A TANGLED SKEIN
When Burrell entered he wasted no time in greetings.
"I know why you sent for me, Poleon. I've heard the news, and I would
have been up anyhow to congratulate her very soon. I call it pretty
fine."
"Yes, dere's been beeg strike all right, an' Necia is goin' be riche
gal."
"I'm as pleased as if the claim were mine, and you feel the same way,
of course."
The Frenchman nodded. "I love Necia very much, lak'--well, lak' I'm
broder to her." The knowledge that she was listening made him very
uncomfortable--in fact, this whole affair savored more of
double-dealing and treachery than anything he had ever attempted, and
it went sorely against his grain, but it had presented itself as the
only way to help her, and he proceeded, groping haltingly for fit
expression, "Dere's t'ing I want for talk 'bout wit' you, but I'm
scare' you'll t'ink I'm butt in."
"Nonsense," said Burrell. "I know you too well for that."
"You know me for good man, eh? An' you know I ain' try for bre'k up
oder fellers' biznesse, never! Wal, I'm come to you now lak' wan good
man to 'noder biccause I'm got bad trouble on de min', an' you mus'n't
get sore."
"There's no danger, Poleon. Let's have it. If there is anything I can
do, you may count on me."
"Wal," he began, nervously, clearing his throat, "it's lak' dis. Dere's
feller been talk some 'bout Necia, an' it ain' nice talk neider."
"Who is he?" exclaimed the soldier, in a tone that made the girl's
heart leap.
"Wait! Lemme tol' you w'at he say, den we'll talk 'bout feex 'im
plaintee. He say dere's joke down on Stark's saloon dat Necia Gale is
mak' fool of herse'f on you, an' dat you ain' care for marry her."
"Runnion!" cried Burrell, and started for the door. "I'll settle with
him now for fair!" But Poleon blocked his way, and, observing him
gravely, continued, in a tone that the other could not disregard nor
mistake:
"No, M'sieu', before you pass on dat place you'll tol' me if it's true."
"True!" the Lieutenant retorted, angrily. "What business is it of
yours? This concerns me."
"An' me, too! I'm w'at you call gardeen for Necia till John Gale come
back, an' I'm broder of her, too. You promis' jus' now you don' get
mad, an' I don' say she's Runnion neider w'at spik dose t'ing; dere's
more dan 'im been talkin'. Is it true?"
His sternness offended Burrell, for the soldier was not the kind to
discuss his affairs in this way, therefore he drew back scowling.
"Poleon Doret," he said, "it's not one's enemies who do him injury,
it's his damned fool friends. I have learned to regard you highly
because you are a brave man and an honest one, but it seems that you
are a sentimental idiot."
"Dem is tough word," Doret replied. "But dere's reason w'y I can't tak'
on no madnesse. You say I'm hones'. Wal, I'm hones' now, an' I come to
you wit' fair words an' I show my han' to you--I don' hoi' out no
cards, M'sieu'--but I don' t'ink it is you who have play square,
altogeder. I'm Necia's frien', an' I'll fight for her jus' so queecker
lak' you, but I mus' know dis t'ing for sure, so if you have de good
heart an' de courage of good man you'll tell me de truth. Do you have
the feelin' for marry on her?"
The pause that followed was awkward for both of them, while the girl,
who stood concealed near by, held her breath and buried her nails in
her palms. Why did he hesitate? Would he never speak? It seemed not,
for he swung between diverse emotions--anger that this outsider should
question him on so intimate a matter, chagrin at the knowledge of
having injured Necia, and rage, blind rage, at the thought of its
becoming a bar-room topic. Gradually the conviction grew that it was
not a question of idle curiosity with Doret, and the man's history
recurred to him. No wonder he was interested in the girl, no wonder he
wished to guard her; he had been a brother indeed, even as he said, and
he could have no motive save an honorable one. It never occurred to the
soldier that this Frenchman could harbor feelings akin to his own. The
man was rough and foreign; his thoughts had been couched in harsher
language, perhaps, than he intended; moreover, the fellow's high sense
of honor was a byword--and of a sudden the desire to set himself right
in this man's eyes dictated his answer.
"I am amazed at myself for listening to you," he said, at last, "and
quite shocked, in fact, at my answering your questions, but perhaps I'd
better, after all. First, however, let me say that the little girl is
just as pure now as she was before she knew me--"
Poleon threw up his hand. "M'sieu', dat's more closer to de insult dan
w'at you call me jus' now. You don' need for spoke it."
