VIRGINIA REPENTS
"I came for my stock," said Virginia coolly as she met his questioning
eye and Wiley turned and rummaged in a drawer. The stock was hers and
since she came and asked for it--he laid it on the desk and went ahead
with his work. Virginia took the envelope and examined it carefully, but
she did not go away. She glanced at him curiously, writing away so
grimly, and there was a scar across his head. Could it be--yes, there
her rock had struck him. The mark was still fresh, but he had given her
the stock; and now he was privileged to hate her. That wound on his head
would soon be overgrown and covered, but she had left a deeper scar on
his heart. She had hurt his man's pride; and now he had hurt hers, and
humbled her to ask for her stock. He looked up suddenly, feeling her
eyes upon him, and Virginia drew back and blushed.
"Oh--thank you," she stammered and turned to go, and yet she lingered to
see what he would say.
"You're welcome," he answered evenly, and took a fresh sheet of paper,
but she refused to notice the hint. A sense of pique, of wonder at his
politeness and half-resentment at his obliviousness of her presence,
drew her back and she leaned against his desk.
"What are you writing?" she asked as he glanced at her inquiringly. "Is
it a letter to that squaw?"
A sudden twitch of passion passed over his face at this reference to a
dark page in their past and he drew the written sheet away.
"No," he said, "I happened to remember a white girl----"
"What?" burst out Virginia before she could check herself and he curled
his lip up scornfully.
"Yes," he nodded, "and she seems to think I'm all right."
"Oh," she said and turned away her head with a painful twisted smile.
Somehow she had always thought--and yet he must have met other girls--he
was meeting them all the time! She tried to summon her anger, to carry
her past this fresh stab, but the tears rose to her eyes instead.
"I--we'll be going away soon," she went on hurriedly. "That is, if he
gives us back our stock. Do you think he'll do it, Wiley? You know--the
plan you spoke of. We're going to sell this stock to a broker and then
pay Mr. Blount back."
"I don't know," mumbled Wiley, and humped up over his letter, but it did
not produce the effect he had hoped for.
"Well--I'm sorry I hurt you," she broke out impulsively, rebuked by the
long gash in his hair, "but you shouldn't have tried to stop me! I
wasn't doing you any harm--I just came up there that night to see what
was going on. And I did see Stiff Neck George, you can smile all you
want to, and he had something heavy in his hand."
She ran on with her explanation, only to trail off inconclusively as she
saw his face growing grim. He did not believe her, he did not even
listen; he just sat there patiently and waited.
"Are you waiting for me to go?" she asked, smiling wanly, but even then
he did not respond. There had been a time, not many weeks ago, when he
would have risen up and offered her a chair; but he had got past that
now and seemed really and sincerely to prefer his own company to hers.
"I thought you might help us," she went on almost tearfully, "to get
back our stock from Blount. It was nice of you to tell me, after the way
I acted; but--oh, I don't know what it was that came over me! And I
never even thanked you for telling me!"
A cynical smile came into Wiley's eyes as he sat back and put down his
pen, but even after that she hurried on. "Yes, I know you don't like
me--you think I tried to wreck your mine and turned all your men against
you--but I do thank you, all the same. You--you used to care, Wiley; but
anyhow, I thank you and--I guess I'll be going now."
She started for the door but he did not try to stop her. He even picked
up his pen, and she turned back with fire in her eyes.
"Well, you might say something," she said defiantly, "or don't you care
what happens to me?"
"No; I don't, Virginia," he answered quietly, "so just let it go at
that. We can't get along, so what's the use of trying? You go your way
and let me go mine."
"Oh, I know!" she sighed, "you think I'm ungrateful--and you think I
just came for my stock. But I didn't, altogether; I wanted to say I'm
sorry and--oh, Wiley, _do_ you think he's alive?"
"Who?" he asked; but he knew already--she was thinking about the
Colonel.
"Why, Father," she ran on. "I heard you that time when you got old
Charley drunk. Do you think he's really alive? Because if he is!" She
raised her eyes ecstatically and suddenly she was smiling into his.
"Because if he is," she said, "and I can find him again--oh, Wiley;
won't you help me find him?"
"I'll think about it," responded Wiley, but his eyes were smiling back
and the anger had died in his heart. After all, she was human; she could
smile through her tears and reach out and touch his rough hand, and he
could not bring himself to hate her. "After I pay for the mine," he
suggested gently. "But now you'd better go."
