BEN FORDYCE CALLS ON HORSEBACK
Ben Fordyce and his affianced bride rode home talking of the Haneys.
"Aren't they deliciously Western!" she said.
"Mrs. Haney certainly is a quaint little thing," he replied, quite
soberly; "she's like a quail--so bright-eyed, and so still. I think her
devotion to her old husband very beautiful. She's more like a daughter
than a wife, don't you think so?"
"They're great fun if you don't feel sorry for him as I do," Alice
thoughtfully responded. "They say he was magnificent as a gambler. He
admitted to me to-night that he longed to go back to the camp, but that
he had promised his wife and mother-in-law not to do so. I never ran a
gambling-saloon, but I can imagine it would be exciting as a play all
the time, can't you? Here, as he said to me, he can only sit in the sun
like a lizard on a log. It must seem wonderful to her--having all this
money and that big castle of a house. Don't you think so? Wasn't she
reticent! She hardly uttered a word the whole evening. Some way I feel
sorry for them both. They can't be happy. Don't you see that? It is
plain she doesn't love him as a wife should, while he worships her. When
she's away he is helpless. 'I'm no gairdner,' he said, pathetically; 'I
was raised on the cobble-stones. I wouldn't know a growin' cabbage from
a squash.' So you see he can't pass his time in gardening."
Ben's reply was a question. "I wonder if she would ride with us?"
"Perhaps we would do better not to follow up the acquaintance, Ben. It's
all very interesting to meet them as we did to-night, but they are
impossible socially--that you must admit. If there is any possibility of
our settling down here I suppose we must be careful to do the right
thing from the start."
Ben was a little irritated by this. "If I'm to settle here as a lawyer I
can't draw social distinctions of that sort."
"Certainly not--as a lawyer. Of course, you ought to know Haney; but for
me to ride or drive with Mrs. Haney is quite a different matter.
However, I don't really care. She attracts me, and, so far as I know, is
just a nice little uncultivated woman. We might call on her in the
morning, and see if she can go with us. It will commit us; but really,
Ben, I am not going to drag Eastern conventions into this fresh big
country. I'm willing to risk the Haneys."
"I'm glad you take that view of it," said Ben.
* * * * *
Bertha was in the yard when they rode up to the gate next morning.
Dressed in a white sweater and a short skirt, and holding biscuits for a
handsome collie to snatch from her hand, she made a charming picture of
young and vigorous life. Her slim body was as strong and supple as the
dog's, and her face glowed like a child's. Haney, sitting on the porch,
was watching her with a proud smile.
Alice glanced at her lover with admiration in her eyes. "What a glorious
creature she really is!"
Seeing visitors at her gate, Bertha came down without confusion to say
good-morning, and to ask them to dismount.
Ben, with doffed cap, replied by saying: "We've come to ask you to ride
with us."
Bertha looked up at him composedly. "Haven't a saddle, and I don't know
that any of our horses are broken. But come again to-morrow, and I'll
have an outfit."
"There's no time like the present. Let me ride down to the barn and
bring one up," volunteered Ben.
"Don't need to do that, I'll 'phone. I didn't really expect you," she
explained. "Get off and come in a few minutes, and I'll see what I can
hustle together for an outfit. I haven't rode a lick since I left
Sibley."
Ben helped Alice to dismount, and Bertha led her to the house while he
tethered the horses.
"What a superb place you have here!" exclaimed Alice. "It is one of the
best in the city."
"We bought it for the porch," calmly replied the girl. "The Captain
likes to sit where he can see the mountains. I'm not entirely done with
the outfitting yet, but it beats a barn."
Haney rose as they drew near, and smilingly greeted his visitors. "I
should be out gatherin' the peanuts and harvestin' the egg-plants, but
the dinner last night, not mentionin' Congdon's pink liquor, kept me
awake till two."
"Moral: Stick to Irish whiskey--or Scotch," laughed Ben.
"I will. These strange liquors are not for strong men like ourselves."
Ben took a seat at his invitation, while Bertha went in to 'phone for a
horse and to "dig up" a riding-skirt. Alice was eager to see the
interior of the house, but held her curiosity in check by walking about
the beautiful garden, which ran to the very edge of a deep ravine. The
trees hid the base of the mountain peaks, whose immitigable crags took
on added majesty from the play of the delicate near-by branches against
their distant rugged slopes.
"You have a magnificent outlook here, Captain Haney."
"'Tis so, and I try to be content with it; but it's hard for one who has
roamed the air like a hawk all his life to be content with ridin' a
wooden horse. I couldn't endure it if it weren't for me wife."
