CHAPTER XIX
THE RETURN HOME
A long day of anxiety and fevered apprehension merged into a night ofterror. It was the outcome of a conviction that was irresistible. Theshadow of disaster was marching hard upon her heels. Nor had she thepower to avoid it.
As night came on Elvine remained alone in her twilit bedroom. She hadno desire to come into contact with the servants, she had no desire forhuman companionship of any sort. So, with the fading light, she betookherself to the bedroom.
But there was no relief. It was haunted to-night, teeming with thefancies of a dreading imagination. It seemed to her like the cell of acondemned prisoner.
The day had passed heavily, drearily. Every moment of it had beenfilled with the thought that Jeff was on his way to Orrville. On hisway to meet Dug McFarlane. On his way to meet the one man in whosehands her whole fate lay. He alone knew the source of the ten thousanddollars which she had carried back to her paternal home as the netresult of her first marriage. He alone knew it to be the price of theblood of men, amongst whom was the twin brother of her present husband.
Memory was alive, and full of a poignant torture. It brought back toher the scene when she had driven her first husband to help her to themoney she had desired to possess. He had spoken, in his horror andanger, of "blood money," of "Judas," and she would not hear. She hadderided him, she had lashed him with the scorn of an unbridled tongue,she had turned upon him in her selfish craving, without a thought ofany principle.
Now she understood what she had done, but she only understood becauseof the threat which overshadowed her. It was no spiritual awakening.It was again the self in her, threatened in its desires as a result ofher earlier wanton actions. Her motives, even the picture of thecarnage in that hidden valley, which came back to her unbidden, had nopower to add to the hopelessness of her feelings. Every emotion waswrapped in the thought that she was about to be robbed of all thefruits of the one great passion of her life.
She had one desire now, one motive in life only. It was the man shehad married. The man she had designed to marry for the station andwealth he could offer her, and who had almost instantly become thecentre of her whole life. Nothing of any worldly consideration countedany longer. There was nothing could interest her of which he did notoccupy the centre of the focus. Self dominated still, but it was amore human type of self, which had, perhaps, some rightful claim onhuman sympathy.
The shadows grew, and the wide airy room was filled with a hundredadded terrors which claimed reality in the troubled brain. The silenceof the world about her became a threat. The darkening of the cloudlesssky beyond the open window. She sat on, refusing to invoke the aid oflamp-light to banish the gathering legions of her dread. She knew itwas impossible to banish them.
Oh, she had no physical fear of the world about her. What was there tofear? Did she not know it all? Had she not lived it all before? Thetwo wide open windows invited her. She moved to one of them, and drewa chair so that she could rest upon the sill and gaze out into thespace so perfectly jeweled. And the cool night air fanned her cheeks,and seemed to relieve the fever that was raging behind her hot eyes.
The morrow. There was no other concern with her now but--the morrow.To-morrow Jeff would return. To-morrow she would know the worst, shewould know if the purpose of Fate were for or against her. Oh, thatto-morrow! And in the meantime there were interminable hours ofdarkness to endure, when sleep was impossible. And after that thedaylight, when she must fear every eye that was turned in herdirection, when every moment brought nearer the possibility of the endfor her of all things in the world which mattered.
The night wore on. Midnight came and passed. She had not moved again.Her straining eyes had watched the starry groups as they set beyond thehorizon. There was no moon to create shadows upon the wide, rollingpasture before her. Everything was in shadow, just as her everythought was similarly enwrapped. There was no relief anywhere.
Once she heard a sound that set her jarred nerves hammering. It was adistant sound, and, to her fancy, it was the rapid beat of horse'shoofs sweeping across the wide valley. But it died out. She had beencaught by the thought of the possibility of her husband's return,suddenly, in the night. She pictured for one brief instant theheadlong race of the man to charge her with the crime of his brother'slife.
She saw that keen, stern face with its cold blue eyes and the grimlytightened lips. She had seen some such expression there before, andshe knew there were depths within his soul which she had never probed,and hoped that she might never have to probe.
It was the mystery of these unknown depths which had inspired herpassion. It was because of that cognizance of something unusual,profound, in his personality that he had first become so completelydesirable. Then as she grew to know him, so she found she knew himless, and desired to know him more. Her love and worship of him was ofthe primitive. It was such as is the love of all women when inspiredby an emotion not untouched by fear.
So, when the sounds of hoof-beats broke the night silence, she becamepanic-stricken, because such a return, at such an hour, could have butone meaning.
