"And when do you start?"
"To-morrow night. There's a freight going down."
"All right. Pity you hadn't come earlier. Mrs. Mills left only a couple
of hours ago. But I'll ride over this afternoon, get her written
authority, then meet you at the railroad."
Riding back to Los Arboles, they perfected their plans. They were,
indeed, in sight of the buildings before Benson switched the
conversation to Lee. Her oldest and stanchest friend, it was his right
to know, and Bull told all, from his plotting with the widow down to the
disastrous ending in the sudden engagement.
"The little spitfire!" Benson grinned. "Hello! What's that?"
It was Lee's horse galloping down a distant slope toward the _hacienda_.
In that wild country a riderless beast generally bespoke tragedy.
Without a word they galloped off in the direction from which the beast
had come; rode at top speed until Benson, who had gained a lead,
suddenly reined in.
A bunch of chaparral intervened, at first, between Bull and the object
at which the other was pointing. Then, rising in his stirrups, he saw
Lee and Gordon on the one horse; at least in Bull's sight it was a
horse. In that of the lovers, horses, plains, _haciendas_, and other
commonplaces of ordinary existence had vanished, leaving them
unconscious of time and space, proceeding magically through the
aforesaid illumined dream.
Perhaps some touch of their feeling wirelessed across the intervening
space, for Benson's harshness melted, delight burst like sunlight
through Bull's truculence.
"That's too good to spoil," Benson whispered. "Let them go by."
They had passed over the next ridge before Bull spoke. "I tol' you Mrs.
Mills could do it. She's a right smart woman."
"A fine woman!" Benson echoed. "I don't know what you are thinking
about. Now if I were single----" He burst out laughing at Bull's blush.
Instantly it was drowned in brighter scarlet. But this faded as Bull
noted the kindly twinkle in the other's eye. He shook his head in
deprecation.
"What c'd a nice woman do with a bear like me?"
"That's her business. I'm not denying that it would some job." Benson
critically surveyed Bull's great bulk. "But if there's anything in the
world a woman loves it is making a man over, like an old dress. After
she finishes, she generally realizes that she's spoiled the material and
wishes him back as he was. But in the mean time she has had her fun.
I'll bet Mary Mills is just itching to try her hand on you."
"Do you really mean that?" Bull looked up with sudden hope--that quickly
died. He shook his big head. "She deserves something better. I'd only
spoil her life."
Nevertheless, he relapsed into deep thought, returning only
monosyllables to Benson's talk. The little seed thus planted rooted deep
in his silence.
Strange is first love with its intense desire for purity! Cleanliness is
next to Godliness, and Godliness is Love. Thus Cleanliness must be next
of kin to Love.
If this be doubted, observe a ten-year-old boy, self-convicted of
water-marks on his neck and soil in his ears enough to grow potatoes.
See him scrub himself with profuse use of soap till his countenance
shines so that it might serve as a mirror for the small charmer who has
ensnared his budding affections with her bright curls. Watch him, later,
a man grown, solicitous about his daily tub, careful of his raiment,
choice in cravats! Later his wife shall drive him with revilings to his
bath! Coming to cases, observe Gordon in the bunk-house after a cooling
shower, carefully arranging his tie on the bosom of a brand-new shirt.
Now observe a girl, a vestal in purity, delicately perfumed, flowering
in her ribands and laces like a pretty bud. At some time all of them
earnestly desire that they had been born men. Yet one moment there is
when they are unfeignedly glad to be women. So Lee, who was perhaps even
a bit more boyish than the average, came to lunch in a soft white dress
with a flower at her throat, powdered and delicately perfumed, bright
hair framing happy eyes, every soft line and fold proclaiming her
womanhood. Like an emanation, soft and effulgent as moonlit mist, the
fullness of her content proceeded from her, wrapped her in a bright
atmosphere in the midst of which she softly brooded. Not that she was
silent. She laughed and talked; seriously discussed Benson's schemes.
But that was all of the surface. Behind the chatter she lived in the
enchantment of her dream.
It was too marked to pass unnoticed. But if Bull and Benson saw the
clinging of glances, sensed the pulsing feeling, they observed with the
friendly indulgence of experience the young man's honest devotion, the
girl's shy happiness. During the long hour they sat talking after lunch,
no silly jest marred its beauty. Except for a greater kindliness of
manner, with delicacy quite foreign to his harsh exterior, Benson gave
no hint of his understanding up to the moment he rode away.
Then for a brief moment Bull was taken into the dream. While Gordon went
for his horse, Lee packed his saddlebags with clean things for the
journey, and was giving him the usual last critical inspection. As he
stood smiling down on her, hugely pleased, her eyes rose from the tie
she was arranging to his; and as she read their sympathy and
intelligence, she clasped his neck and hid her face against his broad
breast.
Until the beat of hoofs at the _patio_ gate announced Gordon's return,
he held her to him with one arm while the other hand gently patted her
shoulder. Neither spoke. Words would have told less. When she withdrew
and walked with him to the gate, she was soothed and comforted as any
girl that ever made a confidante of her mother.