"Oh, no," she protested, "please tell me about it. Is he hiding in the
Ube-Hebes? Oh, you don't know how glad I was when I heard you talking
with Charley--I never did think he was dead. He sent me word once, not
to worry about him, but--the Indians said he had died. That is--well,
they said if it hadn't been for that sandstorm they would surely have
found the body. And he'd thrown away his canteen, so he couldn't have
had any water; and there wasn't any more for miles. He was lost, you
know, and out of his head; and heading right out through the sand-hills.
Oh, it's awful to talk about it, but of course we don't know for
certain; and it might have been somebody else. Don't you think it was
some other man?"
"I don't know," answered Wiley, and sat staring straight ahead as she
ran on with her arguments and entreaties. After all, what did he have
to base his belief upon, except the babblings of brain-cracked
Charley? They had found the Colonel's riding-burro, and his
saddle-bags and papers, besides his rifle and canteen; and the
Shoshone trailers had followed the tracks of a man until they were
lost in the drifting sand-hills. And yet Charley's remarks, and his
repeated attempts to get across the valley with some whiskey; there
was something there, certainly, upon which to build hope--and Virginia
was very insistent.
"Yes, I think it was another man," he said at length. "Either that or
your father escaped. He might have lost one canteen and still have had
another, or he might have found his way to some water-hole. But from the
way Charley talks, and tries to cover up his breaks, I feel sure that
your father is alive."
"Oh, goodie!" she cried and before he could stop her she had stooped
over and kissed his bruised head. "Now you know I'm sorry," she burst
out impulsively, "and will you go out and look for him at once?"
"Pretty soon," said Wiley, putting her gently away. "After I make my
payment on the mine. They'd be sure to jump me, now."
"Oh, but why not now?" she pleaded. "They wouldn't jump your mine."
"Yes, they would," he replied. "They'd jump me in a minute! I don't dare
to go off the grounds."
"But what's the mine," she demanded insistently, "compared to finding
father?"
"Well, not very much," he conceded frankly, "but this is the way I'm
fixed. I've got the whole world against me, including you and your
mother, and I've got to play out my hand. There's nobody I can
trust--even my father has turned against me--and I've got to fight
this out myself."
"What? Just for the money? Do you think more of that than you do of
finding my father?"
"No, I don't," he said, "but I can't go now, and so there's no use
talking."
"No," she answered, drawing resentfully away from him, "there's no use
talking to _you_! He might be dying, or out of food, but you don't
think of anything but that money!"
"Well, maybe so," he retorted tartly, "but if you'd just left me alone,
instead of sicking all your dogs on me, I'd've been over there looking
for him, long ago. Of course I'm wrong--that's understood from the
start; but----"
"What dogs did I set on you?" she demanded, flaring up, and he fixed her
with sullen eyes.
"Never mind," he said. "You know what you've done as well or better than
I do. All I've got to say is that my conscience is clear and we'd better
quit talking while we're friends."
"Yes--friends!" she repeated, and then she stopped and at last she
heaved a sigh. "Well, I don't care," she defended. "You drove me to it.
A woman must protect herself, somehow."
"Well, you can do it," he said, feeling tenderly of his head, and
Virginia flew into a rage.
"I told you I was _sorry_!" she cried, stamping her foot. "Isn't
that enough? I'm sorry, I said!"
"Yes, and I'm sorry," he answered, but his eyes were level and his jaw
jutted out like a crag.
"Sorry for what?" she demanded, and he sprang his trap.
"Sorry I can't go out and hunt for your father."
"Oh," she said, and drooped her head.
"If we could pay for what we've done by just being sorry," he went on
with a ghost of a smile, "we wouldn't be where we are. But you know we
can't, Virginia. I'm sorry for some things myself, and I expect to pay
for them, but I can't stop to do it now."
"But will you go for him--sometime?" she asked, smiling wistfully.
"Then--oh, Wiley; why can't we be friends?" She held out her hands
and he rose up and took them, but with a startled look in his eyes.
"You know that I'm sorry," she said, "and I'm willing to pay, too; if
there's anything that I can do. Can't I help you, Wiley? Isn't there
something I can do to help you pay for your mine? And I'll never
oppose you again--if you'll only go and find my father!"
She raised his hands and put them against her cheek and the quick tears
sprang to his eyes.
"I'll do it," he promised, "just the minute I can go. And--I'll try to
be good to you, Virginia. Won't you give me a kiss, just to show it's
all right? I'm sorry I treated you so rough. But it'll be all right now
and we'll try to be friends again--I wasn't writing to any other girl."
"Oh, weren't you?" she smiled. "Well, I'll kiss you, then--just once.
But somehow, I'm afraid it won't last."