CHAPTER XIV
EACH IN HIS OWN TRAIL
Since nothing in this world is absolutely immutable--the human emotionsleast of all, perhaps--Billy Louise did not hold changeless her brokenfaith in Ward. She saw it broken into fragments before the evidence ofher own eyes, and the fragments ground to dust beneath the weight ofwhat she knew of his past--things he had told her himself. So shethought there was no more faith in him, and her heart went empty andaching through the next few days.
But, since Billy Louise was human, and a woman--not altogether becauseshe was twenty!--she stopped, after awhile, gathered carefully the dustof her dead faith, and, like God, she began to create. First shefashioned doubts of her doubt. How did she know she had not made amistake, there at that corral? Other men wore gray hats and rode darkbay horses; other men were slim and tall--and she had only had aglimpse after all, and the light was deceptive down there in theshadows. When that first doubt was molded, and she had breathed intoit the breath of life so that it stood sturdily before her, she tookheart and created reasons, a whole company of them, to tell her why sheought to give Ward the benefit of the doubt. She remembered whatCharlie Fox had said about circumstantial evidence. She would not makethe mistake he had made.
So she spent other days and long, wakeful nights. And since it seemedimpossible to bring her faith to life again just as it had been, withthe glamor of romance and the sweetness of pity and the strength of herown innocence to make it a beautiful faith indeed, she used all herinnocence and all her pity and a little of romance and createdsomething even sweeter than her untried faith had been. She had a newelement to strengthen it. She knew that she loved Ward; she hadlearned that from the hurt it had given her to lose her faith in him.
That was the record of the inner Billy Louise which no one ever saw.The Billy Louise which her little world knew went her way unchanged,except in small details that escaped the notice of those nearest her.A look in her eyes, for one thing; a hurt, questioning look that wassometimes rebellious as well; a droop of her mouth, also, when she wasoff her guard; a sad, tired little droop that told of the weight ofresponsibility and worry she was carrying.
Ward observed both, the minute he saw her on the trail. He had comeacross country on the chance that she might be riding out that way, andhe had come upon her unawares while she and Blue were staring out overthe desert from the height they had attained in the hills.
"'Lo, Bill!" he said, when he was quite close, and held himself readyto meet whatever mood she might present.
She turned her head quickly and looked at him, and the hurt look wasstill in her eyes, the droop still showed at her lips. And Ward knewthey had been there before she saw him.
"Wha's molla, Bill?" he asked, in the tone that was calculated toinvite an unburdening of her troubles.
"Ob, nothing in particular. Mommie's been awfully sick, and I'm alwaysworried when I'm away from the ranch, for fear she'll have anotherspell while I'm gone. The doctor said she might have, any time. Wereyou headed for our place? If you are, come on; I was just startingback. I don't dare be away any longer." If that were a realunburdening, Ward was an unreasonable young man. Billy Louise lookedat him again, and this time her eyes were clear and friendly.
Ward was not satisfied, for all the surface seemed smooth enough. Hewas too sensitive not to feel a difference, and he was too innocent ofany wrongdoing or thinking to guess what was the matter. Guilt is agood barometer of personal atmosphere, and Ward had none of it. Theworst of him she had known for more than a year; he had told herhimself, and she had healed the hurt--almost--of the past by her firmbelief in him and by her friendship. Could you expect Ward to guessthat she had seen her faith in him die a violent death no longer thantwo weeks ago? Such a possibility never occurred to him.
For all that, he felt there was a difference somewhere. It chilled hiseagerness a little, and it blanketed his enthusiasm so that he did nottell her the things he had meant to tell. He had ridden over withanother nugget in his pocket--a nugget the size of an almond. He hadcome to give it to Billy Louise and to tell her how and where he hadfound it.
It is too bad that he changed his mind again and kept that lump of goldin his pocket. It would have explained so much, if he had given it toBilly Louise to put in her blue plush treasure box. It would even havebrought to life that first faith in him. She might have told him--onenever can foresee the lengths to which a woman's confessional mood willcarry her--about that corral hidden in the canyon, and of her sickeningcertainty that she had seen him ride stealthily away from it. If shehad, he would have convinced her that she was mistaken, and that he hadthat afternoon been washing gold a good ten miles from there, until itwas too dark for him to work.
