What God Hath Joined Together
Dick Lane, on leaving the hospital at Chihuahua, went straight to the
fortified ledge where he had made his heroic defense. As he
conjectured, the renegade, McKee, had got there first, and found and
made off with the buried treasure. So Dick manfully set to work to
replace his lost fortune. It seemed too slow work to go to his mine
and dig the gold he immediately required out of the ground, so he
struck out for civilization to sell some of his smaller claims. In the
course of a month, at the end of which his wanderings brought him to
Tucson, he had sold enough of his holdings to give him three thousand
dollars in ready cash. As he was near the Sweetwater, he resolved not
to express the money to Payson, but to take it himself.
He entered the courtyard of Allen Hacienda while the wedding was taking
place within. None of his friends would have recognized him. His
frame was emaciated from sickness; his head was drawn back by the
torture which he had suffered; he limped upon feet that had been
distorted by the firebrands in McKee's hands; and his face was
overgrown by an unkempt beard.
Sounds of laughter fell upon his ears as he mounted the steps. He heard
Fresno shout to Slim to hurry up, as he was telling the story about a
fellow that was so tanked up he could not say "sasaparilla."
Dick halted. "There must be some sort of a party going on here," he
thought to himself. "It won't do to take Echo too much by surprise.
If Jack got my letter and told her, it's all right, but if it
miscarried--the shock might kill her. I'll see Jack first."
Dick had ridden first to Sweetwater Ranch, but found the place
deserted. The party, he mused, accounted for this. While he was
planning a way to attract the attention of some one in the house, and
to get Payson to the garden without letting Echo know of his presence,
Sage-brush Charley, who had espied the stranger through the window,
sauntered out on the porch to investigate. Every visitor to the
Territory needed looking over, especially after the trouble with Buck
McKee.
Sage-brush was bound that there should be no hitch at the wedding of
his boss.
"Howdy," greeted Lane pleasantly. "I'm looking for Jack Payson."
"That so?" answered Sage-brush. "Who may you be?"
"I'm a friend of his."
The foreman could see no danger to come from this weak, sickly man.
"Then walk right in," he invited; "he's inside."
Sage-brush was about to reenter the house, when Dick halted him with
the request: "I want to see him out here--privately."
"What's the name," asked Sage-brush, his suspicions returning.
"Tell him an old friend from Mexico."
Sage-brush did not like the actions of the stranger and his secrecy.
He was there to fight his boss's battles, if he had any. This was not
in the contract, but it was a part read into the paper by Sage-brush.
"Say, my name's Sage-brush Charley," he cried, with a show of
importance. "I'm ranch-boss for Payson. If you want to settle any old
claim agin' Jack, I'm actin' as his substitoot for him this evenin'."
"On the contrary," said Lane, with a smile at Sage-brush's outbreak,
"he has a claim against me."
It was such a pleasant, kindly look he gave Sage-brush, that the
foreman was disarmed completely.
"I'll tell him," he said over his shoulder.
Dick mused over the changes that had occurred since he had left the
region. Two years' absence from a growing country means new faces, new
ranches, and the wiping out of old landmarks with the advance of
population and the invasion of the railroad. He wondered if Jack would
know him with his beard. He knew--his mirror told him--that his
appearance had changed greatly, and he looked twenty years older than
on the day he left the old home ranch.
His trend of thought was interrupted by the entrance of Jack on the
porch from the house.
"My name's Payson," Jack began hurriedly, casting a hasty glance
backward into the hallway, for the ceremony was about to begin. "You
want to see me?"
"Jack!" cried Dick, holding out his hand eagerly. "Jack, old man,
don't you know me?" he continued falteringly, seeing no sign of
recognition in his friend's eyes.
Payson gasped, shocked and startled. The man before him was a stranger
in looks, but the voice--the voice was that of Dick Lane, the last man
in the world he wanted to see at that moment. Frightened, almost
betraying himself, he glanced at the half-open door. If Dick entered
he knew Echo would be lost to him. She might love him truly, and her
love for Dick might have passed away, but he knew that Echo would never
forgive him for the deception that he had practised upon her.