When she ran back after the quirt he had purposely left on the table, he
had time to pass a word to Gordon. "Remember, she don't leave this house
to go _anywhere_ alone!"
Gordon nodded, and, satisfied, he rode away with Lee's last charge
floating after him, "Come home soon!"
The words were still ringing in his ears, he still felt the firm, cool
clasp on his neck, when he drew rein at the first rise and looked back
at the _hacienda_. From one corner, where an _anciano_ had burned some
rubbish, rose a lazy pennon of smoke, but the brown girls, women, and
children who usually filled the compound with restless life were in full
enjoyment of the noon _siesta_. Within its bright walls, the place dozed
in the pleasant shade of its towering cottonwoods.
Somehow the stillness recalled to Bull's mind the Spaniard's house he
had shown Gordon from the railroad--sacked, burned, its vacant windows
staring like empty eyes over the desert. His face clouded. He moved
uneasily in his saddle, but presently the golden peace that incited the
memory worked its own remedy. Jake and Sliver and Gordon were there, and
the place was still far beyond the surge and swirl of the revolution.
"And I'll be home again in less than a week," he encouraged himself.
Home! It recalled again Lee's words. He felt her clasp, thrilled at the
memory. He, "Bull" Perrin, the rustler! Around his neck that had been in
constant hazard of the halter for a dozen years, this fine, clean girl
had thrown her arms. His tender musing over the wonder would have
excited the scorn of a city man, _blasé_ and stale from the constant
presence and attentions of pretty women. But it was sincere. While he
rode on over the hills and plains, the thought warmed his heart,
quickened the seed planted therein by Benson, freed his soul from the
bonds of his great humility.
"Of course it's damn foolish for you even to think of it," he chid
himself. Nevertheless, he did, slowly, heavily, taking stock with minute
exactness of his own demerits. How great they were none knew better. The
rustling, of course, he had abandoned along with certain gross habits of
life. But the liquor? These periodical debauches? Was he strong enough
to conquer them?
"If I c'd only ride into a town an' either leave it alone or take a
man's fair allowance," he mused. "But kin I? Mebbe with a fine little
woman like that to help me." But the next instant he shook his head.
"An' have her take the chance? No, no, hombre, you're crazy. You put all
that behind you by your own act years ago."
Yet this conclusion did not end the argument. When, at sundown, he drew
rein at the accustomed spot and looked down on the _rancho_ buildings
now dyed a flaming apricot he took his breath deeply. With its
bougainvillea draping walls and porches in rich purple clusters, its
pretty _patio_ and outside kitchen garden, it was just such a home as
would fit the dreams of a common man. Instantly his mind filled in the
picture, the man and woman sitting after supper on the veranda, he with
his pipe and paper, a child on his knee, she with her sewing. A thousand
intimacies were supplied by his lonely, hungry soul, and when the
picture stood complete he burst out with a great resolve.
"By God, I'll do it! You're a-going to walk like a man into town an'
come out without teching a drop!"
From where he was sitting he usually could see--either Betty at play on
the veranda, her mother moving in and out, or Terrubio moving around the
stables. To-night silence wrapped the place. From the west, as on the
south where he sat, the land fell rapidly toward the _rancho_, and as he
rode forward, puzzled, the silence was explained. Over the western ridge
the widow, Terrubio, and Betty came riding, and reached the house just
as he rode up.
"Though we brought bad news to his son," she explained the delay, "the
old Icarza would not permit us to leave till we had broken his bread.
How did Ramon take it? Just as I said he would--out came the Mex in in
all of its nasty selfishness, blind conceit. She was promised to him and
he would hold her to it! He'd kill any one who interfered. Goodness! you
never _saw_ such fireworks! He showed no trace of the real pride that
would have kept one of our boys from showing his hurt; and still less
consideration for Lee. It was"--she gave a little sniff of
disgust--"just sickening. I was almost sorry she couldn't have been
there, for it would have effectually cured her remorse. But she'll get
it to-morrow, for he's going over to plead his own cause."
Unease swept Bull's dark visage. After a brief statement of his mission
he voiced his apprehension. "But if he's coming to-morrow, I don't know
but I orter go back."
"Nonsense!" Mrs. Mills pooh-poohed the idea. "It's all fireworks--and
there's Sliver and Gordon and Jake."
To which Betty added a direct command. "You are just going to stay here.
We haven't seen you for ever so long, and mama is just dying to tell you
her troubles."
"Tea and trouble," the widow laughed. "A genuine woman's party."
When he lifted and placed her with one swing on the veranda she allowed
one hand to remain on his shoulder, and he was not so ignorant of woman
nature as not to recognize the liking behind the action. While she
bustled around, adding dainties to the meal Terrubio's woman had ready,
he watched her with an expression that she, on her part, could not fail
to interpret. And whereas, on previous visits, she had managed all kinds
of accidental contacts, watched with mischievous delight for the effect,
she was now filled with pleasurable confusion that manifested itself in
an almost girlish shyness.