He took the nugget back home, and he took it sooner than he hadintended to return. He also carried back a fit of the blues whichseemed to have attacked him without cause or pretext, since he had notquarreled with Billy Louise, and had been warmly welcomed by "mommie."Poor mommie was looking white and frail, and her temples were toodistinctly veined with purple. Ward told himself that it was no wonderhis Wilhemina acted strained and unnatural. He meant to work harderthan ever and get his stake so that he could go and make her give himthe right to take care of her.
He began to figure the cost of commuting his homestead right away, sothat he would not have to "hold it down" for another three years.Maybe she would not want to bring her mother so far off the main road.In that case, he would go down and put that Wolverine place in shape.He had no squeamishness about living on her ranch instead of his own,if she wanted it that way. He meant to be better "hooked up"financially than she was and have more cattle, when he put the goldring on her finger. Then he would do whatever she wanted him to do,and he would not have to crucify his pride doing it.
You see, they could not have quarreled, since Ward carried castles aswell as the blues. In fact, their parting had given Ward an unevenpulse for a mile, for Billy Louise had gone with him as usual as far asthe corral, when he started home. And when Ward had picked up hisreins and turned to put his toe in the stirrup, Billy Louise had comeclose--to his very shoulder. Ward had turned his face toward her, andBilly Louise--Billy Louise had impulsively taken his head between hertwo hands, had looked deep into his eyes, and then had kissed himwistfully on the lips. Then she had turned and fled up the path,waving him away up the trail. And though Ward never guessed that toher that kiss was a penitent vow of loyalty to their friendship and aslap in the face of the doubt-devils that still pursued her weakermoments, it set him planning harder than ever for that stake he mustwin before he dared urge her further toward matrimony.
It's a wonder that the kiss did not wipe out completely the somber moodthat held him. That it did not, but served merely to tangle histhoughts in a most hopeless manner, perhaps proves how greatly theinner life of Billy Louise had changed her in those two weeks.
She changed still more in the next two months, however. There was thestrain of her mother's precarious health which kept Billy Louise alwayson the alert and always trying to hide her fears. She must be quick todetect the first symptoms of a return attack of the illness, and shemust not let her mother suspect that there was danger of a return.That much the doctor had made plain to her.
Besides that, there was an undercurrent of gossip and rumors of cattlestealing, whenever a man stopped at the ranch. It worried BillyLouise, in spite of her rebuilt belief in Ward. Doubt would seize hersometimes in spite of herself, and she did not see Ward often enough tolet his personality fight those doubts. She saw him just once in thenext two months, and then only for an hour or so.
A man rode up one night and stayed with them until morning, after theopen-handed custom of the range-land. Billy Louise did not talk withhim very much. He had shifty eyes and a coarse, loose-lipped mouth anda thick neck, and, girl-like, she took a violent dislike to him. ButJohn Pringle told her afterwards that he was Buck Olney, the new stockinspector, and that he was prowling aro
und to see if he could find outanything.
Billy Louise worried a good deal, after that. Once she rode out earlywith the intention of going to Ward's claim to warn him. But threemiles of saner thought changed her purpose: she dared not leave hermother all day, for one thing; and for another, she could scarcely warnWard without letting him see that she felt he needed warning; and evenBilly Louise shrank from what might follow.
The stock inspector stopped again, on his way back to the railroad.Billy Louise was so anxious that she smothered her dislike and treatedhim nicely, which thawed the man to an alarming amiability. Shequestioned him artfully--trust Billy Louise for that!--and she decidedthat the stock inspector was either a very poor detective or a verygood actor. He did not, for instance, mention any corral hidden in ablind canyon away back in the hills, and Billy Louise did not mentionit, either. He had not found any worked brands, he said. And he didnot appear to know anything further about Ward than the mere fact ofhis existence.
"There's a fellow holding down a claim, away over on Mill Creek," hehad remarked. "I'll look him up when I come back, though Seabeck sayshe's all right."
"Ward is all right," asserted Billy Louise, rather unwisely.
"Haven't a doubt of it. I thought maybe he might have seen somethingthat might give us a clew." Perhaps the stock inspector was wiser thanshe gave him credit for being. He did not at any rate pursue thesubject any farther, until he found an opportunity to talk to Mrs.MacDonald herself. Then he artfully mentioned the fellow on MillCreek, and because she did not know any reason for caution, he got allthe information he wanted, and more, for mommie was in one of hergarrulous humors.