"You're right! There's no need to tell you that. As for showing her
certain attentions--well, I admit that I have, as you know, but, thank
God, I can say I've been a gentleman and addressed her as I would the
fairest lady I've known."
"An' you mean for marry, eh?" probed the other.
Now, no man could have answered such a direct question easily, and in
this case it was especially hard for the Kentuckian, who was torn
between his ungovernable desire and that decision which cold reason had
thrust upon him. He wanted to say, "Yes, I'll marry her to-morrow," but
something bade him pause before he sacrificed upon this altar of a
youthful love his life, his hopes, his ambitions. Had he not wrestled
with himself for months in thinking it all out, until his mind was
weary and listless with the effort? For the great test that tries a
man's soul and compels him to know himself had not yet come to Meade
Burrell; wherefore, he hesitated long.
"I did not say so," he declared, at last. "It's a thing I can't well
discuss, because I doubt if you could understand what I would say. This
life of yours is different from mine, and it would be useless for me to
explain the reason why I cannot marry her. Leaving out all question of
my sentiment, there are insurmountable obstacles to such a union; but
as to this talk, I think that can be stopped without annoyance to her,
and as for the rest, we must trust to time to bring about a proper
adjustment--"
A low, discordant sound of laughter arrested his words, and, turning,
he beheld Necia standing revealed in the dimness.
"What an amusing person you are!" she said. "I've had hard work holding
in all this time while you were torturing your mind and twisting the
honest English language out of shape and meaning. I knew I should have
to laugh sooner or later."
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Is it a joke?"
"Indeed it is," she declared, laughing afresh, "and the best I've ever
enjoyed. Wasn't it funny, Poleon"--she turned gayly to the Frenchman,
but he stood like one petrified--"to see him debating coolly whether he
cared for me enough to face the world with me, and trying to explain to
you that he was too good to marry a squaw? Oh, you were very
gentlemanly about it, sir, and you wouldn't have hurt my feelings for
the world!"
"Necia!"
"That's your Dixie chivalry, I suppose. Well, I've played with you long
enough, Lieutenant Burrell, I'm tired of the game, and you interest me
no longer."
"You--you--say you've been playing with me!" stammered the man. The
bottom of things seemed suddenly to slide from under him; he was like
one sinking in some hideous quagmire. He felt as if he were choking.
"Why, of course," she cried, scornfully, "just as you took me up for
amusement. You were such a fine, well-dressed, immaculate mound of
conceit that I couldn't resist the temptation, and you hid your
condescension so poorly that I thought you ought to be taken down a
peg. I knew I was a squaw, but I wanted to see if I were not like other
women, after all, and if you were not like other men." She was talking
rapidly now, almost shrilly, for she had never attempted to act before,
while he stood dazed and speechless, fumbling at his throat while she
railed at him. "You needn't waste time debating whether I'm good enough
for you, because I'm not--decidedly, I'm not your kind, and you are a
joke to me."
He uttered an inarticulate cry, but she ran on unheeding, her eyes wide
and glowing like coals, her lips chalk-white. "You see, it's time I
stopped such foolishness, anyhow, for I'm to be married on Sunday."
"You are going to be married?" he muttered, laboriously.
"Yes, to Poleon. Why, that's been understood for years."
He whirled upon the Canadian in a fury, and his words came hot and
tumbling.
"So you're in this, Doret. You're a part of this little farce. You
trapped me here to make a fool of me, did you? Well, I can settle with
you--"
"D-don't blame him!" cried the girl, hysterically. "It is all my doing.
He had no part in it."
Burrell wheeled back to the Frenchman again. "Is this true?"
"Yes," said Doret, in a restrained voice. "Dis ain' no work of mine."
"You're a liar!" breathed the Kentuckian, now fairly wild with anger;
but the other looked him squarely between the eyes and made no move.
"M'sieu'," he cried, "I'm livin' t'orty year, an' never took no nam'
lak' dat before, but dere's reason here w'y I can't mak' no answer." He
inclined his head towards the girl, and before Burrell could break out
again he checked him.
"It's no good mak' fight wit' lesser dan two people. You've tol' me dat
you are gentleman. Wal, I ain' nobody but trapper an' trader, but I
don' spoil de name of no good girl, an' I don' quarrel in presence of
lady, so mebbe, affer all, dere's mistak' somew'ere, an' I'm gentleman
mese'f 'stead of you."
"Why, you aren't really angry, Lieutenant?" mocked Necia. "It's only
the joke of an ignorant half-breed girl whose sense of humor is all out
of gear. You mustn't quarrel over a SQUAW!"
