to drawhim toward her.

  "Of course you are not in earnest, Miss Wharton," he said, slowly, hisvoice grave. "Such a confession----"

  "It's the truth," she declared, shamelessly, holding tightly to him. "Itis simple, isn't it? I love you--and I came to you. I came, because Ihad to--I wanted to. I had been thinking of you--dreaming of you. Youwere in my mind all the time.

  "And you have been acting dreadfully distant. I had begun to believethat you didn't like me--that you wished I hadn't come----"

  "That would be the truth, Miss Wharton," he interrupted. He grimlywalked to the fireplace, standing with his back to it, looking at her.He was wondering how he could tell her that she had disgraced her sex;how he could, without being brutal, tell her how he abhorred women whopursued men.

  Despite the impulse of charity that moved him, he could not veil thegrim disgust that had seized him. It showed in the curve of his lips andin his eyes.

  And Miss Wharton saw it. She had been watching him narrowlywhen he walked away from her; she was looking at him now, in resentfulinquiry, her lips tight-pressed. She was puzzled, incredulous.

  Then, with their glances locked, she laughed, jeeringly.

  "I really don't know how to classify you!" she said, scornfully. "Am Iugly?"

  He smiled grimly. "Far from it," he answered, frankly. "I think," headded, his gaze still holding hers, "that mere physical beauty doesn'tintrigue my interest. There must be something back of it."

  "Character, I suppose," she mocked; "nobility, virtue?"

  "I think you have said it," he smiled. "At least I haven't the slightestdesire to like you."

  "School teachers are more in your line, I suppose," she jibed.

  There was a wanton light in her eyes. The chan
ge that had come over herwas startling; and Lawler found himself watching her, trying toassociate this new side of her character with that she had shown beforeshe had betrayed her real character; she represented a type that hadalways been repulsive to him. And, until now, she had fooled him. He hadwasted his politeness, his gentleness, his consideration, and hisdelicacy. He understood, now, why she had seemed to laugh at him when hehad endeavored to provide a certain measure of privacy for her; he knewhow she felt at this moment, when she must realize that she had betrayedherself.

  Any further talk between them would be profitless, and so Lawler did notanswer her question. He stood, looking at the north window, which was alittle to one side of her; while she sat staring past him, her lipsstraight and hard.

  At last she looked up. "What an odd courtship!"

  His gaze dropped, met hers, and he smiled.

  "Yes--odd," he returned, dryly.

  "But I suppose," she said, in a tone equally dry; "that you will make upfor it, after we are married. You will learn to like me."

  "Yes; after we are married," he smiled, ironically.

  "That will be as soon as we can get to town, I presume," she went on,watching him with brazen directness. "You see," she explained; "I havebeen here with you for about two weeks, you know, and my friends willask embarrassing questions. You are so _honorable_ that you cannotrefuse to protect my reputation."

  "I am sorry, of course, Miss Wharton. But you should have consideredyour reputation before you decided to come here."

  "You mean that you won't marry me?" she demanded. She got up and walkedtoward him, halting within a pace of him and standing stiffly beforehim.

  "You have perception, after all, it seems," he said, gravely. "But youdon't understand human nature. No man--or woman--in this section willsee anything wrong in your staying in this cabin with me during thestorm. They will accept it as being the most natural thing in the world.It was a simple act of humanness for me to take you in, and it entailsno offer of marriage. Perhaps it has been done, and will be done again,where there is an inclination to marry. It has been done in books, andin certain sections of the world where narrow-minded people are themanufacturers of public sentiment. The mere fact that I happened to saveyour life does not obligate me to marry you, Miss Wharton. And I do notfeel like playing the martyr."

  For an instant it seemed that Della would become hysterical. But whenshe looked into Lawler's eyes and realized that mere acting would notdeceive him, she sneered.

  "I might have known _you_ wouldn't be man enough to protect me!"

  Lawler smiled, but did not answer. And after an instant, during whichDella surveyed him with scorn unspeakable, she strode stiffly to a chairin a far corner of the room and dropped into it.

