CHAPTER XXIII
THE HEARTS OF TWO WOMEN
The figure was silent, motionless upon the veranda. The eyes were dulland lifeless. It was as though paralysis held the woman in its grip.
"Tchah!"
The echo of that fierce expletive remained. It rang through heart andbrain. Its sting was hot. It seared its way through the life channelsand blasted all hope.
Was there ever such contempt, such scorn, such repulsion, concentratedin one single ejaculation! It told the woman everything. It told of afailure so complete that hope became an emotion driven forever from herheart. It told her that the usury of life was beyond all belief. Ittold her that the interest demanded for every pledged moment waswithout pity, or mercy, or justice. Now she knew how she had pawned,and, oh God, the interest which was being torn from her!
Her gaze remained upon the angle of the barn around which her husbandhad vanished. She was waiting for him to reappear. She was waiting tosee if he would ride off in spite of her warning. But she was unawareof the thought prompting her. All she knew, all she felt, was thecontempt, the scorn, the distrust he had hurled at her.
The western sky had faded to a pallid yellow. The distance was losingitself in the rising purple shadows. Already the dark patches ofwoodlands were assuming that ghostly vagueness which belongs totwilight. The ranch was wrapped in a deep repose. A sense of rest hadfallen upon the great valley. All life seemed satisfied with its longday's effort and desired only the peace of night.
But the quiet suddenly gave way before a fresh clatter of movement.Hoofs once more beat on the sun-baked soil. Two figures grew out ofthe twilight from behind the barn, and the woman knew that her warninghad gone for naught. She watched them until they were swallowed up bythe growing dusk. The last dim outline blurred itself into thepasture. Then she stirred.
A deep sigh was heavily breathed. Then, in a moment, the paralysisfell from her. The dullness of her eyes gave place to a sheen ofexcitement, and her perfect cheeks assumed a faint, hectic flush.
For one brief moment she glanced back into the house. Then she glanceddown at her own clothing. She was still clad in the riding suit whichhad become her daily wear. The survey seemed to satisfy her, for sheleft the veranda at a run, and made her way toward the barn.
Perhaps five minutes later she, too, became lost in the growingtwilight, and her horse's hoofs awoke anew the echoes of the place.But her way did not lie in the track of the others. Her horse wasracing headlong in the direction of Nan's home.
Bud and Nan were just finishing their supper when Elvine broke in uponthem. She came with a rush and a clatter which brought Nan out on tothe veranda in hurry of anxious inquiry. Bud was behind her, but hismovements lacked her impulse.
Elvine was out of the saddle. She stood on the veranda, a figure ofwild-eyed appeal.
"Jeff! Oh, he's gone. Nan, they'll--they'll kill him! I know it.I'm certain. And I warned him. I warned him. But--oh!"
She covered her face with her hands. It was a movement inspired by thememory of his scorn.
Nan's responsive heart was caught by the other's emotion. But above itleaped a fear which she was powerless to deny. Jeff? Jeff in danger?She flung out an arm. Her small hand gripped the other with a forcethat was incredible.
"What d'you mean?" she cried, almost fiercely. "Don't stand there likea fool. Who is going to harm Jeff?"
The sharp authority, so prompt, so unexpected, dragged the distraughtwoman into some command of herself. She raised her head. Her eyeswere hot with unshed tears. They looked into Nan's, so urgent, yet sofull of a steadfast sanity.
"It's Sikkem," she cried, steadying herself. "He's sent in to say he'sbadly shot up. He says he's located the rustlers' camp and must handJeff the news before--while he has time. Jeff's gone out there,and--Sikkem's one of the gang and escaped from Orrville four years ago."
"How d'you know?" It was Bud's heavy voice put the question. It wasfull of stern command.
"I've seen him. I know him, and--he knows me. He--he wrote this andsent it me."
Elvine thrust the crumpled note at Bud. Her gesture was almostdesperate.
"When did he send it?" Again came Bud's command.
"Days ago."
"An' Jeff--didn't know till--now?"
"I was afraid to tell him--then."
Bud and Nan read the note by the parlor lamplight. A bitterimprecation broke from the man's lips.
"Guess I don't get it--yet," he said.
But Nan was quicker.
"He's gone to Spruce Crossing--to Sikkem?" she cried, her eyes hot asthey dwelt on the shaking woman before her. "Don't wait talking. Itdon't matter the right of things. You, Daddy, get our horses fixed andround up a bunch of boys from the bunkroom. Jeff's in danger, an' it'sup to us. Maybe Evie'll tell me while you go."
Something of the great Bud's feelings was displayed in the celerity ofhis movements. He was gone before Nan had finished speaking.
The two women were left facing each other.
Seconds passed without a word. The gentle Nan no longer looked out ofthe brown eyes. They were hot, resentful. Nor would any one haverecognized in the anxious-eyed woman before her the beautiful creaturewho had first stirred Jeffrey Masters out of his years of celibatethought.
Without a word Nan turned back to the parlor. When she reappeared shewas buckling a revolver belt about her slim waist. The two heavyholsters it supported were almost incongruous on so slight a figure.