Then the sounds passed, and her nerves steadied, and presently astirring night breeze rustled the lank grass. It came over the plaintoward her. It reached her window and fanned her cheeks with its chillbreath. Then it passed, sighing round an angle of the house. Then, inits wake, came the plaintive dole of a scavenging coyote. Thecombination, to her fancy, was an echo of her feelings. It was thesigh of despair, and the cry of a lost soul.
Presently the drowse of utter weariness descended upon her. The dreadof thought remained heavily overshadowing, but a certain distortiondisplayed the reaching of limits beyond which human power could not go,even in suffering. It was a merciful nature asserting itself. Hereyes closed, slowly, gently, with a drowsy helplessness. Once herelbow slipped from the sill of the window and awoke her. A somnolentthought that she would go to bed passed dully through her mind. Butshe did not act upon it. She propped her head upon her hand once more,and, in a moment, everything was forgotten.
She awoke with a start. There was no drowse in her wakefulness now.Her eyes were wide, and her thoughts alert. The sensation of a blow, alight, unforceful blow was still tingling through her nerves. Theblow, it seemed, had fallen upon her forehead, and she thrust a hand upmechanically to the spot. But the action yielded her no enlightenment.There was no pain, no sign.
She peered through the open window and realized that the moon hadrisen. She stared at it, and presently it occurred to her that shemust have slept, and, by the position of the moon above the horizon,for at least an hour.
Then her thoughts returned to the blow which had awakened her, and theconclusion followed that it must have been the result of the half-blindflight of one of those great winged beetles.
She closed the window abruptly. She closed the second one. Then,having drawn the curtains, she fumbled for the matches and lit thecandles upon her dressing bureau. It was her intention to search forthe intruding beetle, and then retire.
But her search terminated abruptly. It terminated even as it began.That which had struck her was lying almost at her feet upon the softrug on which she stood, and within a yard of where she had beensitting. It was a piece of paper tied about a small ball of soil.
She stared down at it for some startled moments. The effects of herdread were still upon her, and they set up a sort of panic which madeher fearful of touching the missile. But it could not remain thereuninspected. There could be no thought of retiring without learningthe meaning of what lay there on the floor.
Gingerly she stooped with a candle in her hand. She stooped lower, butmaking no attempt to touch the thing which had disturbed her. Thecandle revealed a folded sheet of white paper. A string bound it roundthe rooted portion of a grass tuft.
After a few moments she reached out and picked it up. The next momentshe was standing erect at her bureau, and with a
pair of scissors shesevered the string and dropped the grass tuft to the floor.
The paper was folded and thumb-marked by dirty hands. With shakingfingers and tense nerves she deliberately unfolded it.
It was a note, and she read it eagerly.
"You sold the lives of men for a price. You had it your way then.We're goin' to have our way now. You'll pay for that deal the only waywe know."
* * * * * *
Elvine sat watching the scenes of the work of the range. The men werereturning from distant points making for the ranch house where theirevening meal was awaiting them at the bunkhouse. Teams were movingtoward the barns, and barn-hands were watering those which had alreadyreturned. There was a general stir everywhere. Certain stock wasbeing corralled and hayed for the night. In the hay corral men werebusy cutting and hauling feed. There was no loneliness, no solitude.The business of so great an enterprise as the Obar Ranch involved manyhands, and seemingly endless work.
But Elvine watched these things without interest. In her present stateof mind they meant nothing to her, they could mean nothing. She waswaiting, waiting in a perfect fever for the home-coming of her husband.
Strangely, too, she was not without a glimmer of hope. Somehow thebelief had taken possession of her that had Jeff learned anything ofher story he must have been home before this. It seemed to her that hemust have flung every consideration to the winds, and rushed in feveredhaste to denounce her as the murderess of his twin brother.
The mysterious note which had been flung in through her open window hadleft her sleepless for the rest of the night, but, even so, now, in thebroad light of day, it was only relatively alarming. The other terroroverwhelmed it.
The sun was already tinting the hilltops with ruddy, golden hues. Thefrigid snow-caps no longer wore their sheen of alabaster. There was agolden radiance everywhere, a suggestion of a perfect peace, such asthe woman felt could never again find place in her heart.
She turned her eyes from the splendor of the scene in silent protest.The green of the wide-spreading valley, even the dark purple shadows ofthe lower mountain slopes were better in harmony with her mood. Buteven these she denied in her nervous irritation, and again, and yetagain, her searching gaze was flung out to the northwest along thetrail over which she knew her husband must come.
The waiting seemed endless. And the woman's heart literally stoodstill when at last she detected an infinitesimal flurry of dust away onthe far distance of the trail. A mad desire surged through her to fleefor hiding to those vast purple solitudes she knew to lie in the heartof the hills.