She taunted him like a baited badger, for this thing was getting beyond
her control and the savage instincts of the wilderness were uppermost.
"You are quite right," he replied. "I am very foolish, and the laugh is
with you." His lips tried to frame a smile, but failed, and he added:
"Your wit is not my kind, that is all. I beg you both to accept my
congratulations on your nuptials. Undoubtedly, you will be happy
together; two people with such similar ideas of humor must have much to
enjoy in common." He bowed low and, turning, walked out.
The moment he was gone she cried, breathlessly:
"You must marry me, Poleon. You've got to do it now."
"Do you mean dat for sure?" he said.
"Can't you see there's nothing else for it, after this? I'll show him
that he can't make me a toy to suit his convenience. I've told him I
would marry you on Sunday, and I'll do it or die. Of course you don't
love me, for you don't know what love is, I suppose; how--could you?"
She broke down and began to catch her breath amid coughing sobs that
shook her slender body, though they left her eyes dry and feverish.
"I--I'm very unhappy, b-but I'll be a good--wife to you. Oh, Poleon, if
you only knew--"
He drew a long breath. When he spoke his voice had the timbre of some
softly played instrument, and a tremor ran through his words.
"No! I don' know w'at kin' of love is dis, for sure. De kin' of love I
know is de kin' I sing 'bout in my songs; I s'pose it's different breed
to yours, an' I'm begin to see it don' live nowhere but on dem songs of
mine. Dere's long tarn' I waste here now--five year--but to-morrow I go
again lookin' for my own countree."
"Poleon!" she cried, looking up with startled eyes. "Not to-morrow, but
Sunday--we will go together."
He shook his head. "To-morrow, Necia! An' I go alone."
"Then you won't--marry me?" she asked, in a hushed and frightened voice.
"No! Dere's wan t'ing I can't do even for you, Necia, dere's wan t'ing
I can't geeve, dat's all--jus' wan on all de worl'. I can't kill de
li'l' god wit' de bow an' arrer. He's all dat mak' de sun shine, de
birds sing, an' de leaves w'isper to me; he's de wan li'l' feller w'at
mak' my life wort' livin' an' keep music in my soul. If I keel 'im dere
ain' no more lef lak' it, an' I'm never goin' fin' my lan' of content,
nor sing nor laugh no more. I'm t'inkin' I would rader sing songs to
'im all alone onderneat' de stars beside my campfire, an' talk wit' 'im
in my bark canoe, dan go livin' wit' you in fine house an' let 'im get
col' an' die."
"But I told him I'd marry you--that I had always intended to. He'll
believe I was lying," she moaned, in distress.
"Dat's too bad--but dis t'ing ain' no doin's wit' me. Dere's wan t'ing
in dis worl' mus' live forever, an' dat's love--if we kill 'im den it's
purty poor place for stoppin' in. I'm cut off my han' for help you,
Necia, but I can't be husban' to no woman in fun."
"Your foolish head is full of romance," she burst out. "You think
you're doing me a favor, but you're not. Why, there's Runnion--he wants
me so much that he'd 'even marry me'!" Her wild laughter stabbed the
man. "Was ever a girl in such a fix! I've been made love to ever since
I was half a woman, but at thought of a priest men seem to turn pale
and run like whipped dogs. I'm only good enough for a bad man and a
gambler, I suppose." She sank to a seat, flung out her arms hopelessly,
and, bowing her head, began to weep uncontrollably. "If--if--I only had
a woman to talk to--but they are all men--all men."
Poleon waited patiently until her paroxysm of sobbing had passed, then
gently raised her and led her out through the back door into the summer
day, which an hour ago had been so bright and promising and was now so
gray and dismal. He followed her with his eyes until she disappeared
inside the log-house.
"An' dat's de end of it all," he mused. "Five year I've wait--an' jus'
for dis."
Meade Burrell never knew how he gained his quarters, but when he had
done so he locked his door behind him, then loosed his hold on things
material. He raged about the room like a wild animal, and vented his
spite on every inanimate thing that lay within reach. His voice was
strange in his own ears, as was the destructive frenzy that possessed
him. In time he grew quieter, as the physical energy of this brutal
impulse spent itself; but there came no surcease of his mental
disquiet. As yet his mind grasped but dully the fact that she was to
marry another, but gradually this thought in turn took possession of
him. She would be a wife in two days. That great, roistering, brown man
would fold her to himself--she would yield to him every inch of her
palpitant, passionate body. The thought drove the lover frantic, and he
felt that madness lay that way if he dwelt on such fancies for long. Of
a sudden he realized all that she meant to him, and cursed himself
anew. While he had the power to possess her he had dallied and
hesitated, but now that he had no voice in it, now that she was
irretrievably beyond his reach, he vowed to snatch her and hold her
against the world.