  Lawler had been little affected. He pitied her because of her pervertedmoral sense, which sought an honorable marriage from a wild, immoralimpulse. He pitied her because she was what she was--a wanton who wasdetermined by scheme and wile to gain her ends. And he shrewdlysuspected that she was not so much concerned for her reputation as shewas eager to achieve what she had determined upon. Defeat to her kind isintolerable.

  "Gary Warden will never marry me if he discovers that I have been here,"declared Della from the corner.

  "You said you did not love Warden, Miss Wharton," Lawler reminded her."You wouldn't marry a man you merely liked, would you?"

  "We have been engaged for a year. Certainly, I shall marry him. Why not?But he won't have me, now!"

  "Does Warden love you, Miss Wharton?"

  "That doesn't concern you!" she snapped.

  "No--not in the least. But if Warden loves you, and I went to him andexplained that your being here was accidental----"

  "Bah!" she sneered; "you're a fool, Lawler! Do you expect Gary Wardenwould swallow _that_! You don't know him!"

  "Well," said Lawler, gently; "he need not know. If you are afraid toface public opinion, to show by your actions that you have nothing to beashamed of, I'll take you to the Circle L, just as soon as we can getthrough. We'll time ourselves to get there at night. No one need know,and you can tell Warden that you were caught in the storm and drifted tothe Circle L, where you stayed with my mother. I can come back here andno one will ever know the difference."

  "I don't want to see your mother!" she sneered. "I'd be afraid she wouldbe something like you! Ugh! I hate you!"

  "There is only one other way," smiled Lawler. "I know Keller, the ownerof the Willets Hotel, very intimately. I can take you there, atnight--after the storm breaks. No one need know. You can say you were atthe hotel all the time. And Keller will support your word."

  "I presume I shall have to go to Willets--since I have to lie!" shesaid, wrathfully.

  "Yes," said Lawler incisively; "it takes courage to be truthful, MissWharton. But if a person always tells the truth----"

  "Shut up!" she said savagely; "you make me sick!" She glared malignantlyat him. "Ugh, I positively loathe you! I must have been crazy when Ithought I saw something in you!" She paused for an instant to get herbreath, and then she resumed, vindictively:

  "I hope they arrest you for killing those two men--Link and Givens. Ihope they hang you. And they will hang you, because you can't prove youacted in self-defense. You'll be sorry you didn't marry me when yourealize that I might have saved you by telling the truth about thefight!"

  "Well," he said; "you can't testify without admitting you were here, youknow."

  "And I will never tell!" she declared; "I will never admit it!" sheadded, exultingly. "You'll change your mind about marrying me--you'llhave to, to save your neck!"

  Lawler shook his head negatively.

  "You wouldn't marry me to save your life?" asked the girl,incredulously.

  "Not to save my life, Miss Wharton."

  "Well," she said slowly; "you're a damned fool!"

  Lawler smiled and turned away. He heard Della moving about in the cabin,but he did not look around.

  But later, after there had been a deep silence for a time, he ventured abackward glance. During the day he had kept the dividing blanket rolledup out of the way, fastening it with two loops that he had suspendedfrom the ceiling. The blanket was now down--it was the first time Dellahad touched it.

  Lawler smiled, pulled a chair over near the fireplace, rolled acigarette, and puffed slowly at it, reflecting that life in the cabinwould now be more monotonous than ever.

  Della did not get out of her bunk during the day. She ate nothing, nordid she reply to Lawler when he invited her to partake of the food hehad prepared.

  Late that afternoon Lawler noted a glow of light coming through thenorth window. He went to the door, opened it and looked out. The snowhad ceased and the wind had gone down. Far over in the west a cold sun,hanging its rim on a mountain peak, bathed the world with a shimmering,glittering, blinding light.

  Lawler went outside and shielding his eyes with his hands, peered outover the gleaming waste. He noted that the snow had drifted much, butthat there were ridges where no snow had settled, as well as vastsections of plain where the wind had swept the snow clear. There wouldbe no difficulty in reaching Willets, for the wind that was coming overthe plains now was mild--almost warm.

  He went inside, told Della, and began to make preparations for the ride.And later that night, moving swiftly northward, under straggling cloudsthat obscured the moon, the two journeyed--Della swathed in clothingthat assured her of warmth, and still preserving a sullen silence;Lawler riding ahead, breaking trail.