His big form rested in his chair with a ponderous inertness which was a
telltale witness to his essential helplessness. His left hand still
failed to participate in the movements of his right, and yet, as he
showed, he could, by special effort of will, use it. "I'm gaining all
the time--but slowly," he went on. "I want to make a trip back up to the
mines, and I think I'll be able to do it soon." He put aside his own
troubles. "And you, miss, I hope the climate is doing you good?"
"Oh, indeed, yes," she brightly responded. "I feel stronger every day."
Ben at the moment experienced a sharp pang of uneasiness and pain, for
Alice was looking particularly worn and thin and yellow; and when Bertha
returned, flushed with her haste, the contrast between them was quite as
distressing as that between the withered, dying rose and the opening,
fragrant bud. The young man's heart rose to his throat. "We have waited
too long," he thought, and resolved to again urge upon her a new
treatment which they had discussed.
"Come in and see the house," said Bertha, in brusque invitation. "It
isn't ship-shape yet. I wanted to do it all myself, but I find it's a
big proposition to go up against. It sure is. But I like it. I'd like
nothing better than running a big hotel--not too big, but just big
enough. I tell the Captain that when our mines 'pinch out' I'll go to
Denver and start a hotel."
She was quite communicative, but not at ease as she led them from room
to room. Her manner was rather that of one seeking to conceal
trepidation, and her fluency seemed a little out of character.
In fact, she was trying to make the best possible impression on these
people, whose sincere interest she felt; but with Ben's eyes fixed upon
her so constantly, and a knowledge of Alice's delicate wit to trouble,
she was more deeply embarrassed than ever before in her life. It was not
her habit to blush or stammer, and she did not do so now, but she was
carried out of her wonted reticence.
"As I say, we bought the place for the porch. I didn't realize what I
was being let into--if I had I might have shied. We're practically lost
in the place. Except when some of the people come down from camp, we're
alone. My mother helps out some, but she's up at the ranch a good deal."
She opened the library door, and led the way before an easel, on which
stood a huge canvas. "Here's the picture Mr. Congdon is paintin' of the
Captain. I wanted him taken with his hat on, but Mr. Congdon said no,
and his word went. I don't know whether I like this or not. It's got me
twisted."
Congdon had been after psychology rather than costume, that was evident
at a glance, for the clothing counted for little in the portrait. Out of
the shadow the face peered sadly, yet with a kind of ferocity, too--a
look which made Alice Heath recoil from the man. In a certain way the
artist had taken advantage of Mart's helplessness and loneliness. He had
caught the sadness, sullenness, and remorselessness of his sitter rather
than his gay, good-tempered smile. The face of this man was concerned
with the past, not with the future; and yet on its surface it was a good
likeness, as Ben said, and had both power and distinction. "I think it a
cracker-jack piece of work," he ended.
Bertha replied: "I suppose it is, and yet I can't see it. I'd rather it
looked the way the Captain used to when he came down to the Junction.
I'm sorry to have his sickness painted in that way."
"That can't be helped. These artists are queer cattle; you can't drive
'em," Ben remarked.
Bertha smiled. "He wants to paint me now. 'Not on your life' says I.
'You'd be doing double stunts with my freckles, and I won't stand for
it.'" She laughed. "No sir-ree, I don't let any artist tip my freckles
edgewise just to see how flip he is at it. I like Mr. Congdon, but I
don't trust him--he's too much of a joker."
Thereupon she led the way to the second floor, and showed them the
furniture, which was mostly very costly and very bad, and at last said:
"The third story is pretty empty yet. I don't know just what I'm going
to do with it." She was looking at Alice. "I wish you'd come over and
help me decide some day."
"What fun!" cried Alice, speaking on the impulse. "I'd like to very
much."
"You see," Bertha went on, "my folks have always been purty poor, and
I've lived in jay towns all my life; and when I came here I didn't know
any more about life in a city than a duck does of mining. I had it all
to learn, and they's a whole lot yet that I don't know." She smiled
quaintly, then grew sober. "And what's worse, I haven't any one to tell
me--except Mr. Congdon, and he's such a josher I don't trust him. He did
give me a few points on the library, which ain't so bad, we think; but
all the rest of it I had to dig out myself, and it's slow work. But I
guess we better go down; my horse will be here in a few minutes." Then,
with lowered voice, she added: "I can't stay out but a little while. The
Captain dreads to have me leave him even to go down-town. I hadn't ought
to go at all."
Ben began to perceive a real slavery in her life, and reassured her.
"I'm glad you're coming. It will do you good, and it will be a pleasure
to us too. We'll only be away an hour."
