Partners
For a moment James Botts turned his head away lest she see the deep red
flood of shame which had suffused his face. Poor little skinny, homely,
orphan kid, thrown out to buck the world for herself, and stopping in
her first flight from injustice to help a stranger, only to have him
think her a possible criminal! He was glad that his back twinged and his
head throbbed; he ought to be kicked out into the ditch and left to die
there for harboring such thoughts.
He was a cur, and she--hang it! There was something appealing about her
in spite of her looks. Perhaps it was the sturdy self-reliance, which in
itself betrayed her utter innocence and ignorance of the world, that
made a fellow want to protect her.
In his own circle James Botts had never been known as a _Sir
Galahad_, but he had been away from his own circle for exactly
nineteen eventful days now, and in that space of time he had learned
much. His heart went out in sympathy as he turned once more to her.
But at the moment Lou Lacey seemed in no momentary need of sympathetic
understanding. She was pursuing a hapless frog with well-directed shots
of small pebbles, and there was an impish grin upon her face.
"How old are you?" he asked suddenly.
Lou shrugged.
"I don't know. About seventeen or eighteen, I reckon; at least, they
told me six years ago that I was twelve, an' I've kept track ever since.
When I was sixteen, though, and it was time for me to be got a place
somewhere, the matron put me back a couple of years; we were gettin'
more babies from the poor-farm than usual, an' I was kinder handy with
them. She had to let me go now because one of the visitin' deaconesses
let out that she'd seen me there sixteen years ago herself, an' I was
toddlin' round then. Oh, I missed him!"
The frog, with a triumphant _plop_, had disappeared beneath a flat,
submerged stone, and Lou turned to note her companion's pain-drawn face.
"I'm goin' to fix that bandage on your head again," she declared as she
sprang to her feet. "Is your back hurtin' you very much?"
"Not very." He forced a smile, but his face was grave, for, despite his
suffering, the problem which this accidental meeting had forced upon him
filled his thoughts. What was he to do with this girl? In spite of the
statement that she had "kept track" of her last few years he could not
credit the fact that she was approximately eighteen; fourteen would be
nearer the guess he would have made, and it was unthinkable that a child
like that should wander about the country alone.
He could not bear the thought of betraying her innocent confidences by
handing her over to the nearest authorities; it would mean her being
held as a vagrant and possibly sent to the county poor-farm. Perhaps the
people with whom she had been placed were not so bad, after all; if he
took her back and reasoned with them, insisted upon their keeping to
their bargain, and giving her lighter tasks to perform.
Then he remembered his own appearance, and smiled ruefully. Instead of
listening they would in all probability set the dog on him. Perhaps he
could persuade her to return of her own accord.
"The people you were working for; their name was 'Hess'?" he asked.
She nodded as she finished fastening the cool compress about his
forehead.
"Henry Hess an' his wife, Freida, an'--an' Max."
Something in the quality of her tone more than her hesitation made him
demand sharply:
"Who is Max?"
"Their son." Her voice was very low, but for the first time it trembled
slightly.
"You don't like him, do you?" He waited a moment, and then added
abruptly: "Why not?"
"Because he's a--a beast! I don't want to talk about him! I don't want
even to remember that such _things_ as he is can be let live!"
James Botts turned and looked at her and then away, for the childish
figure had been drawn up tensely with a sort of instinctive dignity
which sat not ill upon it, and from her dark eyes insulted womanhood had
blazed.
"I'd like to go back and lick him to a standstill!" to his own utter
amazement Botts heard his own voice saying thickly.
The fire had died out of Lou's face and she replied composedly:
"What for? He don't matter any more, does he? We're goin' on."
The last sentence recalled his problem once more to his mind. What in
the world was he to do with this young creature whom fate had thrust
upon his hands? Four quarters and a fifty-cent piece represented his
entire capital at the moment, and if he did put her into the hands of
the county authorities until his journey was completed and he could make
other arrangements for her, it would mean a delay on his part now, when
every hour counted for so much just now.
