THE KNOCKING ON THE DOOR
It seemed like the hand of Destiny that Elvine van Blooren should
wander across the path of Jeffrey Masters at a moment when all the
fruits of his ambition seemed to be falling into his outspread-hands.
It was surely the work of Fate that instant recognition of her
desirability leaped in his heart, so that some six weeks later they
should set out on their life's journey together on the eastward bound
mail train, which bore, in its foremost van, the mails for the world
outside, gathered in from every district in the region of Calthorpe.
Their happiness was perfect. In six weeks' time the metamorphosis in
the woman had been as complete as it was in the case of the man.
For the man it seemed that life had opened out an entirely new vista.
He had warmed under the influence of his new passion. The angles in
his character seemed to have softened. Achievement had receded into
its due proportion in his focus. The world had become peopled with
warm living creatures whose strivings were now a source of sympathy to
him. Life no longer moved about him detached, unappealing.
So with the woman. Elvine van Blooren's past was her own. Whatever it
was she hugged it to herself, and the very process of doing so had
helped to harden her.
But she possessed fires she had wilfully hidden, even from herself.
For four years she had lived a life of desperate calculation against
all those things she most dreaded, till she felt she had converted
herself into a machine free from all trammeling emotions, equipped
solely to execute the purpose she had set her mind on.
These fires were awakened early. Their awakening had been all unknown
to her. Yet she had admitted them when she had warned her mother that
she intended to "like" the man she ultimately married. All
subconsciously she had "liked" Jeffrey Masters from their first formal
meeting. Further acquaintance had deepened her liking. The keen eyes
possessed strong qualities of appeal. The decision of his clean-cut
face suggested all that strength which appealed to her.
The culmination was reached long before the appointed day of their
wedding. It came at the moment he definitely asked her to become his
wife. It had been a moment to her than which she had dreamed of
nothing more sublime. The flood-gates had been literally forced open
before a tide of sudden passion, which left her gasping, and something
incredulous. Where was all the result of her years of hard
calculation? Where was that machine upon which she had gazed with so
much confident pride? It had only served her just so long as was
required to realize that Jeffrey Masters was sufficiently desirable to
fulfil the purposes of the life she had marked out for herself. Then,
the primitive woman in her had abandoned herself to the glowing fires
burning deep within her young heart.
Thus the bond held them both through delicious days, which so little
time before had seemed impossible to either. Thus the time drew on
toward the golden day of consummation. And with each passing day
firmer and firmer, more and more irresistible, grew the ties under
which they were held.
As the local press had foreshadowed, the event of their marriage proved
of primary social importance. All Calthorpe speeded them upon their
life's journey, and the east-bound mail bore them away with the echo of
cheery farewells, and every other form of speeding, dying pleasantly
away behind them. So, too, the snake-like string of coaches bore the
burden of Destiny in the great uninteresting, padlocked baskets and
bags which contained the mail.
The days of the honeymoon had been carefully thought out by Elvine.
Her wishes had been supreme. Toronto was their first destination. A
city whose bright, pleasant life appealed to her more, perhaps, even
than any of the great cities of the greater world.
Perfect happiness was theirs from the moment of their departure
eastward. No cloud drifted in sight during their first day in the
great hotel from which they intended to view the life of Toronto. Then
came the second morning, and the--mail.
They occupied a suite of rooms upon the first floor of the hotel. It
overlooked the wide portico which supported a deep balcony devoted to
their sole use. Jeff was alone in the luxurious sitting-room when the
mail was brought in by a waiter. He was glancing down the morning
paper while he waited for Elvine, who was preparing for a morning round
of the stores.
His attention for the news he read was less than scant. It is doubtful
if he read more than the head-lines, and these only with partial
understanding. His mind was upon the beautiful woman in the adjacent
apartment arraying herself with all the arts of a woman in love for the
benefit of the man whose regard is alone worth while.
His eyes were smiling unconsciously; something of the keenness of his
whole expression had become lost under their new expression. Dressed
in the simple garb of civilization he had little about him, beyond the
intense sunburn of his face, to remind one of the urgent young ranchman
who had first planned the combination which was to develop into the
famous Obar Ranch.
At the arrival of the mail he flung his paper aside. Then he picked up
each letter in turn, examined the address, and set aside, in a separate
pile, those addressed to his wife. Of his own there were only four,
and, of these, only the one addressed in Bud's cumbersome handwriting
interested him seriously.
