AND DISCOVERS HETTY'S BROTHER
However, when he joined Lafe at the stables that afternoon, he looked a
very chastened individual. Had Lafe seen the gradual transition in mood,
from huge merriment to exasperation and then protest and resentful
surrender, he would have understood better. Horne volunteered nothing of
what had passed, so he went to Mrs. Horne. That lady informed him that
her husband would use his best endeavor with the commandant. There
appeared to be no question in her mind that this was the only course
open to him, and Johnson, who had come prepared for a few timely jokes
on the matter, muttered: "Yes, ma'am, I sure am obliged," and walked
away like a chidden child.
Two weeks later he moved his outfit south again. And at their old camp
on the San Pedro, Wilkins walked in on them. His advent was not
unexpected, but Lafe found it impossible to give him more than frigid
civility. The man had been recreant to his trust and he was going to get
out of it through the intercession of women; that was enough to damn him
in the eyes of Lafe and his kind.
"Howdy," said Wilkins unconcernedly. "I'm going back."
"So I done heard."
"I got the letter here," Wilkins continued, fumbling in his shirt bosom.
"He says if I go back, they'll let me off easy on account of previous
good conduct."
"Huh-huh. Sure," said the boss grimly, "I'll let you have a horse and
you can ride with us in the morning. We start at four o'clock,
remember."
A sergeant of cavalry and two troopers sat their horses beside the big
corrals where the custom men inspect the cattle, when the cavalcade
arrived. They led a spare mount. At sight of them, Wilkins left the
party and loped ahead. The soldiers waited for him on the other side. He
went unhesitatingly through the gate--jubilant, alert and smiling, like
a girl going to her first dance. The sergeant advanced and Wilkins
extended his hand. The soldier ignored it.
"Here's your horse, Johnson," said Wilkins. "You've been mighty decent.
Muchas gracias. All right, Osborne. I'm ready."
"Hold on," Lafe cut in; "say, wait a minute. What's the matter, anyhow?
What's it all about? I want to get the rights of this."
"A deserter, Mr. Johnson," said the sergeant. "He used to be in Troop F.
Ran off, he did. Some post exchange funds went, too."
"That's a lie," Wilkins shouted; "I never touched a cent. And you know
it better'n anybody else, Osborne."
"We've been chasing him a year, Mr. Johnson."
Wilkins was watching Lafe much as a dog would watch his master to see
whether he was angry. "I'd like to talk to you a minute, if you're
agreeable, Mr. Johnson." The sergeant nodded acquiescence, and he led
Lafe aside. "It's a wonder you'll speak to me after that. Osborne,
there--he wouldn't shake hands."
"I'm not a soldier," the boss said guardedly.
"And I'm not a thief. You believe that, don't you? It was the rotten
sameness of the life. Oh, you know how it is--and Mary Lou
waiting--well, I hated the post, and it wasn't long before I grew to
hate the boys. What'd you say? Sure, they're all right. But when you're
cooped up with the same crowd day in and day out, the best men on earth
will soon hate one another. You ain't never done it, so you don't know.
Nothing to see but those ol' mountains, solemn as death all the time."
He broke off, striving to compose himself. "See that high one yonder? I
swear I've seen it nodding at me. Yes, sir, just like this. And Mary Lou
and her father--oh, I got afraid of those hills--honest to God, I did.
And the boys--why even your cowboys look down on us. And Mary Lou--so I
beat it and swore I'd never come back."
"But you did."
"That's the queer part of it"--he laughed without mirth--"I can't
rightly explain that myself. Mary Lou--no, I'd have come back anyhow. I
was going dippy down there among the yellow-bellies. And Mary Lou,
she--"
He told Lafe that he had wandered four times to the line, merely to get
a glimpse of the country. The air this side of the border fence was
different to the other; he was positive of that, although the boundary
consisted of some strands of barbed wire. Once a corporal, returning
from Naco to the post, had come upon him a mile within American
territory. What was he doing there? Oh, just looking round. He had taken
back with him a prickly-pear plant. The corporal had almost caught
Wilkins that time, but he managed to put the fence between them. On the
other side he could twiddle his fingers at the corporal, who dared not
pursue.
Johnson was puzzled and said so. "What were you hanging round here for?
With a good job at the mines, you had a chance to start all over again."
"That's what I'm a-telling you, consarn it. With the whole wide world to
wander in, I kept sneaking back to this fence like a sick pup. Ain't it
hell?" The aching sadness of a very homesick man had him fast. He stared
up the San Pedro valley and drew in a slow, deep breath. His voice was
unsteady when he tried to resume.
