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THE WRONG WOMAN
by
CHARLES D. STEWART
[Frontispiece: She saw that she would have to continue her journey
afoot]
The Copp Clark Company Limited
Toronto
Copyright, 1912, by Charles D. Stewart
All Rights Reserved
ILLUSTRATIONS
She saw that she would have to continue her
journey afoot (page 13) . . . . . _Frontispiece_
The stars, a vast audience, had all taken their places
"There's number one," Steve remarked casually
In the very midst of that dread ordeal, a test
_From drawings by Harold M. Brett_
The Wrong Woman
CHAPTER I
Having made final inspection of the knots of her shoe-laces and the
fastenings of her skirt, Janet turned toward her "perfectly horrid"
oilcoat, which, as usual, had spent the night on the floor. As it
would never come off till she had tortured her fingers on the edges of
its big rusty buttons, she always parted from it on unpleasant terms,
casting it from her; whereupon this masculine garment fell into the
most absurd postures, sprawling about on her bedroom floor, or even
sitting up, drunkenly, in the corner,--which latter it could easily do,
being as stiff as it was yellow. This time it had caught by one arm on
the back of a chair, and it came so near standing alone that it seemed
to be on the point of getting along without the chair's assistance. As
Janet stood considering its case, she turned her eyes toward the window
to see what the weather had decided, and now she saw the farmer leading
forth her pony. She went to the window and opened it wider.
"Please, Mr. Wanger, make it tight. He always swells himself out when
he sees he is going to be saddled. Then, when he has gone a little
distance, he lets himself in, and both the girths are hanging loose.
That's one of his tricks."
She leaned farther out and made further observation of the weather. As
the air was mild and the sky serenely blue (though you can never tell
about a Texas Norther), she took Sir Slicker by the nape of his
collar-band and dropped him out of the window to be lashed to the
saddle; then she turned to the mirror again, and, having done the best
she could with the hat, she went to take leave of the farmer's family,
who, as she judged by certain sounds, were assembled at the front of
the house awaiting her departure. But scarcely had she stepped into
the adjoining room and shut the door behind her, when the buxom,
blue-eyed Lena, rushing in from the porch, met her with a hug that was
more like a welcome than a leave-taking.
"Oh, goo-o-o-bye, Miss Janey. I am so-o-o sorry. I t'ink you are
so-o-o sweet and nice."
And then Lena, whose open Swiss nature was either at the summit of
happiness or down in the valley of despair, regarded her ruefully for a
space, and after one more hug and the shedding of two large healthy
tears, accompanied her out to the porch. There the Wangers were
waiting and the children standing in line to be kissed--quite as if she
were a dear relative, or at least an acquaintance of more than four
days' standing. Janet kissed them all; and having done so she
proceeded to the hitching-post, followed by the entire family, down to
little Jacob, who stationed himself at the very heels of the broncho,
and was so far forgotten by them all, in their concern with Janet's
affairs, that they did not think to rescue him from his perilous
situation till it was everlastingly too late, the horse having by that
time moved away. And then Jacob, who had been studying his elders
closely, after the manner of his tribe, guessed the meaning of those
farewell words which he had not been able to understand; and as she
drew away he opened his mouth and bawled.
Her route, which lay forty miles before her with but one stream to
ford, might be described as simply a fenced road on each side of which
was open prairie and the sky; for, though this land was all private
property, the holdings were so vast that the rest of the fence could
not be seen as far as the eye could reach. As this gave the roadside
fence the appearance of not inclosing land at all, but rather of
inclosing the traveler as he crossed over the vacant waste from town to
town, the stretch of wire seemed to belong to the road itself as
properly as a hand-rail belongs to a bridge; and this expansive scene,
while it was somewhat rolling, was of so uniform and unaccentuated a
character in the whole, and so lacking in features to arrest the eye,
that the road might be said to pass nothing but its own fence-posts.