Before opening it he pierced and lit a cigar. He felt that from its
bulk the letter must contain important reports from the ranch, and,
coming at such a time, would need the steadying influence of a cigar to
enable him to give them the consideration necessary.
He lounged back in the big chair and leisurely tore open the envelope.
* * * * * *
The door communicating with the principal bedroom opened noiselessly.
Elvine entered the sitting-room, accompanied by that delightful rustle
of silk which is quite irresistible to male ears. At all times a
beautiful woman, just now she was incomparable.
A joy of life lit every feature, endowing her with an animation of
expression unrecognizable in her a few short weeks ago. There was a
melting lustre in her dark eyes, a gentleness in the smiling corners of
her irresistible mouth. Her cheeks, even, seemed to have gained an
added softness of contour. While the masses of dark hair revealed
beneath her hat shone with the burnish of the raven's wing.
Her husband had turned on the instant. His cigar was flung aside. A
moment later he was on his feet, and his arms, full of vital impulse,
came near to destroying the perfection of her toilet.
The woman made no protest under the embrace. It told her so many
things she wanted to know. It told her of the love she now so frankly
desired. It told her, too, that the efforts on her toilet had not been
ill-spent.
Presently Jeff stood back, holding her at arm's length, while his
hungry eyes devoured every feature of the face that had taught him so
much of the real meaning of life.
"Splendid--just splendid!" he exclaimed.
"My--gown?"
The smile was enticing. The man laughed out of the buoyancy of his
heart.
"No--you!" he cried, leaning forward for the embrace she had invited.
A moment later he stood back again, and Elvine's eyes fell upon the
mail lying upon the table.
"Some for me?" she inquired, moving toward it.
Jeff nodded. Then his smile died out. His gaze had fallen upon his
own open letter. It was lying upon the table near the pile set aside
for his wife, just where he had flung it down at the moment of her
entrance.
"Quite a few," he said.
The unsmiling nature of his response had caught Elvine's attention.
But she picked up her letters and glanced hastily through them.
A moment later her eyes came back to his face.
"Aren't you going to finish yours?" she inquired.
She was seeking the meaning of that suddenly banished smile.
It was almost with eagerness that the man caught at the opportunity.
"It's from Bud, and--I guess it's important. I've only two or three
pages more."
He picked the letter up and sorted the sheets into order. Elvine
watched him. She wanted to ask a dozen questions. But she put none of
them.
"He's your partner," was all she said.
"Yep," he nodded, with his eyes on the pages.
Then Elvine voiced something of her real feelings of the moment.
"I just hate mail," she said, with what seemed unnecessary force, as
she began to draw on her gloves. "It always worries me to death. I
think it scares me. Makes me think of death, or disaster, or--or bills
and things." She laughed. "Maybe it's my pessimistic nature makes me
feel that way. When things are all sunshiny and fine, why, it kind of
feels to me there are clouds around. Nasty, mean, hateful shadows
lurking, full of----"
"Hell for some one, eh?"
There was a wry twist to the man's lips as he smiled his reply.
"Guess that's how it is with mine," he went on. "I'll just read these
pages, and then we'll get going. Eh?"
The woman's watchful eye smiled assent and she continued to draw her
gloves on. But her observation of him seemed to gather intensity the
moment he became absorbed in the clumsy, unskilled handwriting.
The last vestige of his smile had gone. His fair brows had knitted in
a troubled frown. He seemed to read eagerly but intently, absorbed to
an unusual degree.
She realized the seriousness of that letter. And for some curious
reason alarm supervened. He had spoken of it easily, but his manner of
reading denied his spoken word.
The silent moments irked her. The rustle of the paper in his hands. A
feeling of foreboding grew, a feeling she knew was foolish, but which
at the same time was irresistible. She found herself speculating as to
the contents of the letter. She strove to review all the possibilities
which the great Obar Ranch could offer for disaster. And her mind
drifted back over years to a memory that gave her not a shadow of
comfort.
The last button of her gloves had been secured when the refolding of
the letter came. Jeff deliberately, but abstractedly, returned it to
its cover. His smile was scarcely a happy one when he finally looked
up.
"I'm through, sweetheart," he said. "Shall we----?"
But Elvine's feelings would no longer be denied.
"Serious as all that?" she demanded. The next moment she would have
given worlds to have been able to recall the words.
"I'm afraid it is--in a way."
Elvine had no option but to continue the subject. She spoke with real
feeling.
"May I know, dear?" she appealed. "You see, Jeff, things often read
worse than they are. Maybe I can help. I've a clearer head than you'd
guess."