Grasping his friend's hand weakly, he faltered, "Dick! Dick Lane!"
Jack realized he must act quickly. Some way or somehow Dick must be
kept out of the house until after the marriage. Then he, Jack, must
take the consequences. Dick saw his hesitation. It was not what he
had expected. But something dreadful might have happened while he was
away, there had been so many changes.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked anxiously. "You got my letter? You
knew I was coming?"
"Yes, yes, I know," lamely answered Jack. "But I expected notice--you
know you said--"
"I couldn't wait. Jack, I'm a rich man, thanks to you--"
"Yes, yes, that's all right," said Payson, disclaiming the praise of
the man he had so grievously wronged with a hurried acknowledgment of
his gratitude.
"And I hurried back for fear Echo--"
"Oh, yes. I'll tell her about it, when she's ready to hear it."
"What is the matter, Jack? Are you keeping something from me? Where is
she?"
"In there," said Payson feebly, pointing to the door.
Dick eagerly started toward the house, but Jack halted him, saying:
"No--you mustn't go in now. There's a party-you see, she hasn't been
well, doesn't expect you to-night. The shock might be too much for
her."
Jack grasped at the lame excuse. It was the first to come to his mind.
He must think quickly. This experience was tearing the heart out of
him. He could not save himself from betrayal much longer.
"You're right," acquiesced Dick. "You tell her when you get a chance.
Jack, as I was saying, I've made quite a bit of money out of my Bisbee
holdings. I can pay back my stake to you now."
"Not now," said Jack nervously.
Would this torture never end? Here was his friend, whom he had
betrayed come back in the very hour of his marriage to the woman who
had promised first to marry him. Now he was offering him money, which
Jack needed badly, for his prospective mother-in-law was complaining
about his taking her daughter to a mortgaged home.
"Sure, now," continued Dick, pulling a roll of bills from his pocket.
"It's three thousand dollars--here it is, all in one bundle."
"Not now, let that wait," said Jack, pushing the money aside.
"It's waited long enough," cried Dick doggedly. "You put the mortgage
on your ranch to let me have the money, and it must be about due now."
"Yes, it will be due, but let it wait."
"What's the use? I'm all right now. I brought the cash with me on
purpose. I wanted to square it with you on sight."
Dick pressed the money into Jack's hand, closing his fingers over the
roll of bills. With a sigh of relief, as if a disagreeable task was
completed, he questioned: "How's Bud?"
Jack replied shortly: "All right; he's inside."
"I didn't write to him," cheerfully resumed Dick. "I didn't want the
kid to know. He is so excitable, he would have blabbed it right out.
I'll sure be glad to see the boy again. He's impulsive, but his
heart's all right. I know you've kept a lookout over him."
This trust in him was getting too much for Jack to bear, so the voice
of Polly crying to him to hurry up was music to his ears. "I'm coming,"
he shouted. "I'll see you in a few minutes," he told Dick. "I've
something to tell you. I can't tell you now."
"Go in, then," answered Dick. "I'll wait yonder in the garden. Don't
keep me waiting any longer than you can help."
Dick turned and walked slowly toward the gate which lead to the
kitchen-garden, a part of every ranch home in Arizona. It was cut off
from the house by a straggling hedge, on which Echo had spent many
hours trying to keep it in shape.
Jack hesitated about going into the house. Even if Echo married him,
he knew that she would never forgive him when she learned of his
dastardly conduct from Dick Lane's own mouth. It was better to
sacrifice the life of one to save three lives from being ruined.
Jack followed Lane up, partly drawing his gun. It would be so easy to
shoot him. No one would recognize Dick Lane in that crippled figure.
Jack's friends would believe him if he told them the stranger had drawn
on him, and he had to shoot him in self-defense.
Then the thought of how dastardly was the act of shooting a man in the
back, and he his trusting friend, smote him suddenly, and he replaced
the pistol in its holster. "It is worse than the murder of 'Ole Man'
Terrill," he muttered.