"Do you know how far we are from Hudsondale?" he asked.
"Not more'n two miles, the farm-hands used to walk there often of an
evenin' to the movies."
The girl had cleaned her knife in the brook and was now wrapping it in
the apron, together with the remains of their repast.
"They say that not more'n twenty miles from there you can see the big
river, but I ain't ever been."
"That's the way I was going," he observed thoughtlessly. "From
Hudsondale to Highvale, and right on down the west bank of the river to
New York."
Lou sat back on her heels reflectively.
"All right," she said at last. "I ain't ever figgered on goin's far as
New York, but I might as well go there as anywhere, and I guess I kin
keep up with you now your back's kinder sprained. We'll go along
together."
James Botts gulped.
"Certainly not!" he retorted severely, when he could articulate. "It's
utterly out of the question! You're not a little child any longer, and
I'm not old enough to pose as your father. You must think what people
would say!"
"Why must I?" Her clear eyes shamed him. "What's it matter? I guess two
kin puzzle out the roads better than one, an' if I have been in a brick
house with a high fence an' a playground between where never a blade of
grass grew, for about eighteen years, it looks to me as if I could take
care of myself a lot better 'n you kin!"
"But you don't understand!" he groaned. "There are certain conditions
that I can't very well explain, and if I did you'd think I had gone
crazy."
"Maybe," Lou observed non-committally, but she settled herself on the
bank once more with such an air of resigned anticipation that he felt
forced to continue.
"You know an army has to obey orders, don't you?" he floundered on
desperately. "Well, I'm like a one-man army; there are a lot of rules
I've got to follow. This is Monday afternoon, and I must reach New York
by midnight on Saturday; that's ninety miles or more, and you never
could make it in the world. I've got just a dollar and a half, and I
mustn't beg, borrow, or steal food or a lift or anything, but work my
way, and never take any job that'll pay me more than twenty-five cents.
"Of course, if people invite me to get up and ride with them for a
little I can accept, or if they offer me food, but I can't ask. Even the
money I earn in quarters here and there I mustn't use for traveling, but
only to buy food or medicine or clothes with. And the worst of it is
that I cannot explain to a soul why I'm doing all this."
Lou regarded him gravely, and opened her lips to speak, but closed them
again and for an appreciable moment there was silence.
"Well, I don't see anythin' in that that says you can't have somebody
travelin' along with you," she remarked, and that odd little smile
flashed again across her face. "It don't make any difference to me what
you can or can't do. _I'm_ foot-loose!"
Not until later was the meaning of that final statement to be made
manifest to her companion; the one fact upon his mind was that nothing
he had said had moved her an iota from her original decision. They would
go along together.
Well, why not? It was obvious that he could not send her back to the
Hess farm nor hand her over to the authorities. His own appearance would
not be conducive to confidence in his assurances if he attempted to
leave her in the care of some country woman until he could return and
make proper arrangements for her, and the only alternative was that she
must tramp the roads by herself until she found work, and that was out
of the question.
At least, he could protect her, and she looked wiry in spite of her
skinniness; it was as possible that she might make the distance as he,
with his aching back. But on one point he was determined: when they
neared the suburbs of New York he would telephone to a certain
gray-haired, aristocratically high-nosed old lady and persuade her to
send out her car for this waif.
The child had been kind to him, and he would protect her from all harm,
but not for all the gilt-edged securities in Wall Street would he have
the story of his knight-errantry get abroad, nor the unprepossessing
heroine of it revealed to his friends.
The old lady would find some suitable position for her, and, as she
evidently possessed no reputation of any sort at the moment, a six-day
journey in his company could harm it no more if the truth became known
than if she had tramped upon her way alone.
"All right," he said. "We'll be partners, and I'll do my best to look
out for you."
She laughed outright, a merry, tinkling little laugh like the brook
rippling over the pebbles at her feet, and the man involuntarily stared.
It was the sole attractive thing about her that he had observed.
"Reckon it'll be me that'll look after you!" she retorted. "Oh, there's
somethin' comin'! Duck in here, quick!"