As he grew calmer his reason began to dissect the scene that had taken
place in the store, and he wondered whether she had been lying to him,
after all. No doubt she had been engaged to the Frenchman, and had
always planned to wed Poleon, for that was not out of reason; she might
even have set out mischievously to amuse herself with him, but at the
recollection of those rapturous hours they had spent together, he
declared aloud that she had loved him, and him only. Every instinct in
him shouted that she loved him, in spite of her cruel protestations.
All that afternoon he stayed locked in his room, and during those
solitary hours he came to know his own soul. He saw what life meant:
what part love plays in it, how dwarfed and withered all things are
when pitted against it.
A man came with his supper, but he called to him to be gone. The night
settled slowly, and with the darkness came such a feeling of despair
and lonesomeness that Burrell lighted every lamp and candle in the
place to dispel, in some measure, the gloom that had fallen upon him.
There are those who believe that in passing from daylight to darkness a
subtle transition occurs akin to the change from positive to negative
in an electrical current, and that this intangible, untraceable
atmospheric influence exerts a definite, psychical effect upon men and
their modes of thought. Be this as it may, it is certain that as the
night grew darker the Lieutenant's mood changed. He lost his fierce
anger at the girl, and reasoned that he owed it to her to set himself
right in her eyes; that in all justice to her he ought to prove his own
sincerity, and assure her that whatever her own state of mind had been,
she wronged him when she said he had made sport of her for his own
pleasure. She might then dismiss him and proceed with her marriage, but
first she must know this much of the truth at least. So he argued,
insensible to the sophistry of his reasoning, which was in reality
impelled by the hunger to see her and hear her voice again. He snatched
his hat and bolted out, almost running in his eagerness.
An up-river steamboat was just landing as he neared the trading-post--a
freighter, as he noted by her lights. In the glare at the river-bank he
saw Poleon and the trader, who had evidently returned from Lee's Creek,
and without accosting them he hurried on to the store. Peering in from
the darkness, he saw Alluna; no doubt Necia was alone in the house
behind. So he stumbled around to the back to find the window of her
room aglow behind its curtain, and, receiving no answer to his knock,
he entered, for it was customary at Gale's to waive ceremony. Inside
the big room he paused, then stepped swiftly across and rapped at her
door, falling back a pace as she came out.
Instead of speaking at once, as he had planned, to prevent her
escaping, he was struck speechless, for the vision that met his eyes
was that which he had seen one blithe spring morning three months
before; but to-night there was no shawl to conceal her sweetly rounded
neck and shoulders, whose whiteness was startling against the black of
the ball-room gown. The slim gold chain hung around her neck and her
hair was piled high, as before. He noted every smallest detail as she
stood there waiting for him to speak, forgetful of everything else.
She had put on the gown again to see if, perchance, there might be some
mark of her blood or breed that had escaped her previous scrutiny, and,
as there was no one to observe her, she had attired herself slowly,
absorbed in her whimsy. Her wistful beauty dazed the young man and
robbed him of the words he had rehearsed; but as she made to flee from
him, with a pitiful gesture, towards her room, the fear of losing her
aroused him and spurred his wit.
"Don't go away! I have something I must tell you. I've thought it over,
and you've got to listen, Necia."
"I am listening," she answered, very quietly.
"Understand me, I'm not whining, and I'm willing to take my medicine. I
couldn't talk or think very straight this afternoon, but you were
wrong."
"Yes, I know now, I was wrong. It was most unlady-like, wasn't it? But
you see, I am only a little savage."
"I don't mean that; I mean you were wrong when you said I had played
with you. In the sight of God, I swear you were mistaken. You have made
me love you, Necia. Can't you see?"
She made no sign.
"If you can't, I owe it to you and to myself to set you right. I am not
ashamed to acknowledge my love, and even when you are married to Poleon
I want you to know that I shall love you always."
Even yet she made no sign. Was he not merely repeating the same empty
words with which he had so often beguiled her? There was no word of
marriage: he still considered her unworthy, beneath him. The pain of it
caused the girl to wince suddenly, and her sensitive face flinched,
seeing which he broke out:
"You do love me, Necia--you do; I see it in your eyes!" And he started
towards her with open arms, but she shrank away from him.