For a while Janet's thoughts dwelt upon her experience with the
farmer's family, the final scene of which now impressed her more deeply
as she realized how promptly these good folk had opened their hearts to
receive her, and how genuine was their sorrow at seeing her go; and
this reflection imparted so pleasant a flavor to the world that her
mind kept reënacting that simple scene of leave-taking. But when she
had got well out to sea,--for that is the effect of it except that the
stretch of wire puts the mind in a sort of telegraphic touch with the
world,--she drifted along contemplating the prairie at large, all
putting forth in spring flowers, and for a time she seemed to have
ridden quite out of the Past; but finally, recalling her affairs, her
mind projected itself forward and she fell to wondering what the Future
might have in store.
There was nothing to answer her, and little to interrupt her
speculations. About the middle of the forenoon, or later, she
encountered a fellow-traveler in the person of a cowboy on a bay pony.
At first a mere speck in the distance, he grew steadily on her vision,
and then went riding past, life-size and lifting his sombrero; which
salute she acknowledged pleasantly, smiling and inclining her head. A
very strong fellow, she thought, whoever he might be. A while later,
as she was jogging along with her mind on the horse, whose need of a
drink was now a matter of growing concern to her, she came to where a
wooden gate opened upon the roadside, and here, after a moment of
doubtful consideration, she entered; and having closed it and got into
the saddle again by means of its bars, she struck out across the
prairie with the intention of casting about until she should come upon
one of those spring-fed water-holes which are always to be found, here
and there, upon the cattle range. For a time it looked as if her horse
would have to go thirsty; but just when she was beginning to feel that
she must not venture farther, she found herself upon a slight rise or
swell from which she made out a group of cattle in the distance, and
with this promise of success before her she put her horse to a gallop
and set out for it, slapping him with the reins. Presently, the ring
of black muck becoming plainly visible, she knew her quest was at an
end; and her thirsty animal quickened his pace as if he caught scent of
the water.
There now ensued a course of conduct upon the part of the horse which
was strange. There was a small mesquite bush near the water-hole which
lay directly in the horse's course, and Janet, seeing he was almost
upon it, and not wishing him to leap it, as a running cow-pony will
often do, gave the reins a jerk to make him dodge it, the which he did,
and that with a suddenness which only a cow-pony would be capable of.
A cowboy's horse is so used to outdodging wild cattle that such a
sudden turn is nothing to him. But now, instead of going to drink, he
gave a leap and broke into a mad race, splashing right through one end
of the water-hole and continuing onward. It was such a burst of speed
as only the wildest rider could have roused him to; and he kept it up
despite Janet's efforts to stop him. To her, it seemed as if no horse
had ever gone at such a pace before. At every leap forward she felt as
if he must shoot straight from under her. She supposed he had taken
fright at something; but instead of slackening his pace as he got
farther away, he rather added to his speed like a horse in a race.
Though there was nothing ahead which he seemed to be going to, and
nothing behind which he could now be running from, he did not abate his
efforts; he pushed forward--
As one pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe
And forward bends his head.
Poor Janet, utterly ignorant of the cause, and knowing not whither she
was bound, rode a mad ride to nowhere-in-particular. At times she
pulled hard on the bridle, but without effect; he kept right on with
her. She clung desperately to her seat. There was nothing for her to
do but ride; and so many strange things seemed to have happened at once
that she was almost bewildered. Altogether he gave her a ride which,
in her own opinion afterwards, threw into insignificance the adventures
of Mazeppa or John Gilpin, or even the experiences of the Ancient
Mariner "alone on a wide, wide sea."
The reason for the horse's hurry would appear to be a very good one
when brought to light and explained; and this we shall probably be
expected to do at this point, an historian having no choice but to tell
what actually happened. There had been a mishap in the saddle-bow.
The bow is that little arch in front which, when the saddle is in
place, fits over the bony ridge above the horse's shoulders. This part
of Janet's saddle, instead of being made in the good old-fashioned
way,--which consists in selecting the fork of a tree and shaping it to
the purpose,--had been more cheaply manufactured of cast iron; and that
part of the bow which clasps the withers and sits on the shoulders
spread out in the form of iron wings or plates. The saddle, at some
time in its history, had received a strain which was too much for it,
and one of the iron wings broke partly across; and this flaw, hidden by
leather and padding, had been lurking in the dark and biding its time.