Dick walked on entirely unconscious of how close he had been to death,
with his friend as his murderer.
So interested had the two men been in their conversation, that neither
had noticed Buck McKee hiding behind the hedge, listening to their
talk, and covering Jack Payson, when he was following Dick with his
hand on his revolver. McKee heard Payson's ejaculation, and smiled
grimly.
Jack's absence had aroused Jim Allen, who hurried out on the porch,
storming. "Say, Jack, what do you mean by putting the brakes on this
yere weddin'?"
"Jim--say, Jim! I--want you to do something for me," cried Jack, as he
rushed toward his future father-in-law, greatly excited.
"Sure," answered Allen heartily.
"Stand here at this door during the ceremony, and no matter what
happens don't let any one in."
"But--" interrupted Allen.
"Don't ask me to explain," blurted Jack. "Echo's happiness is at stake."
"That settles it--I've not let any one spile her happiness yet, an' I
won't in the few minutes that are left while I'm still her main
protector. Nobody gets in."
"Remember--no one--no matter who it is," emphasized Jack, as he darted
into the house.
Jim Allen lighted his pipe. "Now, what's eatin' him?" he muttered to
himself. Then, "They're off!" he cried, looking through the window.
The Reverend Samuel Price began to drone the marriage-service.
It is the little things in life that count, after all. Men will work
themselves into hysteria over the buzzing of a fly, and yet plan a
battle-ship in a boiler-shop. A city full of people will at one time
become panic-stricken over the burning of a rubbish-heap, and at
another camp out in the ruins of fire-swept homes, treating their
miseries as a huge joke.
Philosophers write learnedly of cause and effect. In chemistry certain
combinations give certain results. But no man can say: "I will do thus
and so, this and that will follow." All things are possible, but few
things are probable.
Dick Lane had planned to shield Echo by writing to Jack Payson, letting
him break the news of his return. Fate would have it that she would
not know until too late of his escape. A letter sent directly to her
might have prevented much unhappiness and many heartaches. Not till
months later, when happiness had returned, did Jack realize that his
one great mistake was made by not telling Echo of Dick's rescue.
Both Dick and Echo might have had a change of heart when they met
again. Echo was young. Dick had wandered far. Both had lost touch
with common interests. Jack Payson had entered her life as a factor.
He was eager and impetuous; Dick was settled and world-worn by hardship
and much physical suffering. Now Jack was at the altar racked with
mental torture, while Dick waited in the garden for his traitorous
friend. The innocent cause of the tragedy was sweetly and calmly
replying to the questions of the marriage-ritual, while Jack was
looking, as Allen said to himself, "darned squeamish."
"According to these words, it is the will of God that nothing shall
sever the marriage-bond," were the words that fell upon Allen's ears as
he stooped to look in the window at the wedding-party.
"The Sky Pilot's taking a long time to make the hitch. Darned if I
couldn't hitch up a twenty-mule team in the time that he's takin' to
get them two to the pole," said Allen, speaking to himself.
Dick had grown impatient at Jack's absence, and wandered back from the
garden to the front of the house. Spying Allen, he greeted him with
"Hello, Uncle Jim."
"That's my name," answered Allen suspiciously. "But I ain't uncle to
every stranger that comes along."
"I'm no stranger," laughed Dick. "You know me."
"Do I?" replied Allen, unconvinced. "Who are you?"
"The poor orphan you took from an asylum and made a man of--Dick Lane."
"Dick Lane!" repeated the astonished ranchman. "Come back from the
dead!"
"No, I ain't dead yet," answered Dick, holding out his hand, which
Allen gingerly grasped, as if he expected to find it thin air. "I
wasn't killed. I have been in the hospital for a long time. I wrote
Jack--he knows."
"My God!" Allen cried. "Jack knows--you wrote to him--he knows." Over
and over he repeated the astonishing news which had been broken to him
so suddenly. Here was a man, as if back from the dead, standing in his
own dooryard, telling him that Jack knew he was alive. No word had
been told him. What could Echo say? This, then, explained Jack's
strange request, and his distress.
