"Because you've been very kind to me, and I wouldn't for the world do
anything to hurt or embarrass you."
"Don't you mind about me," she responded, bluntly. "What happened this
morning wasn't your fault nor mine. Cliff made a mighty coarse play,
something he'll have to pay for. He knows that right now. He'll be back
in a day or two begging my pardon, and he won't get it. Don't you worry
about me, not for a minute--I can take care of myself--I grew up that
way, and don't you be chased out of the country by anybody. Come, father
will be looking for you."
With a feeling that he was involving both the girl and himself in still
darker storms, the young fellow yielded to her command, and together they
walked along the weed-bordered path, while she continued:
"This isn't the first time Cliff has started in to discipline me; but
it's obliged to be the last. He's the kind that think they own a girl
just as soon as they get her to wear an engagement ring; but Cliff don't
own me. I told him I wouldn't stand for his coarse ways, and I won't!"
Wayland tried to bring her back to humor. "You're a kind of 'new
woman.'"
She turned a stern look on him. "You bet I am! I was raised a free
citizen. No man can make a slave of me. I thought he understood that; but
it seems he didn't. He's all right in many ways--one of the best riders
in the country--but he's pretty tolerable domineering--I've always known
that--still, I never expected him to talk to me like he did to-day. It
certainly was raw." She broke off abruptly. "You mustn't let Frank Meeker
get the best of you, either," she advised. "He's a mean little weasel if
he gets started. I'll bet he put Cliff up to this business."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes, he just as good as told me he'd do it. I know Frank, he's my own
cousin, and someways I like him; but he's the limit when he gets going.
You see, he wanted to get even with Cliff and took that way of doing it.
I'll ride up there and give him a little good advice some Saturday."
He was no longer amused by her blunt speech, and her dark look saddened
him. She seemed so unlike the happy girl he met that first day, and the
change in her subtended a big, rough, and pitiless world of men against
which she was forced to contend all her life.
Mrs. McFarlane greeted Norcross with cordial word and earnest hand-clasp.
"I'm glad to see you looking so well," she said, with charming
sincerity.
"I'm browner, anyway," he answered, and turned to meet McFarlane, a
short, black-bearded man, with fine dark eyes and shapely hands--hands
that had never done anything more toilsome than to lift a bridle rein or
to clutch the handle of a gun. He was the horseman in all his training,
and though he owned hundreds of acres of land, he had never so much as
held a plow or plied a spade. His manner was that of the cow-boss, the
lord of great herds, the claimant of empires of government grass-land.
Poor as his house looked, he was in reality rich. Narrow-minded in
respect to his own interests, he was well in advance of his neighbors on
matters relating to the general welfare, a curious mixture of greed and
generosity, as most men are, and though he had been made Supervisor at a
time when political pull still crippled the Service, he was loyal to the
flag. "I'm mighty glad to see you," he heartily began. "We don't often
get a man from the sea-level, and when we do we squeeze him dry."
His voice, low, languid, and soft, was most insinuating, and for hours he
kept his guest talking of the East and its industries and prejudices; and
Berrie and her mother listened with deep admiration, for the youngster
had seen a good deal of the old world, and was unusually well read on
historical lines of inquiry. He talked well, too, inspired by his
attentive audience.
Berrie's eyes, wide and eager, were fixed upon him unwaveringly. He felt
her wonder, her admiration, and was inspired to do his best. Something in
her absorbed attention led him to speak of things so personal that he
wondered at himself for uttering them.
"I've been dilettante all my life," was one of his confessions. "I've
traveled; I've studied in a tepid sort of fashion; I went through college
without any idea of doing anything with what I got; I had a sort of pride
in keeping up with my fellows; and I had no idea of preparing for any
work in the world. Then came my breakdown, and my doctor ordered me out
here. I came intending to fish and loaf around, but I can't do that. I've
got to do something or go back home. I expected to have a chum of mine
with me, but his father was injured in an automobile accident, so he went
into the office to help out."
As he talked the girl discovered new graces, new allurements in him. His
smile, so subtly self-derisive, and his voice so flexible and so quietly
eloquent, completed her subjugation. She had no further care concerning
Clifford--indeed, she had forgotten him--for the time at least. The other
part of her--the highly civilized latent power drawn from her mother--was
in action. She lost her air of command, her sense of chieftainship, and
sat humbly at the feet of this shining visitor from the East.
At last Mrs. McFarlane rose, and Berea, reluctantly, like a child loath
to miss a fairy story, held out her hand to say good night, and the young
man saw on her face that look of adoration which marks the birth of
sudden love; but his voice was frank and his glance kindly as he said:
"Here I've done all the talking when I wanted you to tell _me_ all sorts
of things."
"I can't tell you anything."
"Oh yes, you can; and, besides, I want you to intercede for me with your
father and get me into the Service. But we'll talk about that to-morrow.
Good night."
After the women left the room Norcross said:
"I really am in earnest about entering the Forest Service. Landon filled
me with enthusiasm about it. Never mind the pay. I'm not in immediate
need of money; but I do need an interest in life."
McFarlane stared at him with kindly perplexity. "I don't know exactly
what you can do, but I'll work you in somehow. You ought to work under a
man like Settle, one that could put you through a training in the
rudiments of the game. I'll see what can be done."
"Thank you for that half promise," said Wayland, and he went to his bed
happier than at any moment since leaving home.
Berrie, on her part, did not analyze her feeling for Wayland, she only
knew that he was as different from the men she knew as a hawk from a
sage-hen, and that he appealed to her in a higher way than any other had
done. His talk filled her with visions of great cities, and with thoughts
of books, for though she was profoundly loyal to her mountain valley, she
held other, more secret admirations. She was, in fact, compounded of two
opposing tendencies. Her quiet little mother longing--in secret--for the
placid, refined life of her native Kentucky town, had dowered her
daughter with some part of her desire. She had always hated the slovenly,
wasteful, and purposeless life of the cattle-rancher, and though she
still patiently bore with her husband's shortcomings, she covertly hoped
that Berea might find some other and more civilized lover than Clifford
Belden. She understood her daughter too well to attempt to dictate her
action; she merely said to her, as they were alone for a few moments: "I
don't wonder your father is interested in Mr. Norcross, he's very
intelligent--and very considerate."
"Too considerate," said Berrie, shortly; "he makes other men seem like
bears or pigs."
Mrs. McFarlane said no more, but she knew that Cliff was, for the time,
among the bears.
V