As they returned to the porch, Bertha put her hand on Haney's shoulder,
in the manner of one man to another, saying: "I'm going for a little
ride with these people, Captain, if you don't mind."
"Not a whiff," he answered. "I'll be here when you come back." Again a
subtle cadence in his voice so belied his smile that Alice's heart
responded to it.
Bertha's horse proved to be a spirited animal, but she mounted him with
the ease and celerity of a boy--riding astride, in the mountain fashion.
"I haven't a long skirt," she carelessly remarked to Alice. That was all
the explanation she offered, and Ben thought he had never seen anything
more alert, more graceful, than her slim figure poised alertly in the
saddle, her face glowing, her hair blown across her face.
Alice, a timid rider, admired them both from her position, which was
always behind, though they tried to accommodate their pace to hers. A
pang of envy that was almost jealousy pierced her heart as she looked at
them--so young, so vigorous, and so blithe.
"I should be sitting with Captain Haney on the porch," she thought, with
bitterness. "I am out of place here."
The words which passed between Bertha and her cavalier meant little, but
their glances meant much. It was, indeed, a fateful ride. The liking,
the deep interest, born of their first meeting, swept irresistibly into
admiration. Their faces turned towards each other, youth to youth, as
naturally as flowers swing towards the light.
They fell into argument over saddles, over the difference between his
manner of riding and her own. Her speech, so direct, so full of quaint
slang, enchanted him, and Alice soon found herself the third party. And
when they were for pushing into a gallop she acknowledged herself a
clog. Concealing her disgust of herself under a bright smile, she called
out: "Why don't you people gallop ahead, and let me jog along at my own
gait?"
"Oh no," replied Ben, "we don't want to do that. Are you tired?" He
became anxious at once.
"No, no! Please go! Mrs. Haney wants to race--I can see that; and I'd
really like to see her ride--she sits her horse so beautifully."
"Very well," Ben acquiesced, "we'll take a run ahead, and come back to
you."
Thereupon they set off, Bertha leading in a rushing gallop up a fine
road which wound along a ravine, towards the top of a broad mesa. Alice,
with slack rein in her small hand, rode slowly on in the vivid sunlight,
a chill shadow rolling in upon her soul. As young as her lover in years,
she nevertheless seemed at the moment twice his age. Everything
interested him. Nothing interested her. He was never tired mentally or
physically, and his smooth, unwrinkled face still reflected the morning
sunlight of the world. "He is still the boy, while I am old and wrinkled
and nerveless," she bitterly confessed.
When they returned to her at the top of the mesa, flushed and laughing,
her pain had deepened into despair. Up to that moment she had checked
disease with a belief that some day she was to recover her health, that
some day her wrinkles would be smoothed out and her cheeks resume their
youthful charm; but now she knew herself as she was--a broken thing. The
divine glow and grace of youth would never again come to her, while this
vigorous and joyous girl would grow in womanly charm from month to
month. "She is going to be very beautiful," she admitted; and even in
the midst of her own discouragement she could not but admire Bertha's
skill with the horse. She rode in the manner of a cowboy, holding her
hands high and guiding her horse by pulling the reins across his neck.
Ben was receiving lessons from her--absorbed and jocular.
At the top of the mesa they all halted to look away over the
landscape--a gray-green, tumbled land, out of which fantastic red rocks
rose, and over which, to the west, the snowy peaks loomed. Ben drew a
deep breath of joy. It seemed that the world had never been so
beautiful. "Isn't it magnificent!" he cried. "I like this country!
Alice, let's make our home here."
She smiled a little constrainedly. "Just as you say, dear."
"Why shouldn't we, when the climate is doing you so much good?"
The horse that Bertha rode was prancing and foaming, eager for a renewal
of the race, and Ben, seeing it, cried out: "Shall we go round by the
hanging rock?"
"I'm willing!" answered Bertha, her eyes shining with excitement.
Alice shook her head. "I think I'll let you young things go your own
gait, and I'll poke along back towards home."
Ben rode near her, searching her face anxiously. "You're not tired--are
you, sweetness?"
"No, but I would be if I took that big circuit. But never mind me, I
like to poke."
"Very well," he answered, quite relieved, "we'll meet you at the
bridge." And off they dashed with furious clatter, leaving her to slowly
retrace her lonely way, feeling very tired, very old, and very sad.
Bertha was perfectly, perilously happy. It was almost her first escape
from the brooding care and weight of Haney's presence. She felt as she
used to feel when speeding away on swift gallop to the ranch with some
companion as care-free as herself. Since that fateful day when her
mother fell ill and Marshall Haney asked her to marry him, she had not
been permitted an hour's holiday. Even when absent from her husband her
mind carried an inescapable picture of his loneliness and helplessness,
and no complete relaxation had come with her temporary freedom. This
day, this hour, she was suddenly free from care, from pain, from all
uneasiness.