"And Echo?" Dick questioned, glancing toward the house.
"Echo." The name aroused Allen. He saw at once that he must act
definitely and quickly. Echo must not see Dick now. It was too late.
The secret of his return on the wedding-day must be known only to the
three men.
"Look here, Dick," he commanded. "You mustn't let her see you--she
mustn't know you are alive."
Dick was growing confused over the mystery which was being thrown about
Echo Allen. First Jack had told him he must wait to see her, and now
her father tells him he must never see her again, or let her know that
he is alive. His strength was being overtaxed by all this evasion and
delay.
"Dick," said Allen, with deep sympathy, laying his hand upon the man's
shoulder. "She's my daughter an' I want her life to be happy. Can't
you see? Do you understand? She thinks you're dead."
"What are you saying?" cried Dick, trying to fathom the riddle.
"You've come back too late, Dick," sadly explained Allen.
"Too late," echoed Dick. "There's something back of all this. I'll see
her now."
He started to enter the door, but Allen restrained him. "You can't go
in," he shouted to the excited man, and pushed him down the steps. It
was an easy task for him for Dick was too weak to offer much
resistance. "No, you won't," he gently told him. His heart bled for
the poor fellow, whom he loved almost as a son, but Echo's happiness
was at stake, and explanations could come later. More to emphasize his
earnestness than to indicate intention to shoot, he laid his hand on
the butt of his revolver, saying: "Not if I have to kill you."
Dick began to realize that whatever was wrong was of the greatest
consequence. It was a shock to him to have his oldest, his best friend
in the West treat him in this fashion.
"Jim!" he cried in his anguish.
"You've got to go back where you came from, Dick," sternly answered the
ranchman. "If ever you loved my daughter, now's your chance to prove
it--she must never know you're livin--"
"But--"
"It's a whole lot I'm askin' of you, Dick," continued Allen. "But if
you love her, as I think you do, it may be a drop of comfort in your
heart to know that by doin' this great thing for her, you'll be makin'
her life better and happier."
"I do love her," cried Dick passionately; "but there must be some
reason--tell me."
Allen held up his hand to warn Dick to be silent. He beckoned him to
follow him. Slowly he led him to the door, and, partly opening it,
motioned him to listen.
"Forasmuch as John Payson and Echo Allen have consented together in
holy wedlock" were the words that fell upon his ears.
As the doomed man stands, motionless, before his judges, and hears his
death-sentence read without a tremor, ofttimes thinking of some trifle,
so Dick stood for a moment. At first he did not fully realize what it
all meant. Then the full depth of his betrayal flooded him. "What?"
he cried. "Payson!" Allen held him back.
Again the minister's voice fell upon their ears repeating the solemn
words. "And have declared the same before God and in the presence of
these witnesses, I pronounce them husband and wife. What God hath
joined together, let no man put asunder."
Dick, shaken and hurt, slowly sank to his knees, covering his face with
his hands. A dry sob shook his frame. Here was the end of all his
hopes. Here was the sad reward for years of toil and waiting.
"Now you know why you can't stay here," said Allen, his tones full of
pity.
"Now I know."
Dick staggered to his feet, and started blindly from the house.
"Dick!" cried Allen, in a broken voice, "forgive me. She's my child,
she loves him now."
The betrayed friend took his hand without looking at him. In vain he
tried to hide his deep emotion. "I know," he faltered, "I'll never
trouble her. I'll go away never to return."
"Where'll you go?" asked Allen.
"Back where I came from, back into the desert--into the land of dead
things. Good-by!"
As he wrung the ranchman's hand and turned to walk out of the life of
his old comrades and the woman he loved, he heard the minister repeat:
"The blessing of the Almighty Father rest upon and abide with you, now
and forevermore. Amen."
"Evermore. Amen!" faltered Dick, bidding a last mute farewell to Allen.
The old ranchman watched him quietly as he mounted his horse and rode
down the trail.
His reverie was interrupted by the bursts of laughter of the
wedding-guests, and the cries of Fresno: "Kiss the bride, Slim! Kiss
the bride!"