THE TEMPERING
Bud was packing in his rooms at Aston's Hotel. It was late at night.
Late as it was, however, he had only left Nan, engaged at a similar
occupation, less than half an hour ago. He had sat talking to her, and
watching her with eyes of deep concern while, with infinite care, she
bestowed those beautiful gowns which mean so much in a woman's life.
His visit to her had not been one of mere companionship. It had been
inspired by a sympathy he had no other means of displaying. He had
talked to her; by every means in his power he had endeavored to
interest her in reminiscence of the week's doings. She listened
patiently, almost submissively, for she understood the promptings of
his endeavor. But she was too deeply plunged in her own discouragement
to display real interest, and it had required every ounce of courage
she possessed to prevent herself falling to weeping.
Nor was Bud at fault for a moment. He recognized the trouble lurking
in the sweet brown eyes. And with all his might he pretended not to
see. So, when his last effort to cheer had proved unavailing, he took
his departure under the excuse of his own packing.
He knew. Of course he knew. Had he not watched the progress of events
throughout the week? Had he not seen for himself how Jeff's fancy had
been caught? And she was very beautiful, this town-bred woman,
beautiful with that healthy, downy complexion which Bud found did not
fit with his idea of city "raised" women. He almost felt he hated her,
yet he knew he had no right to his antagonism. Jeff was unpledged, he
was free. No woman had any claim on him. Not even Nan. Poor Nan. He
had hoped to give her seven long days of unalloyed delight. He had
only given her seven days of bitter disappointment and disillusion.
He set about his packing with furious zest. In a moment, it seemed,
his room was in a state of chaos. And all the while, as he bundled
garments together and flung them into his grips, his busy thought went
on in the only direction in which it seemed capable of moving just now.
His mind had gone back to the days before their visit to Calthorpe. He
remembered the delighted anticipation which Nan had displayed. Her
displays of happy affection for himself in the midst of her own great
looking forward. The ravishing hours she had spent in choosing
patterns of material, and styles of gown. He remembered the bright
sparkling eyes shining, it seemed to him, at all times. That wonderful
looking forward. Oh, the holiday of it had been nothing. There was
only one thing, one thought, which had inspired the child. It was
Jeff. It was a week that was to see honor done him, and she--she was
to join in honoring him. Jeff was the whole hub about which her
happiness revolved.
He was pained. He was angry. And the vision of Elvine van Blooren's
dark beauty haunted him. He admitted it--her beauty. And for all his
disquiet, his bitter feeling, he found it impossible to blame the man.
Yes, for all his exasperation. For all he regarded Jeff as a "fool
man," he was just enough to remember that Nan was his own little
daughter, a pretty prairie girl, with nothing of the showy attraction
of this city woman. Then Jeff's attitude toward her. It had never
been more than the sheerest friendliness. He reflected bitterly, even,
that they might have been simply brother and sister. While the dream
of his life was some day to be able to pour out the wealth he was
storing up into the out-stretched palms of their children.
Well, it was a dream. And now it had come tumbling about his feet, and
it almost looked to him as if poor little Nan's heart was to be buried
beneath the debris.
He flung his evening suit, which Nan had so much admired, into the
gaping jaws of a large leather grip, with a disregard that more than
illustrated his feelings. Then he strove to close the grip tucking in
the projecting oddments of silk-lined cloth without the least
consideration for their well-being. He felt he never wanted to wear
such things again, never wanted even to see them. He and Nan belonged
to the prairie, not to a city. That was good enough for them. What
was the use----?
But his reflections were interrupted by the abrupt appearance of Jeff
himself. Bud looked up as the door was unceremoniously thrust open,
and his regard was quite unshaken by the depths of his feelings. It
displayed a mute question, however.
Jeff began at once.
"I saw the light through your transom, Bud, so I just came right in."
Jeff was a shade paler than usual. There was a look of some doubt in
his blue eyes. And his manner hinted at a decision taken. A decision
that had not been arrived at without some considerable exercise of mind.
Slowly, as he regarded him, all Bud's bitterness subsided. If Nan were
his daughter, this man was almost a son to him.