Seizing her bundle, she wiggled like an eel through the willow thicket
until she was completely hidden from view, and Botts followed as well as
he was able, with one hand fending off the supple young shoots from
whipping back upon his wounded forehead.
He had heard nothing, yet the girl's quick ears had caught the faint
creaking of a cart along the road, and now a cheerful but somewhat
shrill whistle came to him in a vaguely reminiscent strain.
"That's Lem Mattles," Lou whispered as she reached behind him and drew
the willows yet more screeningly about their trail. "He's whistlin'
'Ida-Ho'; it's the only tune he can remember."
"Who is he?" demanded her companion.
"The Hess's next-door neighbor. She'll stop him right away an' ask if
he's seen me on the road, an' they'll all be after me, but they'll never
think of the old cow-trail; one of the hands showed it to me an' told me
it led clear to Hudsondale, an' came out by the freight-yards."
For a moment she paused with a little catch in her breath. "Think you
kin make it, Mr. Botts?"
"Sure!" He smiled and held out his hand. "We're partners now, and I'm
'Jim' to my friends, Lou."
"All right, Jim," she responded indifferently, but she laid her little
work-worn hand in his for a brief minute. "Come on."
With the bundle under her arm once more she led the way, and her partner
followed her to where the brook dwindled and the thicket gave place to a
stretch of woodland, between the trees of which a faint, narrow trail
could be discerned.
"We're all right now if we kin keep on goin'," announced Lou. "Nobody
comes this way any more, an' the feller said that the tracks runs
through the woods clear to the Hunkie settlement by the yards. Feelin'
all right, Jim?"
"I guess so." Jim put his hand to his side, where each breath brought a
stab of pain, but brought it down again quickly lest her swift glance
catch the motion. "It's pretty in here, isn't it?"
"It's longer," replied Lou practically. "An' the sun's gittin' low.
Let's hurry."
There was little further talk between them, for Jim had already
discovered that his companion was not one to speak unless she had
something to say, and he was breathing in short snatches to stifle the
pain. The track wound endlessly in and out among the trees, and in the
dim light he would have lost it altogether more than once had it not
been for her light touch upon his arm.
At length the track turned abruptly through the thinning trees and led
down to a rough sort of road, on either side of which ramshackle wooden
tenements leaned crazily against each other, with dingy rags hanging
from lines on the crooked porches. Slatternly, dark-skinned women gazed
curiously at them as they passed.
From somewhere came the squalling of a hurt child and a man's oath
roughly silencing it, while through and above all other sounds came the
bleating of a harmonica ceaseless reiterating a monotonous, foreign air.
The sun had set, and from just beyond the squalid settlement came the
crash and clang of freight-cars being shunted together. In spite of his
pain, Jim realized that nowhere in this vicinity could his
self-constituted companion rest for the night; open fields or dense
woodland were safer far for her.
"Let us cross the tracks and push on up that hill road a little," he
suggested. "We can't stay here, and they'll think we are tramps if they
catch us by the railroad."
"I guess that's what we are." Lou wrinkled her already upturned nose.
"But the country would be nicer again, if you ain't give out."
He assured her doggedly that he had not, and they crossed the tracks and
started up the steep hill road past the coal-dump and the few scattered
cottages to where the woodland closed in about them once more.
Jim picked up a stout stick and leaned heavily upon it as they plodded
along, while the twilight deepened to darkness and the stars appeared.
The girl's step lagged now, but she kept up in little spurts and set her
lips determinedly.
At length they came to another stream, a rushing mill-race this time,
with an old mill, moss-covered and fallen into decay beside it, and by
tacit consent they sank down on the worn step.
"I don't believe we can go any farther," Jim panted. "I guess this is as
good a place as any to camp for the night, and you can sleep in there."
He indicated the sagging door behind him, and Lou followed his gesture
with a reluctant eye. Jim noted the glance and, misunderstanding it,
added hastily:
"I don't believe there are any rats in there, but if you'll lend me your
matches I'll see."