"No, no! Don't touch me!" she almost screamed.
"My dear one," he breathed, "you must listen to me. You have nothing to
fear, for I love you--love you--love you! You were made for me! You'll
be my wife. Yes; you'll be married on Sunday, but to me, not to Poleon
or any other man!"
Did she hear aright? Was he, her soldier lover, asking her, the Indian
girl--?
"You do love me, don't you?" he pleaded. But still she could not speak,
and he tried to read the answer in her swimming eyes.
"You mean--you want to--marry me?" she murmured, at last, hesitating
shyly at the word that had come to play so momentous a part in her
little world.
"Indeed I do!" he declared, with emphasis. "In spite of everything,
anything. Nothing else matters."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing! I'll quit the army. I'll give up the Service, and my people,
too. I'll put everything back of me, and we'll start out anew--just you
and I."
"Wait a moment," she said, retreating a little from his eager,
out-stretched arms. "Why do you need to do all that?"
"Never mind why; it's as good as done. You wouldn't understand--"
"But I think I do understand now. Do I really mean all that to you?"
"Yes, and more!"
"Listen to me," said the girl, quietly. "I want you to talk slowly so I
may not misunderstand. If you--marry me, must you forego all those
great things you speak of--your profession, your family, your future?"
"Don't let's talk about it, Necia; I've got you, and--"
"Please answer me," she urged. "I thought I understood, but I'm afraid
I don't. I thought it was my being a breed that stood in the way--"
"There's nothing in the way--"
"--that I wasn't good enough. I knew I could overcome that; I knew I
could make myself grow to your level, but I didn't think my blood would
fetter you and make this difference. I suppose I am putting it
awkwardly, because I'm not sure that I quite understand it myself yet.
Things seem different now, somehow, than they did before."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the soldier. "If they don't bother me, Necia, why
should you worry?"
"Would you really have to give up your family--your sister? Would those
people you are so proud of and who are so proud of you--would they cut
you off?"
"There is no question of cutting off. I have no inheritance coming; I
don't want any. I don't want anything except you, dear."
"Won't you tell me?" she persisted. "You see, I am dull at these
things."
"Well, what if they do?" he conceded. "You more than make it up to
me--you outweigh a thousand families."
"And would your marriage to a--a--to me destroy your army career?"
"Well, it will really be much easier for both of us if I resign from
the Service," he finally admitted. "In fact, I've decided to do so at
once."
"No, no! You mustn't do that. To-night you think I am worth the price,
but a day will come--"
He leaned forward and caught her hands in his.
"--Meade, I can't let you do it."
"I'd like to see you help yourself," he said, banteringly.
"I can and I will. You must not marry me, Meade--it's not right--it
can't be." She suddenly realized what this renunciation would mean, and
began to shiver. To think of losing him now, after he had come to her
freely--it would be very hard! But to her, too, there had come the
revelation that love means sacrifice, and she knew now that she loved
her soldier too well to let her shadow darken his bright future, too
well to ruin him.
"It will be over before you know it," she heard him saying, in a lame
attempt at levity. "Father Barnum is an expert, and the operation won't
occupy him ten minutes."
"Meade, you must listen to me now," she said, so earnestly that it
sobered him. "Do you think a girl could be happy if she knew a good man
had spoiled his life for her? I would rather die now than let you do
such a thing. I couldn't bear to see myself a drag on you. Oh, I know
it would be wonderful, this happiness of ours, for a time, and then--"
She was finding it more and more difficult to continue. "A prisoner
grows to hate the chains that bind him; when that day came for you, I
should hate myself. No, no! Believe me, it can't be. You're not of my
people, and I'm not of yours."
At that moment they heard the voices of the trader and his squaw
outside, approaching the house. The girl's breath caught in her throat,
she flung herself recklessly upon her lover's breast and threw her arms
around his neck in an agony of farewell.
"Meade! Meade! my soldier!" she sobbed, "kiss me good-bye for the last
time!"
"No," he said roughly.
But she dragged his face down to her burning lips.
"Now you must go," she said, tearing herself away, "and, for my sake,
don't see me again."
"I will! I will! I'll ask your father for you to-night."
"No, no! Don't; please don't! Wait till--till to-morrow--till I say the
word! Promise me! On your love, promise!"
Her eyes held such a painful entreaty that he nodded acquiescence as
the door opened and her father and Alluna entered.