"Say, old friend, I'm--I'm not going back home with you to-morrow,"
Jeff went on. He stirred with a suggestion of nervousness, and then
flung himself upon the old man's littered-up bed. "I just can't, an'
that's a fact. I want to stop around here for a while. I got to."
He paused as though awaiting an answer, but none was forthcoming. Only
was there that steady regard from the man beyond the still open grip.
Bud was not thinking of the announcement. Jeff was certainly a
"good-looker," and he was beginning to understand something of the
attraction he must have for a woman like Elvine van Blooren. He was
slim and muscular, with a keen face of decision and strength. Then,
was he not on the rising wave which must ever appeal to the maturer
mind of a widow, however young? His disappointment rose again and
threatened to find expression. But he thrust it aside and struggled to
remember only his regard for the man.
"D'you mind?" Jeff's question came nervously.
Did he mind? It was a weak question. Coming from Jeff it sounded
foolish. Bud smiled, and his quiet sense of humor saved him from
himself.
"Why, if you feel that way I don't guess you need worry a thing, Jeff."
Then he added: "Guess Nan an' me'll get right along home. But it don't
need to cut no ice. I take it you're askin' me to fix things right at
the Obars till you get around. That so?"
Jeff nodded. He was feeling that he was doing something mean, even
brutal. He knew that what he contemplated must result in the bitterest
disappointment to his old friend. He had well enough known throughout
their partnership Bud's yearning desire that he should marry Nan.
Well, such a course was unthinkable now. Somehow it had never seemed
really possible. He was troubled, grievously troubled, but he was
determined now to act in the only honest way. He was determined that
Bud should know the truth--at all costs.
"I'd be thankful to you, Bud."
"You don't need to say a word. It's fixed."
For some moments no other word was spoken. There was awkwardness. But
it was with Jeff alone. He feared the result of what he must tell.
"You're--packing?" he said presently.
Bud sat himself heavily into a rocker.
"Yep. Lestways I don't guess Nan 'ud call it that way." He raked his
curly iron-gray hair with his strong fingers, and gazed ruefully at the
chaos.
"Maybe I can help some."
Bud shook his head, and his smile was good.
"Guess one darn fool's enough playin' this game. When're you coming
along to--home?"
"Maybe a week."
The reply was prompt.
"An'--you'll bring her along with you?"
The eyes of the two men met. Each was reading the other like an open
book.
Jeff shook his head. Somehow there was nothing absurd to him in Bud's
suggestion. There was nothing startling even in the probing of his
secret with so much directness.
"I haven't asked her--yet."
Then it was that the big heart of the friend, who was almost a father,
made itself apparent.
"But you're goin' to, Jeff. An' she's goin' to take you. Say, Jeff,
she's one lucky woman."
In a moment the tide of the younger man's feelings was set flowing. In
a moment the egoism of the lover made a generous nature forget all else
but the passion that absorbed him. In a moment the thought that this
man was Nan's father, and that the dearest wish of his life was that
he, Jeff, should marry his daughter, was forgotten.
"Lucky? But you got it wrong, Bud," Jeff cried, sitting erect, his
face flushed with the passionate stirring of Ills strong heart. "It's
I who'll be lucky, if she don't turn me down. Man, I'm not worth the
dust on her shoes. I'm not fit to lackey for her. Nor--nor is any
other feller. Say, Bud," he went on, leaning impressively forward, his
eyes shining with his passion, "I'm just crazy to death for her.
And--and I can't just help it. I'd go through hell's flames for her,
man, I'd----"
"Say, boy, don't worry that-a-way. Jest marry her instead," Bud broke
in with his gentlest smile. "You're all sorts of a boy, Jeff, and I
don't figger you got call to talk about the dust of any woman's shoes.
But I guess ther's times when it's good fer a man to feel he ain't as
big as he's told. Anyways, you get right ahead, and leave me to the
Obars. I ain't goin' to fail you now, any more than any other time."
Then he rumpled his stubbly hair again, and it was an action that
suggested heavy thought. "Say," he went on, a moment later, his eyes
looking squarely into the face of the other, "we're hittin' the trail
good an' early to-morrow. Guess you best let me say 'good-bye' to Nan
for you. That so?"
Jeff nodded. He understood. And somehow the bigness of this man made
him almost despise himself.