When Janet braced her foot in the stirrup and made the horse dodge, it
cracked the rest of the way, whereupon the jagged point of metal
pressed into his shoulder with her weight upon it. It was nothing less
than this that was spurring him on.
A saddle-bow, into which the horse's shoulders press like a wedge (for
it must not rest its weight on top of the withers), needs to be strong,
because it is the part which withstands whatever weight is thrown into
the stirrups in mounting or making sudden evolutions, besides which it
takes whatever strain is put on the horn; in short, it is what holds
the saddle in place. With a broken bow and girths that are none too
tight, a rider's seat is but temporary at the best; and it is safe to
say that Janet's ride was not quite as long as it seemed. With a
broken bow a saddle must, sooner or later, start to turn,--and it is a
strange sensation to upset while you are sitting properly in the saddle
with your feet in the stirrups; it is impossible seeming; and with a
woman, who is fastened more tightly to the saddle itself, the sliding
of the girth on the horse's barrel is as if she were soon going to be
riding upside down.
Janet, sticking valiantly to her seat and riding like a trooper, felt
suddenly that peculiar sensation and had a moment's horror of she knew
not what. The next she was aware of she had struck ground in some
confused and complicated way and quickly got herself right side up.
And while she felt that she ought to be dead or at least badly injured,
she had done nothing worse than to crush down a lot of spring flowers.
And there sat Janet.
Her horse, relieved of the pressure on the sharp iron, and brought to a
halt by her final desperate pull on the reins, was standing
stock-still, his saddle askew like a Scotchman's bonnet, and his ears
laid back. But scarcely had she located him when he began to pitch and
kick, and with the surprising result that the saddle slipped entirely
round.
This turn of affairs was hardly calculated to please a Texas horse.
What this one thought about it, Janet very soon discovered; for however
meekly his stubborn spirit had given in to certain things, he had _not_
consented to wear a saddle on his belly; and this time when he pitched
he seldom used earth to stand on. He came down on this hateful globe
of ours only to stamp on it and kick it away from beneath him. Up he
went and hung in space a moment as if he were being hoisted by his
middle and came down with a vengeance that jolted a snort out of him;
and up he went again, turning end for end and kicking the atmosphere
all the way round. He was no sooner down than he went up again,--and
usually with a twist which threw him over to another hateful spot, from
which he flung himself as if it were hot. And all the time the hooded
stirrup flew about like a boot on a boneless leg and kicked him fore
and aft.
Thoroughly insulted, he pitched by a mixture of methods which amazed
Janet; she ran farther back. Now she beheld a fine vaulting movement,
going up with the hoofs together, opening out in midair and coming down
repeatedly in the same place; and here he worked away industriously,
stretching his loins with the regularity of a machine and hitting away
at the one spot in space with his fine punctuating heels; then he
settled down to a short shuttle-like movement, his forelegs out stiff
and his head down. It shook the saddle like a hopper; and the stirrup
danced a jig. In this movement he fairly scribbled himself on the air,
in red and white. Finding that this did not accomplish the purpose, he
went back to mixed methods a while and threw a confusion of side jumps
and twisting leaps; and then, after a particularly fine flight, he came
down with a heavy lunge and paused. He was standing with one of his
own feet in the stirrup.
Janet would now hardly have been surprised to see him throw a
somersault, as, indeed, he seemed on the point of doing at times when
he stood up so high that he almost went over backwards. This time,
after a moment of inaction, he reared again, and as he stood up with
his hind hoof in the stirrup the girth strap parted and the saddle
dropped from him. He jumped suddenly aside as if he were startled at
his success, and finding himself rid of it he gave a final flourish to
his heels and galloped away. The last Janet saw of him, he was going
over a knoll with a cow running on before. He seemed to be chasing it.
We are not at liberty to doubt that this was the case, for many a
cow-pony takes so much interest in his work that he will even crowd a
cow as if to bite her tail, and outdodge her every move. And so it is
possible that Billy, finding a cow running before him, took a little
turn at his trade.