"Rats!" she repeated in withering scorn. "There was plenty of them in
the insti--where I come from. I was just thinkin' maybe somebody else
was sleepin' there already."
She handed over the matches and Jim pushed open the door and entered,
feeling carefully for rotten boards in the decayed flooring. A prolonged
survey by the flickering light of the matches assured him that the
ancient, cobwebbed place was deserted, and he turned again to the door,
but its step was unoccupied and nowhere in the starlight could he
discern a flutter of that blue-and-white striped dress.
Could she have run away from him? At the thought a forlorn sense of
loneliness swept over him greater than he had known since he had started
upon his tramp. She was tired out; could he in some way have frightened
her, or had a mad spirit of adventure sent her on like a
will-o'-the-wisp into the night?
"Lou!" he called, and his voice echoed back. "Lou!"
All at once he noticed what he had not observed before--a single light
by the roadside in a clearing ahead. Perhaps she had gone there for more
secure shelter.
His cogitations were abruptly interrupted by a dog's excited barking,
subdued by distance, but deep-throated. The sound came from the
direction of the clearing, and, taking up his heavy stick, Jim hobbled
to the road. If Lou had got into any trouble----
The barking turned to growls; horrible, crunching growls which brought
his heart up into his throat as he broke into a run, forgetting his
pain. He had not gained the top of the rise in the road, however, when
the growls gave place to wild yelps and howls which rapidly diminished
in the distance and presently Lou appeared holding carefully before her
something round and white which gleamed in the starlight.
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed when she neared him. "What on earth have
you been doing?"
"Git on back 'round the other side of the mill!" ordered Lou. "I gotta
go slow or I'll spill it."
"What is it?"
But she vouchsafed him no reply until they reached a ledge of rock over
the tumbling stream, well out of sight of that light on the hill. Then
she set down the object she was carrying and he saw that it was a bright
tin pan, filled almost to the brim with milk.
"I thought it would go good with our bread an' ham," she explained
ingenuously. "I figgered from what I learned at that Hess place that
they'd leave some out in the summer cellar to cream, for they ain't got
any spring-house, an' they won't be likely to miss one pan out of
fifteen. Besides, there's nothin' in them rules you told me that stops
_me_ from beggin' or borrowin', or stealin', either, an' if I
_give_ you some of this you ain't got any call to ask me where it
come from."
This feminine logic left Jim almost speechless, but he managed to gasp
out:
"The dog! Didn't he attack you?"
"I guess that was what he intended, but I put down the pan an' fit him
off." She added, with evident pride. "I never spilled a drop, either!"
"Good Lord!" Jim ejaculated. "I believe you'd do anything once!"
"I b'lieve I would, provided I wanted to," Lou agreed placidly. Then her
tone changed. "There's somebody comin' up the road from Hudsondale like
all in creation was after 'em."
Indeed, the sound of a horse's mad gallop up the steep road by which
they had come was plainly to be heard increasing in volume, and the
grating jar of wheels as though a wagon were being thrown from side to
side.
"Think it's a runaway?" Jim rose and strained his eyes into the darkness
at the farther end of the bridge.
"No; driver's drunk, maybe," Lou responded. "The horse's dead beat an'
he's lashin' it on. Listen!"
Jim heard the wild gallop falter and drop into a weary trot, only to
leap forward again with a wild scramble of hoofs on the rocky road as
though the wretched animal was spurred on by sudden pain, and he
clenched his hands.
As though reading his thoughts, Lou remarked:
"Only a beast himself would treat a horse that way. The folks at the
farm where I was treated theirs somethin' terrible. If he don't look out
he'll go over the side of the bridge."
Jim had already started for the road in front of the mill, and Lou
followed him, just as a perilously swaying lantern came to view, showing
an old-fashioned carriage of the "buggy" type containing a single
occupant and drawn by a horse which was streaked with lather.