She considered this feeling due to the saddle and to the clear air of
the morning. "I will ride every day," she declared to Ben, with shining
face, as they drew their horses to a walk. "I don't know when I've
enjoyed a ride so much. I can't see why I haven't been out before. I
used to ride a good lot; lately I've dropped it."
"We'll call for you every morning," he replied. "As Alice gets stronger,
we can go up into the cañons and take long rides."
"I'll tell you what we'll do," she said; "we'll let her ride in the cart
with the Captain, and take our dinner, and we'll all go up the North
Cañon some day, and eat picnic dinner there."
"Good idea," he said, accepting her disposition of Alice without even
mental dissent. "That will be jolly fun."
They planned this and other excursions, with no sense of leaving any one
behind or of cutting across conventional boundaries. Their native
honesty and innocence of any ill intention prevented even a suspicion of
danger, and by the time they joined Alice at the bridge they were on
terms of intimacy and good-fellowship which seemed to rise from years of
long acquaintance. Ben had promised to help her select a horse, and she
had agreed to bring the Captain to call on Alice, who was staying with
some friends not far away.
This change in Bertha's manner extended to Alice, who returned it in
kind. The guilelessness which shone from the young wife's clear eyes was
unmistakable. She was growing handsome, too. The flush of blood in her
cheeks had submerged her freckles, and Alice began to realize how the
poor child's devotion to Marshall Haney had reacted against her native
good health. "She is but a child even now," she thought.
Haney was sitting on the porch where they had left him, the collie at
his feet, but at sight of them returning he rose and hobbled slowly down
the walk, his heart filled with tenderness and admiration for his wife.
He had never ridden with her, but he had once seen her mounted, and one
of his expressed wishes had been that he might be able to sit a saddle
once more and ride by her side.
"Come in and stay to dinner!" he called, hospitably, and Bertha eagerly
seconded the invitation.
But Alice replied: "I'm pretty tired; I think I'll go home. You can stay
if you like, Ben."
Ben, smitten with sudden contrition, quickly said: "Oh no; I will go
with you. I'm afraid you've ridden too far."
She protested against this, for Bertha's relief. "Not at all. It's a
good tiredness. It's been great fun."
And with promises of another expedition of the same sort they rode away,
while Bertha and Haney remained at the gate to examine the new horse.
As little Mrs. Haney re-entered the house with her husband the day
seemed to lose its magical brightness, and to decline to a humdrum,
shadowless flare. The house became cold and gloomy and the day empty.
For the first time since its purchase she mentally asked herself: "What
will I do now?" It was as if some ruling motive had suddenly been
withdrawn from her life.
This empty, aching spot remained with her all through the day, even when
she took Haney for his drive down-town, and only disappeared for a few
moments as they met young Fordyce on the street. It troubled her as she
returned to the house, and she was glad that Williams came in to take
supper with them, for his talk of the mine diverted her and deeply
interested her husband.
Williams eyed his boss critically. "You're gainin', Captain. You'll soon
be able to make camp again."
"I hope so, but the doctor says my heart's affected and it wouldn't be
safe for me to go any higher--for a while."
Williams smiled at Bertha. "Better send the missus, then. The men all
have a great idea of her. They say she's a kind of mascot. McGonnigle
asks me every time what she thinks of our new shaft. I've a kind of
reverence for her judgment myself. They say women kind o' feel their way
to a conclusion. Now, I'd like her to pass judgment on our work in _The
Diamond Ace_."
"I'd like to go up," said Bertha. But, in truth, she was no longer
thinking of the mine: she was considering how she might make her table
look as pretty as Mrs. Congdon's. Her first dissatisfaction with her own
way of life filled her mind. "I must have some of those candles," she
said to herself, while the men were still intent upon the mine. Her
first step towards social conformity was at this moment taken.
She felt herself akin to these people, and this assertion, subconscious
and unuttered, brought something between Marshall Haney and herself. It
was not merely that she was younger and clearer of record, but she was
perfectly certain that with education she could hold her own with the
Congdons or any one else. "If my father had lived, I wouldn't be the
ignoramus I am to-day." But she had no plan for acquiring the knowledge
she needed other than by reading books. She resolved to read every day,
though each hour so spent must be taken from her husband, now piteously
dependent upon her.
He managed his morning paper very well, but when she read aloud to him
he almost always went to sleep.