Janet, hatless, her hair half-down and her chatelaine bag yawning open,
had thus far given little thought to her various belongings scattered
about in the grass; but now that the accident was all done happening
and she saw that she would have to continue her journey afoot, her
first concern was to get herself together again. Luckily the comb and
the hatpin had fallen in the same small territory with the hat and were
easily found--though the hatpin, standing upright amid the flowers, was
hard to distinguish for a while; and the contents of her bag, having
spilled almost together, were soon accounted for except a small
circular mirror. This was very difficult, but presently she caught the
flash of it in the grass and gathered it up also. And now,
ascertaining the condition of her hair, she went to the place that had
been made by her tumble from the horse, and seating herself in it
tailor-fashion, she set to work pulling out hairpins and dropping them
into her lap beside the rest of her property.
Having her hair in shape, she took up the hat. This part of her
apparel, which had been stepped on without detriment but needed
brushing, might be described as a man's hat in the sense that its maker
had not intended it for a young lady. It was a black hat, of soft
felt, with a wide flat rim which had been turned up in front and
fastened with a breastpin, a measure which had obviously been taken
because the rim caught the wind in such a way as to cause it to blow
down over the eyes--a thing which a true sombrero would not do. When
she had furbished it and put it on, she glanced at the image of herself
in her lap, and then, having held the little mirror at a distance to
better view the effect, she took it off and set to work with pins,
making it three-cornered. This proved to be quite a change; for
whatever it might be said to look like in her hands, it became a hat
the moment she put it on; it had an appearance and an air; and now the
dark surface lent itself all to contrast with her light, soft-hued hair
and clear, delicate skin. It was still further improved, when, having
removed it again, she set it on at a rakish artillery angle. Possibly,
if hers had been the dark, nut-brown beauty, she would have seen that
she looked best lurking beneath its sombre shade, and therefore have
turned the rim down some way to even increase the shade; but Janet
fitted that which was frank, open, and aboveboard. And so she used the
black for contrast rather than obscurity--besides which there was
another sort of contrast, for a soldier hat on Janet was a striking
foil for her utter femininity. And its romantic pretense (so different
from the dark gypsy-like romantic) was such an arrant little piece of
make-believe that it had the effect of playful candor, acknowledging
how impossible a man she would make; and while it was, strikingly, a
pure case of art for art's sake, you could not but remark how much
better _she_ looked in it than any soldier could ever have done. To
tell the truth, we do not really pretend to know why Janet did this, or
what taught her how to do it; anyway, she did it; and now, having so
easily accomplished one of the most difficult parts of a self-made
woman, she fixed it in position with the hatpin, snapped shut her
chatelaine bag, and rose to go.
Looking forward in the direction she had turned to, her mind began to
be crossed with doubts as to whether that was the right way. She
looked in other directions. Then she turned slowly about. What she
saw was simply prairie all the way round. Which part of that horizon
had she come from--what point in space? There is nothing so answerless.
She was now in a world where there was no such thing as direction
except that one side was opposite the other. There seemed to be
nowhere that she could really consider as a Place! The spot where she
had been sitting seemed to be a place; but now she realized that she
could go far from it in any direction and still be resting in the
middle of nature's lap.
How she strained her mind out to the very edge of things and tried to
think! What endeavor she made to get out of her mind that which was
not in it! She could not but feel that it was all because she was
"such a fool"--for she could hardly believe that a whole country could
be so lacking in information.
Poor Janet! She even looked up toward the high sun and wondered what
kind of sailor science would compel him to divulge his relations with a
certain wooden gate. But there was no recognition there, no
acknowledgment. The four quarters of heaven were fitted together with
a viewless joint. All was silent. Everything was a secret.
Of course she finally thought of the obvious thing to do; but
afterwards she was sorry that she did, for that was just how she lost a
good part of the afternoon. She found traces of her horse's
course--here some flower stems had been broken, and a little farther
on, some more; and now that all was made plain she took her slicker,
which was tied in a roll behind the saddle, and, putting her mind
straight ahead on the course, she set out.