The man's cheeks flushed. He had distressed her, frightened her, and
the thought of it annoyed him. He stepped toward her, his hands
outheld. She responded, and her hands were caught in his firm warm
clasp.
"Say, I'm just sorry. I surely am. Guess I've no sort of right
scaring you. Anyway, there's nothing to be scared about. Just a bunch
of rustlers----"
"Cattle thieves?"
The woman's whole expression had become transformed. The announcement
had shocked her out of her self-possession. Her smile had fled. Her
eyes were wide, and their dark depths were full of a horror that seemed
quite uncalled for. Even her cheeks had lost their delicate bloom.
Her gaze was held fast by the man's steady regard. It was almost a
fascinated stare held under some powerful hypnotic influence.
The man was at a loss. But he promptly claimed the fault to himself.
"Don't just worry a thing, Evie," he cried, in real distress. "It
don't amount to anything. And anyway you don't need to worry. We can
deal with it. I best tell you right away. You see, it's their second
play since I've been from home. Bud's feeling sore. First it was a
great imported bull they shot up while they ran off his cows, and a
dandy bunch of yearling prize stock. Now--now it's a swell bunch of
fifty beeves that had been fattening for the buyers. The loss don't
hurt. Oh, no, it's not that."
He paused. Somehow their hands fell apart, and, to the woman, now
recovering herself, it was as though some shadow had thrust itself
between them. She waited, vaguely troubled. Somehow speech for the
moment had become impossible to her. She was thinking, thinking far
back amidst scenes she had no desire to recall.
Her husband went on. His manner had lost all the contrition he had
displayed at alarming her. It was abstracted. He too seemed to be
thinking deeply, far away amidst scenes which afforded him only the
deepest pain.
"I've just thought," he said. Then he raised one strong hand and
passed it across his broad forehead. He drew a profound sigh. "Say, I
wonder," he went on reflectively. "It's things Bud's said in his yarn.
Suspicions. They brought up all sorts of queer things to my mind."
The smile he essayed was a hopeless failure. Then, in a moment, all
doubt seemed to pass away and he spoke with quick, keen decision.
"I'll have to tell you, Evie. You'd sort of made me forget. These
days have been the happiest I've ever known, and you've made 'em so.
That's how I forgot to tell you of things I guess you ought to know."
But the woman before him had no desire for his present mood. She
smilingly shook her head in a decided negative. The last thing she
desired was anything in the nature of a confidence.
"Is there any need--now?" she asked. Then she smiled. "The stores are
waiting."
But she had yet to learn the real character of the man whom she had
married. She had yet to understand the meaning of the simple sobriquet
"Honest Jeff," which Nan Tristram had long since bestowed upon him. He
was not the man to be turned from a decision once taken. The decision
on this occasion was arrived at through the depth of the passionate
devotion which controlled his every thought. His love for Elvine made
his purpose only the more irrevocable.
"I think they had best wait a shade longer," he said with a shadowy
smile. "You see, Evie, I kind of figure there's things that matter
more than just gathering in the fancy goods money'll buy--even for you.
Guess I owe you most everything a man can give, the same as you feel
toward me. That's how marriage--marriage like ours--seems to me. As
far as I can make it there's not going to be a thing on my conscience
toward you. I'd have told you this before, only--only you just drove
it right out of my head with the sight of your beautiful face, the
sound of your voice, which I just love, and the thought that you--you
were to be my wife. You see," he went on simply, "I hadn't room in my
head for anything else."
His manner was so firmly gentle that Elvine's protest melted before it.
After all it was very sweet, and--and---- She drew a chair forward and
sat down. But her smile hid her real feelings. Confidences,
confessions, even from a husband, were repugnant to her.
Jeff remained standing. He gazed for a few silent moments in the
direction of the open window. The expression of his blue eyes
suggested a deep, searching introspection. He might have been
searching for an opening. Again, he might simply have been reviewing
scenes which stirred his innermost soul with their horror and pain.
At last, however, Elvine made a half impatient movement. Instantly the
blue eyes turned in her direction, and their expression startled her.
They were full of a stony, passionless regard. Not for her, but
inspired by the thought behind them. She shivered under their gaze and
their impression upon her was never afterward obliterated.
"It's four years past now," he began, in a voice she scarcely
recognized. "These rustlers brought it all back to me. Say, Evie, I
had a twin brother, Ronald. Maybe that won't convey much. I sort of
loved him--better than myself. That's all. He was a bit queer. I
mean he just didn't care a heap for running along the main trail of
things. He was apt to get all mussed up running around byways. Well,
when Bud and I fixed up the Obar partnership, I was just crazy to hunt
Ronny down, and hand him a share. Bud's a great feller, and I told
him. I knew whereabouts the boy had staked out, and, figuring we'd
earned a vacation, Bud and I set out to round him up, and hand him a
piece which I guessed would keep him with me the rest of his life."