"And Mary Lou--I sent her messages, and she kept saying--"
"Oh, well," said Lafe, "if you're going to cry over it, I'm off. Adios."
"Don't be a bloody fool. Hey, wait a minute, Johnson."
The escort could not be kept waiting all night, the sergeant shouted.
"Keep your shirt on, Osborne. I'll have to be quiet long enough from
to-day."
"About three years, I'm thinking," the sergeant said gloatingly.
Wilkins let the remark pass. He was gazing at two riders who were
advancing down the lane towards the corrals. "Why--no, it can't be. Yes,
it is. It's Mary Lou."
It was, indeed, Mary Lou; and Lafe's wife was with her. Johnson was not
especially pleased to see her there, but he wisely refrained from
comment. The two women approached the group. Mary Lou shook hands
gravely with Wilkins and Lafe was glad that he did not try to kiss her,
or betray any sentimental weakness. The pair accepted the situation
soberly and Mary Lou called to her friend to come forward.
"This," she said shyly, "is Bill. Shake hands with Mrs. Johnson, Bill."
"How do you--Bob, Bob! It's you," Hetty squealed.
The manner of Mrs. Johnson's introduction was this--she jumped her horse
close to the deserter and clasped him in her arms. He was equally
fervent on his part. He held her tight and cried: "Hetty! Little Hetty."
Lafe experienced a not unnatural curiosity. He thrust between them and
wanted to know who the gentleman might be who seemed so fond of his
wife, and, glaring at that unabashed young woman, inquired what she
meant by it. The troopers were grinning. The sergeant looked annoyed.
"Why, Lafe dear, this is Bob."
"So I done heard you say," said Lafe. "Bob who? What're you hugging him
for?"
"He's my brother."
The boss's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth and he sat dumbly,
looking at his wife. Mary Lou and Hetty were patting Wilkins' hand and
making much of him. They did not seem to appreciate the fact that he was
an outcast and a prisoner, but treated him as if they had every reason
to be proud of this reunion.
"So your name ain't Wilkins? It's Ferrier?" Lafe said slowly.
"Yes," said the other.
"Oh, Lafe, we must get him off sure."
Johnson silenced her and turned his back on the deserter. Curtly he told
Hetty that the escort was waiting. He ordered her to come with him and
to bring Mary Lou.
"Tell Bob good-by," she insisted.
"So long," said the boss grudgingly.
"No, that won't do. You've got to shake hands with him."
Lafe glanced at her radiant face and what he was about to say never came
out. He stuck out his long arm towards Wilkins, who grasped his hand
eagerly.
The misery of indecision had dropped from the deserter like a cloak that
is shed. He laughed encouragingly over his shoulder at Hetty, as he
turned to leave.
"Did you expect me to holler, Johnson?" he asked. "Not much! Why, this
is going home, to me."
"Ready?" Osborne cried.
"And when I get out, I'll be able to look you boys in the face, too. Not
you, Osborne. You can't look me in the eye right now. Pshaw! What is a
year in a lifetime?"
"Quit your preaching. Come on."
"Adios, Mary Lou. Adios, Hetty. So long, Johnson. I'll see you soon."
"Guard and prisoner--'tention! Fours--left about--march!"
They swung around and made northwest, Wilkins in their midst. He was
making his horse prance and was humming "Dixie." Once he looked back and
waved his arm in a wide gesture towards the Huachucas, towering on the
left; to the right, the straggling Mules range; and the San Pedro valley
between, stretching away for eighty miles.
"What about this little ol' country now, hey?" he shouted. "What do you
think of her, hey? How about this air? Lord!"
Hetty waved at him, but Mary Lou, who had drawn out a handkerchief to do
the same, wept into it instead. They started slowly homeward, Lafe
ambling along in gloomy quiet. Hetty did not perceive his mood, being
too uplifted over her brother's recovery to be cognizant of lesser
things. She ranged beside her husband. There were tears on her cheeks,
but she was smiling and humming "Dixie."
"Isn't it just like heaven? Here I haven't seen him in six years. Just
think of finding him like this. Oh, I never thought I could be so
happy."
"You bet," the boss said scathingly. "This is simply great, this is.
He's gone to jail, I suppose you know? And I've got to get him out, I
reckon."
"You can do that all right," Hetty declared--she had a vague idea that
Lafe administered the entire law of the land, the High justice and the
Low--"What does the jail matter, anyhow? We've got him back."
"Yes, it's all right now," Mary Lou agreed and dried her eyes.
"Oh, pshaw," said Lafe, settling to the ride. "What's the use?"