The light wagon hit the bridge with a bounce which almost sent it
careening over into the rushing stream below, and at the same moment Lou
uttered an odd exclamation, more of anger than fear, and straightened up
to her full height.
"It's Max!" she informed Jim. "You git back behind the mill; you ain't
fit to fight----"
"What do you take me for?" Jim demanded indignantly. "Max Hess, eh? The
fellow who treated you so badly back at that farm? I wanted to get him
this morning, the hound! You go straight back into the mill yourself,
and leave me to handle him."
But he was too late. The wagon had crossed the bridge and halted in
front of them so suddenly that the horse slid along for a pace upon his
haunches.
"Got yer!" a thick voice announced triumphantly, as a burly figure
wrapped the reins around the whip socket and lumbered to the ground.
"Yah! I thought there was a feller in it, somewheres!"
He approached them with menacingly clenched fists, but Jim asked coldly:
"Are you addressing this young woman?"
"Young thief, you mean! She's gotter come----"
But Jim, too, had advanced a pace.
"Take that back and get in your wagon and beat it," he announced
distinctly, with a calmness which the other mistook for mildness. "If
your name is Hess, this young woman is not going back with you, and I
warn you now to be off."
"So that's it, is it?" the heavy voice sneered. "She's my mother's hired
girl, an' she stole a lot o' food an' ran away this mornin'. Comes o'
takin' in an asylum brat----"
"Take that back, too, you blackguard!" Jim's voice was beginning to
shake.
"Take nothin' back, 'cept Lou! What's she doin' with you, anyway? Might
ha' knowed she was this sort----"
He got no further, for something landed like a hammer upon his nose and
the blood streamed down between his thick lips, choking him. With an
inarticulate roar of rage he lowered his bull neck and drove at the
other man, but the other man wasn't there! Then another light, stinging
blow landed upon his fat face and he flailed out again with a force that
turned him completely around, for again his adversary had danced out of
his way.
Every drop of bad blood in the lout was aroused now, for he was the
bully and terror of his community, and he could not understand this way
of fighting, nor why his own blows failed to land when this tramp could
dodge in and punish him apparently whenever he chose.
Jim was many pounds lighter, and although the science of boxing was not
unknown to him, he was dog-tired and his wrenched back agonized him at
every move. The sheer weight of the other man was bearing him down, and
Hess seemed to realize it, for with a grunt of satisfaction he swung in
and landed a stiff body blow which staggered his adversary.
Hess's left eye was closed, and his lips split, but he hammered at his
man relentlessly, and at length caught him with a blow which brought him
to his knees. All the bully's blood-lust boiled at sight of his
half-fallen victim, and he drew back his heavily shod foot for a
murderous kick, but it was never delivered.
Something caught that foot from behind and tripped him heavily into the
dust, then landed upon him like a wildcat and bit and tore at him until
with a scream of pain he managed to throw it off. Even as he struggled
to his feet it sprang again upon him, kicking and clawing, and he turned
quickly, and scrambling into the buggy seat, gathered up the reins.
Lou stood where he had torn himself from her grasp, listening to the
volley of oaths and clatter of horses's feet until both had been
swallowed up in the distance. Then she turned to where Jim stood
swaying, with one hand pressed to his side, and the blood from the
reopened cut upon his forehead making his face look ghastly in the
starlight.
"Well," she remarked with satisfaction. "I guess he got more 'n he come
for, an' we've seen the last of _him!_"
"But Lou!" There was admiration and awe in his tones. "Your method of
fighting isn't in the Queensberry rules, although I must say it was
effective. I was going to try to protect you, and it turned out the
other way!"
"Don't know what queen you're talkin' about, nor what rules she made,
but when _I_ fight, I fight with everything I've got," Lou declared
with finality. "Come and let me fix up your head again, an' we'll have
supper."
An hour later and throughout the night, a slim little figure, rolled in
a man's shabby coat, lay sleeping peacefully in a corner of the mill,
while on the doorstep in his shirt sleeves and with a stout cudgel
across his knees, a weary man drowsed fitfully, on guard.