He went away in a thoughtful mood, and I may as well tell you why. Doyou remember that evening when Ward sat before the fire thinking sointently of a man that he pulled a gun on Billy Louise when shestartled him? Well, this stock inspector was the man. And this manwent away from the Wolverine thinking of Ward quite as intently as Wardsometimes thought of him. If Billy Louise had thrown a chip and hitthe stock inspector on the back of the neck, it is very likely that hewould have pulled a gun, also. I've an idea that Billy Louise mighthave done something more than throw a chip at him if she had known whohe was; but she did not know, and she slept the sounder for herignorance.
After that the days drifted quietly for a month and grew nippier ateach end and lazier in the middle; which meant that the short summerwas over, and that fall was getting ready to paint the wooded slopeswith her gayest colors, and that one must prepare for the siege ofwinter.
It was some time in the latter part of September that Billy Louise gotup in the middle of a frosty night because she heard her mothermoaning. That was the beginning. She sent John off before daylightfor the doctor, and before the next night she stood with her lipspressed together and watched the doctor count mommie's pulse and takemommie's temperature, and drew in her breath hardly when she saw howlong he studied the thermometer afterwards.
There was a month or so of going to and fro on her toes and of watchingthe clock with a mind to medicine-giving. There were nights and nightsand nights when the cabin window winked like a star fallen into thecoulee, from dusk to red dawn. Ward rode over once, stayed all night,and went home in a silent rage because he could not do a thing.
There was a week of fluctuating hope, and a time when the doctor saidmommie must go to a hospital--Boise, since she had friends there. Andthere was a terrible, nerve-racking journey to the railroad. And whenWard rode next to the Wolverine ranch, there was no Billy Louise totaunt or tempt him. John Pringle and Phoebe told him in brief, stolidsentences of the later developments and gave him a meal and offered hima bed, which he declined.
When the suspense became maddening, after that, he would ride down tothe Wolverine for news. And the news was monotonously scant. Phoebecould read and write, after a fashion, and Billy Louise sent her aletter now and then, saying that mommie was about the same, and thatshe wanted John to do certain things about the ranch. She could notleave mommie, she said. Ward gathered that she would not.
Once when he was at the ranch, he wrote a letter to Billy Louise, andtold her that he would come to Boise if there was anything he could do,and begged her to let him know if she needed any money. Beyond that heworked and worked, and tried to crowd the lonesomeness out of his daysand the hunger from his dreams, with complete bone-weariness. He didnot expect an answer to his letter--at least he told himself that hedid not--but one day Phoebe gave him a thin little letter more preciousin his eyes than the biggest nugget he had found.
Billy Louise did not write much; she explained that she could onlyscribble a line or two while mommie slept. Mommie was about the same.She did not think there was anything Ward could do, and she thanked himfor offering to help. There was nothing, she said pathetically, thatanybody could do; even the doctors did not seem able to do much, excepttell her lies and charge her for them. No, she did not need any money,"thank you just the same, Ward." That was about all. It did not soundin the least like Billy Louise.
Ward answered the note then and there, and called herWilhemina-mine--which was an awkward name to write and cost him fiveminutes of cogitation over the spelling. But he wanted it down onpaper where she could see it and remember how it sounded when he saidit, even if it did look queer. Farther along he started to call herBill Loo, but rubbed it out and substituted Lady Girl (with capitals).Altogether he did better than he knew, for he made Billy Louise crywhen she read it, and he made her say "Dear Ward!" under her breath,and remember how his hair waved over his left temple, and how he lookedwhen that smile hid just behind his lips and his eyes. And he made herforget that she had lost faith in him. She needed to cry, and sheneeded to remember and also to forget some things; for life was a hard,dull drab in Boise, with nothing to lighten it, save a vicarious hopethat did not comfort.
Billy Louise was not stupid. She saw through the vagueness of thedoctors; and besides, she was so hungry for her hills that she feltlike beating the doctors with her fists, because they did nothing tomake her mommie well enough to go home. She grew to hate the nurse andher neutral cheerfulness.
That is how the fall passed for Billy Louise, and the early part of thewinter.