When, afterward, they moved out upon the veranda, Bull's dream of an
hour ago was almost fulfilled. For Betty snuggled as usual in his arms,
while the widow busied herself with a bit of sewing--a fine excuse that
lent itself to the lowering of eyes, permitted stealthy glances.
While they were at supper, the sun had slid down to the western horizon.
Pools of deep indigo now filled the hollows. Above them the plains ran,
a deep violet sea broken with apricot foam where the crests of the great
earth waves rolled high, ran off and away around the bases of gold and
crimson mountains.
It was unearthly in its beauty, and while they could not have put their
feeling in words, it filled both with that sense of vastness before
which man in his littleness quails. Often the widow paused in her
sewing, and as Bull saw that infinite loneliness reflected in her face,
the big, simple soul of him melted with love and pity. Till the lights
faded and she no longer needed its excuse, she alternately sewed and
gazed; then when warm gloaming settled over all, wiped out the
loneliness with its friendly gloom, she recovered her voice.
"Oh, I had almost forgotten."
It was that which she had seen in the morning--to wit, Gordon snatching
Lee out of her saddle.
"And oh, isn't it nice to think that she'll be settled, at last, with
that fine boy!"
Happy in the conclusion, she began to sketch a picture of them settled
happily at Los Arboles. Her voice, as she ran on, took a little quiver
that powerfully expressed her own loneliness, inspired in Bull an
intense desire to seize and squeeze it out. Instead his arms tightened
around the child.
"Not one marriage in a hundred turns out what it might be. But with the
exception, when respect, friendliness, affection, and a sense of duty
are reinforced by love--well, it's the nearest to heaven that poor
humans ever gain." She added, with a sigh: "Excepting that it gave me
this child, my own wasn't all that it might have been. She's been a joy
and comfort, but--in a few years more she'll be marrying, herself. Then
I'll be again alone."
"Why did _you_ never marry?" Betty's small, soft voice stole out on the
darkness from the depths of Bull's embrace.
The stock excuses rose to his lips--but did not pass, for through the
friendly gloaming he was aware of a rustle. His face turned toward it.
"I never felt myself fit."
"Why, that's just nonsense!" Betty indignantly declared. "Any woman that
wasn't a downright fool would be glad to have you. I know one that would
give her best shoes--"
"Betty!"
But the small rebel ran on, "Well, she would--even if I can't tell you
her name."
Once more Bull faced a stir in the darkness. "I've led a hard, rough,
bad life. No decent woman would ever want me."
Now he saw the dim whiteness of her face turning to him. Her quiet voice
took up the argument. "It's a thin, pinched nature that's always good. A
big, strong one is liable to be led astray by its own force before
wisdom comes to teach and chasten. In the long run I don't know but that
it gains by it in charity and loving-kindness. Wickedness of the flesh
doesn't count so much as wickedness of the heart; the inward vileness
that rots and corrupts; and I've seen as much of that in the churches as
among downright sinners." She concluded with the very words that Gordon
had used with Lee. "It isn't what you _were_, but what you _are_ that
counts."
From a second warm silence issued Bull's vibrant rumble. "You think a
man that has lived hard has a right to speak, to a good woman--providing
he's put it all behind him?"
Low, but confident and firm, her answer thrilled through the gloaming.
"I do, and--she'd _love_ to help him."
Almost without his volition, Bull's huge paw stole out. He half hoped
she wouldn't see it. He had begun to withdraw it when, like a dim white
dove, her hand came fluttering and nested in his.
Every life has its golden hour. That was Bull's, and, like a pearl
shining in the mire, it stood out from the blackness of his past life.
Though neither spoke, the peace and quiet, surety of perfect
understanding, settled upon them. When, presently, Betty resumed her
chatter, they listened or joined in. After she fell asleep they relapsed
again into happy silence; just sat like a shy boy and girl, hand in
hand, till she rose and carried the child off to her bed.
To meet her, next morning, was to Bull something of an ordeal, but her
quiet smile restored at once the perfect understanding. Her sense of
proprietorship showed in the way she fussed over his coffee and eggs,
berated him for his lack of appetite. Her final inspection before he
left could not have been outdone in severity by Lee herself. But nothing
was said. She knew that he would speak in his own good time.
Except that her hand clung a little in parting, it differed little from
their usual. "I shall look for you when you return." Her call after him
reiterated ownership.
His answer confirmed it. "I shall come here, ma'am, straight from the
station."
Indeed, the real parting came when, reining in at fifty yards, he looked
back over his shoulder. With both hands on Betty's shoulders, slightly
dejected, yet with her honest, level gaze sending out trust and hope,
she stood watching him go, as the race of wives and mothers have stood
throughout the generations. And just as, throughout time, the sight of a
woman's trust and child's faith have urged real men on to big deeds, so
the sight of them set the ex-rustler's heart swelling within him. As,
with a last wave of the hand, he turned again and rode on, the spirit
within him equaled in love and reverence that of an ancient
knight-errant starting out in pursuit of the Holy Grail.