"Then I guess I'll get right on with my--packin'."
* * * * * *
They were standing on the stoop of Aston's Hotel. In front of them the
broad Avenue opened out with its central walk, between an aisle of
wide-spreading maple trees bathed in the early morning sun. A spring
wagon was already moving away, piled up with baggage. The saddle
horses were ready, held by one of the hotel servants. Nan, in her
riding costume, was waiting while her father exchanged a few parting
words with the hotel manager.
"Guess you're right. It's been a darn good week this year. The best
in my memory. I'd say the Conference was a heap better attended, an'
the weather's been just great. We got through a deal o' legislation,
too. Guess things are goin' to hum, with the Obars at the head of 'em
this year. Our big play is to be dealin' with rustlers. We got a hell
of a piece o' leeway to make up. Four years ago we guessed we'd got
'em fixed where we wanted 'em. But they hatched out since like a brood
o' wolf cubs. So long."
"Mr. Masters is stopping on for a while," the manager observed, with
that intimate touch which he always practiced with his more influential
customers of the cattle world.
"Why, yes." Bud's eyes were watching Nan as she mounted her pony,
carefully held by a solicitous barn-hand. Under other circumstances
the man's attention would have afforded him amusement. Just now he was
regretting the manager's remark. "Y'see, ther's a deal to fix. Seein'
he's president this year, why, I guess it's up to him to kep his ladle
busy in the soup."
He moved off the stoop and took his horse from the waiting man. He
swung himself into the saddle with an agility which belied his years.
He waved one great hand in response to the manager's deferential bow,
and turned his horse away. In a moment Bud and Nan were riding side by
side down the wide Avenue.
It was a long time before either attempted to break the silence between
them. They had even reached the outskirts of the city before Nan
broached the subject from which her father admittedly shrank.
"I'm glad Jeff didn't get up to see us off," she said imply. Then she
laughed softly. "Y'see, Daddy, there's times for most things; and
'good-byes' in the early morning are a bit like cold baths in winter."
Bud eyed his daughter with a quick sidelong glance, and then continued
his survey of the trail ahead as it lifted over a gentle grassy slope.
They were passing the last houses of the town, and ahead lay the tawny
fields which made the country one of the greatest pastures in the world.
"Ther'd been no sort o' sense his turning out around sun-up to see us
folks off. It ain't goin' to be weeks before he gets back home."
"No."
Nan's smile remained, and Bud, for all his avoidance of it, was aware
that was so. It was a smile that cut him to the heart, and yet he was
simple man enough to find relief in it.
"There'll be a deal for him to fix before he gets back home," Nan went
on.
She spoke in the earnest fashion of deep consideration. Bud glanced
round at her again, steadying his powerful horse to permit her pony to
push its nose ahead. Her manner had startled him. But he refrained
from the folly of replying. He had that in his mind to impart the
thought of which nearly broke his heart. But it must be told, and by
him. And a passionate desire to lighten the blow made him watch
desperately for the best opportunity.
But he was dealing with a nature stronger, deeper, more honest and
clear-sighted than he knew. He was dealing with a woman who could
sacrifice all to the well-being and happiness of those she loved. With
Nan self held a particularly subservient place to every other emotion.
And when it did manage to obtrude itself it was her way to fight her
battle alone, at a time when no prying eyes were there to witness her
sufferings. To the daylight she presented a pair of sweet brown
smiling eyes, and lips as full, and ripe, and firm as though no shadow
of doubt and unhappiness had ever crossed her path.
She went on rapidly, speaking as though the matter under consideration
were fully accepted between them.
"It's queer how things fix themselves the way you don't guess," she
said reflectively. "Just one week, and they're changed around in a way
that makes you wonder if you aren't dreaming. It's sort of like the
Indian summer, isn't it? There's the beautiful light of the full sun
on colors that set you 'most crazy with delight. Pictures that make
you feel Providence is just the biggest painter ever set brush to
canvas. Then, with a shiver of wind from the north, down the leaves
tumble, and right on top of 'em comes the snow, and then you're moving
around in a sort of crystal fairy web, and wonder when you'll wake up.
