CHAPTER XII
THE NIGHT WIND'S MYSTERY
After the departure of Lawler on the night of Gary Warden's visit to theHamlin cabin, silence, vast and deep reigned inside. The last goldenshadows from the sinking sun were turning somber shades of twilight asRuth came to the door and peered outward, to see Lawler riding away.
For a long time the girl watched Lawler, her face burning with shameover what had happened, her senses revolting from the realization of thethings Lawler knew concerning her father. Then she seated herself on thethreshold of the doorway, watching the long shadows steal over theplains.
She loved Lawler; she never had attempted to deny it, not even toherself. And she had found it hard to restrain herself when he had stoodoutside the door of her room gravely pleading with her. Only pride hadkept her from yielding--the humiliating conviction that she was not goodenough for him--or rather that her father's crimes had made itimpossible for her to accept him upon a basis of equality.
She felt that Lawler would take her upon any terms--indeed, his mannerwhile in the cabin shortly before convinced her of that; but she did notwant to go to him under those conditions. She would have felt, always,as though pity for her had influenced him. She felt that she wouldalways be searching his eyes, looking for signs which would indicatethat he was thinking of her father. And he was certain to think ofhim--those thoughts would come in spite of his efforts to forget; theywould be back of every glance he threw at her; they would be lurkingalways near, to humiliate her. The conviction sent a shudder over her.
The girl's mental processes were not involved; they went directly,unwaveringly, to the truth--the truth as her heart revealed it, as sheknew it must be. If there was any subconscious emotion in her heart ormind from which might spring chaotic impulses that would cloud hermental vision, she was not aware of it. Her thoughts ran straight andtrue to the one outstanding, vivid, and overwhelming fact that she couldnot marry Kane Lawler because to marry him would mean added humiliation.
Greatness, Ruth knew, was hedged about by simplicity. Lawler was asdirect in his attitude toward life--and to herself--as she. There wasabout him no wavering, no indecision, no mulling over in his mind thetangled threads of thought that would bring confusion. The steel fiberof his being was unelastic. He met the big questions of life with aneagerness to solve them instantly.
He wanted her--she knew. But she assured herself that she could notbring upon him the shame and ignominy of a relationship with a cattlethief, no matter how intensely he wanted her. That would be doing him aninjustice, and she would never agree to it.
But it hurt, this knowledge that she could not marry Lawler; that shemust put away from her the happiness that might be hers for the taking;that she must crush the eager impulses that surged through her; that shemust repulse the one man who could make her heart beat faster; the manfor whom she longed with an intensity that sometimes appalled her.
She got up after a while and lighted an oil-lamp, placing it upon thetable in the big room. She closed the door and then dropped listlesslyinto a chair beside the table, her eyes glistening, her lips quivering.
The future was somber in aspect, almost hopeless, it seemed. And yetinto her mind as she sat there crept a determination--a resolution totell her father what she knew; to tell him that she could no longerendure the disgrace of his crimes.
That meant of course that she would have to leave him, for she knew hewas weak, and that he had been drawn into crime and had not the moralstrength to redeem himself.
When about midnight she heard the beating of hoofs near the cabin shesat very quiet, rigid, still determined, her eyes flashing withresolution.
She was standing near the door of her room when her father entered, andas he stood for an instant blinking at the light, trying to accustom hiseyes to it after riding for some time through the darkness; she watchedhim, noting--as she had noted many times before--the weakness of hismouth and the furtive gleam of his eyes.
He had not always been like that. Before the death of her mother she hadalways admired him, aware of the sturdiness of his character, of hisrugged manliness, and of his devotion to her mother.
Adversity had changed him, had weakened him. And now, watching him,noting the glow in his eyes when he saw her--the pathetic worship inthem--her heart protested the decision that her cold judgment had made,and she ran to him with a little, quavering, pitying cry and buried herface on his shoulder, shuddering, murmuring sobbingly:
"O Daddy; O Daddy, what have you done!"
He stood rigid, his eyes wide with astonishment, looking down at her asshe clung to him as though wondering over a sudden miracle. For he knewshe was not an emotional girl, and this evidence of emotion almoststunned him.
"Why, Honey!" He patted her hair and her cheeks and hugged her tightlyto him. And presently he gently disengaged himself and held her at arm'slength, peering into her face.
And then, when her clear eyes met his--her gaze direct and searchingeven though her cheeks had paled, his eyes drooped, and his arms fell tohis sides.
"I've done enough, Ruth," he said, soberly.
"Why, Daddy--why did you do it? Oh, you have made it so hard for me!"
"There, there, Honey," he consoled, reaching out and patting hershoulders again. "I've been a heap ornery, but it ain't goin' to happenagain." His eyes shone through a mist that had come into them.
"I've been talkin' with Kane Lawler, an' he opened my eyes. I've beenblind, Ruth--blind to what it all meant to you. An' from now on I'mgoin' straight--straight as a die!"
"Ruth," he went on, when he saw incredulity in her gaze; "I wasn't totell you. I reckon Lawler would half kill me if he know'd I was tellin'you. But there ain't no use, I've got----"
"Did you give your word to Lawler, Daddy?"
"I sure did. But I've got to tell you, Ruth. Mebbe you knowin' will sortof help me to go through with it.
"Kane Lawler was here this mornin'--he come here to see me about aCircle L cow that I was runnin' my brand on the night before. He talkedmighty plain to me--an' earnest. He offered me a job over to the CircleL, an' I took it. I rode over there this afternoon an' Lawler's strawboss put me to work. Then tonight Lawler rode in an' took me out by thecorral. He gave it to me straight there. He's goin' to restock my placean' give me a chance to get on my feet. He's goin' to put his shoulderbehind me, he says, an' make me run a straight trail--takin' a mortgageon the place to secure him. He give me a letter to his mother, sayin' Iwas to have what stock I wanted. An' I'm to repay him when I get aroundto it. Honey, I've got a chance, an' I'm never goin' to slip again!"
Ruth walked to the door and threw it open, standing on the threshold andgazing out into the dull moonlight, across the vast sweep of plain fromwhich came the low moaning of the night wind, laden with mystery.
For a long time, as she stood there, pride fought a savage battle withduty. Her face was pallid, her lips tight-clenched, and shameunutterable gripped her. To be sure, Lawler had enjoined her father tosilence, and it was evident that she was not to know. Still, she didknow; and Lawler had added an obligation, a debt, to the already highbarrier that was between them. Yet she dared not evade the obligation,for that would be robbing her father of a chance over which he seemed toexult, a chance which promised the reformation, for which she hadprayed.
Her heart was like lead within her--a dull weight that threatened todrag her down. And yet she felt a pulse of thankfulness. For if herfather really meant to try--if he should succeed in redeeming himself inLawler's eyes and in her own, she might one day be able to go to Lawlerwith no shame in her eyes, with the comforting assurance that her fatherhad earned the right to hold his head up among men. To be sure, therealways would be the shadow of the past mistake lurking behind; but itwould be the shadow of a mistake corrected, of a black gulf bridged.
Her father was waiting when she finally turned to him--waiting, his chinon his chest, his face crimson with shame.
"Ruth, girl--you ain't goin' to judge me too harsh
, are you?" he begged.Once more she yielded to the pathetic appeal in his eyes. She ran to himagain, holding him tightly to her. A cool gust swept in through the opendoorway--the night wind, laden with mystery. But the girl laughed andsnuggled closer to the man; and the man laughed hoarsely, vibrantly, ina voice that threatened to break.