He paused. He drew a deep breath, and his eyes, hard as marble, had
turned again in the direction of the window.
Elvine was held even against herself. The expression of his eyes, even
more than the curious sharpness of his voice, troubled her, alarmed her.
"I'm not going to yarn more than necessary," he went on after a moment.
"There isn't any need. I just want to give you the deadly facts. As I
said, I knew his layout, where he was--supposed to be trapping pelts.
Supposed. Bud had been raised in the district, so he acted scout. He
made the location and found him. D'you know how?"
There was a restrained fierceness in the sharp demand.
The woman shook her head. Any word would have seemed out of place.
"Hanging by the neck to the bough of a tree."
"Jeff, don't!" the woman gasped.
But now there was a smile in the man's eyes. It was a terrible smile
which drove every vestige of color from his wife's cheeks.
"I had to tell you," he cried harshly. "They hanged him for a cattle
thief. He was one. Oh, yes. He was one. That's why I had to tell
you."
The woman's eyes were wide with a sudden terror to which the man
remained oblivious.
"But you said----"
"I said he was pelt hunting. So he'd told me. So I believed. But he
wasn't. Say, he was a cattle rustler running a big gang who'd played
hell with the district. He'd been running it for nigh five years.
He'd beaten 'em to a mush, all that time, till a reward was offered. A
reward of ten thousand dollars. That fixed him. There was some one
knew wanted that reward, and--got it."
There was a sudden movement in the room. Elvine had abruptly risen
from her chair. She moved away. She crossed to the window, and stood
with her back turned, and so had thrust herself into her husband's
focus.
"It's--it's a terrible--dreadful story," came her faltering comment.
"Terrible? Dreadful?" The man emitted a sound that might have been a
laugh. A shudder passed down the woman's back as it fell upon her
ears. "But it's nothing to the reality, Evie. Oh, I've no sympathy
for his crimes. I hate rustlers like the poison they are. But he was
twin to me, and I loved him. It made no difference to me. You see, he
was part of me. Now--now I only hope the good God'll let me come up
with the man who took the price of his blood. For four years I've
dreamed that way, and I guess it don't matter if it's fifty more. I'll
never change. There's some one, somewhere, who's lower down than the
worst cattle rustler ever lived."
There was no response as the man ceased speaking. Elvine had not
stirred from her place at the window. The moments passed. Swift,
poignant moments, in which two people were enduring an agony of
recollection.
The man's relentless expression never changed. His eyes were gazing
straight ahead. And though his vision was obstructed by the perfect
contours of his wife's figure, he was gazing through her, and beyond
her, upon a scene which had for its central interest the suspended
figure of a man with his head lolling forward and sideways, and his
dead eyes bulging from their sockets.
Elvine never stirred. Her gaze was upon the crowded thoroughfare
beyond. But like her husband, she was gazing through and beyond. She
was watching the tongues of flame as they licked up the resinous trunks
and foliage of a great pine bluff.
At length it was the woman's voice broke the silence.
"Where--where did this all happen?"
The question was the verbal expression of a despairing hope. The
voice, however, was steady.
"In the Cathills."
"The Lightfoot gang?"
"Yes. That's what he called it. You knew of them?"
There was a slight movement of the woman's shoulders. It was the
faintest possible shrug.
"Everybody in Calthorpe heard of them."
Then she turned and faced him. The mask with which she confronted him
was perfect. Her dark beauty was unimpaired by a sign of emotion.
Even her cheeks had returned to their customary delicate bloom. Her
eyes shone with a world of sympathy as she came toward him.
"Jeff, don't think of it all--now, dear. It's too, too dreadful.
Guess I was wrong to let you tell me. I certainly was. It's past.
It's done with. Nothing can ever bring him back to you. To dwell upon
it, to think and feel that way, will only serve to embitter your life.
Say, try, Jeff. I'll help you, dear. I will. Sure. Sure. Won't you
try, for--my sake?"
The man took her hands in his. He drew her toward him. The strained
expression of his eyes melted before her perfect beauty.
"I'll try, Evie," he said, without conviction. Then he kissed her.
After a while she looked up.
"And the stores, Jeff?"
The man smiled down in response.
"Sure--the stores."