A week ago Jeff didn't even know her; she wasn't in the world so far as
he knew. Now he's going to marry her."
Nan stated the fact without a tremor of voice, without a shadow of
hesitation. The sunny smile was entirely without a cloud. Her father
stared down at her from his superior height with eyes wide with
astonishment and something of alarm.
"Say, did Jeff tell you?" he asked sharply.
Nan shook her head.
"Then how in hell d'you know it all? Say----"
"How d'you know anything that affects you here, Daddy?" the girl
retorted, gently indicating her soft rounded bosom with one gauntleted
hand.
Then her smile broke out again, and the man's trouble was further
increased.
"Y'see, I don't mind saying things to you. You're my Daddy and Momma
all rolled into one. And there's sure a heap of you for two," she
smiled up at him. "Maybe you don't always say all the things you feel,
but it don't keep me guessing long. You'd a heap of terr'ble, terr'ble
things on your mind to say to me on this ride. Oh, and they weighed
heavy. Your poor worried face had lost all its smile, and your eyes
just looked as if you'd been lying awake nights an' nights, an' you'd
seen every sort of nightmare ever thought of in the world of dreams.
It made me kind of sorry, and I just couldn't wait for you to make that
big talk you figgered on."
Bud was gazing far out ahead at the brilliant sky-line where the crests
of grass-land cut the line in perfect undulations. Nan's gently drawn
sigh was like the stab of a knife in his heart. His feelings at that
moment were too deep for words. And so the girl went on in a voice
that struck fresh chords of sympathy in the soul of the man who
idolized her.
"It seems to me, my Daddy, that we often think things that a great big
Someone don't guess are good for us to think. We sort of set up hopes
we've no right to. An' when we do, why, we've got to be handed our
lessons. Sometimes the lesson is pretty tough, sometimes I don't guess
it's a deal worse than a pin-prick. Anyway, lessons aren't joyous
things at best, not even pin-pricks. Well, if folks are right they'll
just learn their lessons all they can without kicking, and if they get
a hunch on, why, I don't figger it's likely to make 'em harder. I've
been learning my lesson a whole week now, and, yes, I've got it right.
Oh, I've had to work. It hasn't been easy. And somehow, my Daddy, all
these lovely, lovely gowns, and the thought of the generous hands that
gave them to me, have helped me to learn quicker, and--better."
She paused again. Their horses were ambling leisurely along over the
sandy trail. They moved together, side by side, in a closeness of
companionship which perhaps symbolized that of their riders.
"I jest don't know what to say, Nan. I surely don't," Bud lumbered at
last with a half-bewildered drawing together of his heavy brows. "It
don't seem I ken even think right--about it."
Nan gazed up into his big troubled face with the frank eyes that looked
wholly untroubled.
"Don't try, my Daddy. Guess I've done all that's necessary that way.
Maybe I know just how you're feeling, because I know how I'm feeling.
God's been good to me all my years. He's given me a Daddy who's the
best in the world. A Daddy who's taught me by his own example how to
be strong and fight the little battles I guess it's meant for us to
fight. Oh, I won't say it hasn't hurt," she went on, with a catch in
her voice. "You see, I loved Jeff. I love him now, and I'll go right
on loving him to the end. And it's because I love him I want to help
him now--and always. You won't think me a fool girl, my Daddy, will
you, but--but--I won't hate Elvine van Blooren. I'm--I'm going to try
so hard to like her, and--and anyway, with all my might, I'm going to
help them both. D'you guess Jeff would let me get his house ready
for--his wife?"
The father's reply came with a violence which he calculated should
conceal an emotion which his manhood forbade, but which only helped to
reveal it the more surely to the clear eyes of the girl at his side.
"Hell take the bunch--the whole of 'em!" he cried fiercely. Then he
added weakly: "You're nigh breakin' my heart all to pieces."
But Nan's smile suddenly became radiant, as she turned her brown eyes
away from the spectacle of her father's trouble to the distant horizon
ahead.
She shook her head.
"No, my Daddy. I allow it feels that way just now. I've felt that
way, too. But it's just God's tempering. And when it's through, why I
guess our hearts'll be made of good metal, strong and steady to do the
work He'd have us do. And that's just all we can ask, isn't it?"