She remained where she was, however. She stirred not a muscle. Shewas powerless to do so. What, what had the coming of the man for her?It was the one absorbing question which occupied her whole brain andsoul.
The dust flurry grew to a long trail in the wake of a horseman. Infive minutes he stood out ahead of it, clear to the eye. In ten hisidentity was distinguishable. And, presently he rode swiftly at agallop past the ranch buildings and drew up before the house.
The rack of that moment was superlative. The woman's hands clenchedand her finger nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. There wasno greeting upon her lips. She only had power to stare; her widebeautiful eyes were searching the face of the man she loved, searchingit as the criminal in the dock might search the face of the judge aboutto pass sentence.
Her tongue was ready for its release. Pent words lay deep in her soulfor an outpouring at the lightest sign. But these things weredependent, dependent upon the reading she found in the man's eyes.
The horse stood drooping at the termination of its effort. The mansprang from the saddle. A barn-hand took the beast away to its stable.Elvine's tongue remained almost cleaving to the roof of her mouth.
The man's fair brows were depressed. His eyes were sternly cold. Andnot once did they turn in her direction. He spoke in his usual tone tothe barn-hand. He issued his orders without a sign of emotion.
Elvine could stand no more. She stirred. Then slowly she passedwithin the house.
Presently Jeff's step sounded on the veranda. It was quick. There wasnothing lagging in it. The woman gripped the back of a chair in theliving-room in which she had taken refuge. She was seeking support.
The man entered the room. Nor did he remove his hat. He stood justwithin the window opening, and his eyes, cold as the gleam of themountain glaciers, regarded her steadily.
"I see you understand," he said. "You realized what must happen when Ivisited Dug McFarlane in the matter of Peters, who bought your deadhusband's farm. You knew it when you read that letter I gave you. Andso you protested. So you assured me of--your regard."
He came a step nearer. The movement was almost involuntary.
"I have prayed to God that some day he might bring me face to face withthe person who sold my brother's life. He has granted me my prayer.But it never entered my wildest dreams that it could be the woman Imarried. I never questioned your past. To me it was sufficient thatyou had taught me the meaning of love. To me you must be all youseemed. No more, no less. God help me, I had no imagination to tellme that so fair a body could contain so foul a heart. Were you not mywife, were you a man, I should know how to deal with that which liesbetween us. As it is you must thank the difference in our sex for thatwhich nothing else could have done for you. As yet I have not had thetime to arrange the details of our future. To-morrow, perhaps, thingswill have cleared in my mind. I shall sleep to-night over at Bud's----"
"Oh, Jeff, Jeff, have mercy. I----"
"Mercy? Mercy?" A sudden fire blazed up where only a frigid light hadshone. The man's tones were alive with a fury of passion. "Did youhave mercy? Was there one merciful, womanly emotion in your cruel,selfish heart when you sent those men, that man to his death for tenthousand filthy dollars? Pray to God for mercy, not to me."
A curious sullen light dawned in the woman's eyes. But even as itdawned it faded with the man's movement to depart.
"You--you won't leave me?" she pleaded. "Oh, Jeff, I love you so.What I did was in ignorance, in cruel, selfish longing. I had beenreduced to the life of a drudge without hope, without even a house fitfor existence. I believed I had honest right. I believed even that myact was a just one. Jeff, Jeff, don't leave me, don't drive me out ofyour life. I cannot bear it. Anything, anything but that. My God, Idon't deserve it. I don't--true. Jeff--Jeff!"
Her final appeal came as the man, without a word, passed through theopen window. She followed him in a desperate hope. But the hope wasvain. She saw him mount the fresh horse which had been brought roundand left at the tying post.
As he turned the beast about to depart, just for one instant he lookedin her direction.
"I will see you again in the morning. By that time I shall havedecided what is best for us both."
He waited for no more. There was nothing to wait for. He lifted thereins and his horse set off. The dust rose up and screened him fromview.
Once more Elvine was standing on the veranda. Once more her gaze wasfollowing the trail of rising dust. But there was no fever of suspensein her beautiful eyes now. There were not even tears. The blow hadfallen. Fate had caught up with her. Its merciless onrush hadoverwhelmed her. She was crushed. She was broken under itssledge-hammer blow. She stood drooping, utterly, utterly broken andspiritless before the man's swift, brief indictment and action.
The end had come. Nor had it anything of the end she had visualized inher dread. It was ten times more cruel than she had even dared todream.