In his high gallop her horse had left no trail that she could follow as
a path--nothing but slight records which might be discovered upon close
and particular search. As his shoeless feet had made little or no
impression on the sward, and there were wide spaces where flowers were
sparse, she decided, in order to make progress, to go straight forward
in the direction which had been determined, and then, if the fence did
not put in an appearance, to refer to the trail again.
After a time, seeing nothing ahead, she began to look about, this side
and that, in doubt; and now, being "all turned round" again, she looked
for the trail. But she could not find it. Looking about everywhere,
round and round and farther and wider, she at last found herself
inspecting her own footsteps and following her own wandering path; and
here she gave it up utterly. She knew she was lost.
Again she peered out at a point in space and wondered if _that_ was the
place she came from. How different the distance looked now from what
it did when she saw it down that endless road. That, at least, gave
some shape to the future; and though she had been in doubt as to what
it might be like, she at least knew it was there. Now the future was
all around her. A thousand futures now confronted her--all done up
alike in blue and awaiting her chance move, this direction or that;
whereby she may be said to have been confronted with the world as it
is--a veritable old wheel of fortune. But she had to do something; and
the only thing to do was to walk. Making up her mind to the Somewhere
in front of her, she simply went ahead; for the afternoon was going and
the night was sure to come--a prospect that filled her with dread.
It is no wonder that Lot's wife looked back when she was well out on
the plain. Probably she wanted to see where she was going--so Janet
thought, as she trudged wearily along. Or possibly the poor woman
wanted to make sure that she was going _at all_; for when you are
walking always at the middle of things, and not coming to anything,
there is no progress. Janet thought--for she had to think
something--that she knew just how stationary Lot's wife felt when she
was turned into a pillar of salt. Possibly, if the truth were known,
Lot's wife desired to be turned into a pillar of salt--who can tell?
Janet, walking along so unrelated and ineffectual, rather fancied that
she herself might want to be turned into a salt-lick (she had passed
one all worn hollow as the stone of Mecca by the tongues of many
Pilgrims); because if she were such a thing she would not be so utterly
useless and foolish under the eye of heaven. But still she kept
trudging along, feeling the growing weight of the slicker in her arms,
for Janet was not much of a hand to carry anything on her shoulder.
Janet walked and walked, but her walking did not seem to have any
effect upon that endless land. The fence did not put in its
appearance, neither did a house nor a path, nor anything else which
would make it different from the sky-covered plain that it was. It
persisted in being itself, world without end, amen. To make matters
worse, her shoe began to hurt (she had suspected it would and taken the
man's promise that it would n't), and the more she persevered the more
it clamped her toe and wrung her heel and drew fire to her instep. But
there was nothing to do but walk; and she kept on with her footsteps
till the operation became monotonous. Still that roadless scene was
unmoved. The world was "round like an apple"; that she could plainly
see. And as to her feelings, this globe was just a big treadmill under
her aching feet.
The only escape from such tyranny is to rise superior to it,
withdrawing the mind from its service; so she decided to think of
something else. And now, as she went on with no company but her own
thoughts, she had a growing realization, more and more vivid, of her
fall from the horse and what the consequences might have been. It was
a miraculous escape, due to no management of hers. Suppose she had
been disabled!--and in such a place! What a thought! She became
frightened at what was past. She had not really thought of it before;
and now that she did, her imagination was thrown wide open to the
future, and she looked into the possibilities ahead of her. A cow, she
recalled, has been known to attack even a horse and rider. And these
wild range cattle; how might they take the presence of a woman, never
having seen one before? There were thousands of them wandering about
this big place, with horns that spread like the reach of a man's arms.
Her only recourse was to wish she were a man. This was a favorite wish
of hers, indulged in upon those occasions when she discovered that she
had been a "silly coward" or a "perfect fool." After all, she
considered, a woman is n't much loss.
"And it came to pass, when they had brought them forth abroad, that he
said. Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in
all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed. . . .
But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of
salt." It was an old Sunday-school lesson. And Janet had to think
something.