Elvine watched her. The girl's deliberation was in deep contrast toher own emotions. Then, too, the sympathy which had fled from Nan'sbrown eyes left them full of hard resolve.
"You--are not going?" Elvine said, pointing at the weapons.
Nan's surprise was genuine.
"Jeff's in danger."
"But you--a woman? You can't help. You might even----"
"Jeff's in danger."
Nan repeated the words with an emphasis there could be no mistaking.And as the final syllable escaped her pretty lips became firmlycompressed.
Elvine regarded her for a silent moment or two. A strange newsensation was stirring within her. Nan's attitude had brought it intobeing. Her earlier emotions receded before this new feeling. And,strangely enough, she remembered some words her mother had once spokento her. It was at a time before she had engaged herself to her husband.
"But Jeff--is nothing to you," she said abruptly.
There was a new ring in the voice in which she spoke.
"Is he?"
Nan's eyes looked straight into the wife's. There was no smile inthem. There was no emotion lying behind them that Elvine could read.They were steady, unflinching. That was all.
Sounds came up from the ranch buildings. Voices reached them plainly.And among them Bud's dominating tones were raised above all.
Nan's eyes were drawn in the direction, but her gaze only encounteredthe moonless night.
"What is he--to you?" Elvine's demand was strident. She was rousedfrom her sense of her own sufferings, her own misery. The newlyawakened emotion had leaped to proportions which threatened tooverwhelm all others.
Nan's eyes came back to her face. There was something almost recklessin their regard. There was even a suggestion of derision in them, asuggestion of triumph. But it was not the triumph over a rival. Itwas the triumph of one who realizes her conquest over self.
"Everything!" she cried. Then she added almost to herself: "EverythingI can think of, have ever dreamed of in life." Then suddenly her voicerose to a ring of ecstasy. It was the abundance, the purity of herlove, the certainty of victory over self which inspired it. "Ah, Evie,don't be rattled with what I'm telling you. Ther' surely is no need.You want to be mad with me. Guess you needn't to be. Jeff don't knowit. He never will know it. I've never had a hope of him since he metyou. He's always been just yours. I don't guess you need to worry athing that way. The worrying's for me. I've loved him since ever Iwas
a child: since ever he came here. Well, you figure he's indanger--so it's up to those who love him to do. You see, I--well, Ijust love him with my whole soul."
She turned away. The reception of her confession seemed to concern hernot at all.
Out of the darkness loomed her father's great figure. He was leadingNan's horse as well as his own. The girl leaped into the saddle, andhe passed his own reins up to her.
"I shan't be haf a minit," he said. "I need my guns. The boys arewaitin' by the barn."
He passed into the house. Then Nan observed Elvine. She, too, hadleaped into the saddle. Nor could the girl help being struck by themanner of her action.
"You're goin' back home?" she cried.
Elvine shook her head resolutely.
"How--then?"
The wife suddenly urged her horse. It came right up to Nan's with analmost spasmodic jump, driven by a vicious jab of the woman's spurredheel.
The dark eyes were lit with an angry fire as she leaned forward in thesaddle. Her words came in a voice of passionate jealousy.
"You love him, so you go to him, ready to face anything--for him. Doyou think I don't love him? Do you think I'm not ready to dare forhim--anything? Your love gives you that right. What of mine? Doesmine give me no right? Say, child, your fool conceit runs away withyou. I tell you you don't know what love is. You say you love himwith your whole soul. And you are content to live without him. Psha!Your soul must be a poor enough thing. I tell you life means nothingto me without him. I can't and won't live without him."
* * * * * *
The black earth sped under the horses' hoofs. The stars shone like dewon the velvet pall of night. Bud led, as he always led in the thingspractical which belonged to his life.
He needed no thought for guidance on that night journey. Unerringinstinct served him across those wide plains. Spruce Crossing mighthave possessed a beacon light, so straight, so unerring was the lead heoffered those behind him.
Now, perhaps, more than ever, all his great skill was put forth. Forhe had listened to the complete, if halting, story of the man's wife,and shared with her the conviction of treachery. For the time, atleast, all consideration for the woman was thrust aside. He offered nowords of blame. His concern was simply the succor of his friend.
Nan was ready to follow him whithersoever he led. She was ready toobey his lightest command, for she understood his skill. She had nothought for anything but the man she loved. No possibilities ofmischance, no threat to herself could find place in her thought. Forher Jeff's well-being was her single concern.
Elvine rode beside her, step for step. She had told her story as theyrode. After that silence between them prevailed. It was a silencefraught with an emotion too deep for any words. A fierce jealousymingled with her passionate longing. Her world was empty of all buttwo figures. The man she loved, and the girl who had confessed herlove with all the strength of a great, simple courage.
Whatever the night might bring forth, whatever tragedy might be instore, she scarcely had thought for anything but her own almost madresolve. This girl, this child of the plains, should obtain noadvantage. She was prepared to yield all for the succor of the husbandwho had scorned her--even to life itself.