Brother and Sister
It was a delightful apartment, lit by carefully-shaded lamps. It was
furnished and draped with the inspiration of a cultured woman labouring
under the difficulty of remoteness. The walls and ceiling were of
polished red pine and the floor was of narrow-cut, polished hardwood.
The whole scheme was clearly that of a woman’s boudoir, with the
reservation that men-folk would share in its comforts.
There was a characteristic display of carefully-selected bric-a-brac.
The floor was carpeted with expensive rugs and skins. The chairs
were well upholstered, covered, and flounced, low-seated vehicles of
comfort, and there were two deep rockers capable of resting the bodies
of large men. In one corner of the room stood a modern piano in an
ebony case, and, in another, a specially designed wood-stove.
Brother and sister were seated before the latter, which was radiating a
pleasant warmth in the chill of the mountain evening. They were alone.
Larry was somewhere out on the ranch administering the discipline under
which the enterprise was carried on, and of which his was the chief
control. Blanche was engaged upon a piece of simple fancy-work. It was
part of her evening habit.
Jim was lounging in the biggest rocker. He was smoking a large briar
pipe which by no means seemed to fit with his surroundings. Then his
feet were thrust up on the polished steel rail of the stove in an
attitude of sheer comfort. His half-closed eyes were watching the
movement of the girl’s nimble fingers.
Blanche looked up, and surveyed the snow-white head.
“I guess you’re tired, Jim,” she said, with more than usual feeling.
“You two boys never seem to get rest in this thing you’re doing. You’ve
been out in the hills all day, and----”
“I wouldn’t have missed this day’s work for a whole bunch of rest,” Jim
broke in, with a laugh of deep satisfaction. “It’s been the best day
since we came to this valley.”
Blanche’s interest quickened. And because of it she bent over her work
again, and her needle laboured on.
“You were up at Dan’s, weren’t you?” she asked.
“Ye-es.”
Jim thoughtfully pressed the charred tobacco down into the bowl of his
pipe.
“How’s Dan making out? And Cama and the kiddies?” Blanche laughed
softly. “You know, I want to laugh every time I think of those dusky
little creatures, with their beautiful mother, and that queer, crazy
thing, their father. My, they’re just sweet!” She sighed. “But they’re
half-breeds. And--and they’ll grow up like all--half-breeds. It makes
me more sorry than I can say.”
Jim shook his head.
“Don’t worry for them, Blanche,” he said seriously. “Does it matter?
They’re plumb happy. They’ll grow up men and women. Life’ll be to them
just what life is anyway. What more can they ask? It’s we folk who’re
wrong, feeling the way we do about half-breeds. They’re just as much an
expression of Nature as we are, and anything else is. The world’s no
better or worse for their happening. I love those queer darn kiddies.
I love ’em for themselves, and I love ’em for Dan’s sake. And even
Cama’s. I wasn’t thinking of them, though. Something like a miracle
happened to-day. And, as usual, I want you to help me out.”
The girl laughed.
“That’s what I like to hear,” she said contentedly.
“What? I want you to help me out?” Jim asked. “That’s the way of it,
isn’t it? We men are all mighty clever. But I notice most all the time
we’re wanting some women to help us out. First it’s our mothers. Then
it’s our sisters. Then, later, it’s some other feller’s sister. But I
surely need your help right now. You know about Dan, who helped me in
my bad time. You’ll remember there was another boy who did all he knew
for me. Marton--George Marton.”
Blanche laid her work aside.
“Yes. I remember,” she said. “You happened on him on his farm, and----”
Jim nodded.
“Hadn’t a notion where I was,” he said. “You see, I’d been wandering
these hills more than haf dead.”
“Yes.” Blanche sighed. The terror of his story of that time still had
power to affect her deeply.
“Well, that boy’s dead. I’ll never locate him now.”
Blanche’s gaze was searching.
“I seem to remember there was someone else there. He hadn’t a wife. It
was a daughter. She fixed some food for you.”
“Which kept me alive more than a week.”
“Yes. I remember.”
“Well, his farm’s about forty miles from here as the birds fly. It’s
down at the mouth of the valley where Dan’s place is. Only he’s
twenty-five miles higher up in the hills. Since George Marton died his
girl’s alone on that farm with a choreman she calls Lightning. She’s
alone--running that farm to scratch a living. Do you get all that
means? A young girl, as pretty as a picture. Then think of all I owe
him--her.”
“You’ve seen--her?”
Blanche’s instinct stirred.
“Yes.”
“Tell me of her.”
Jim bestirred himself. He sat up, and leant forward in his rocker. His
pipe had been removed from his mouth.
“She was down at a water-hole on the creek,” he said, speaking
deliberately, and with obvious appreciation. “She was riding a pinto
pony. Sorrel and white. She was fixed in a riding-suit of brown, and
rode astride her pony as dapper and neat a sight as you could wish for.”
He paused. Then he drew a deep breath, which the girl interrupted in
her own fashion.
“When she turned and I saw her face, say---- It was roundish, and
tanned with the weather. It was fresh as the russet of a beautiful
apple, and studded with a pair of big, grey, laughing eyes, all fringed
with dark lashes. She had dark hair and--and---- My, Sis, she was just
as elegant as a swell ripe peach. And that girl helped to save my life.”
“And you talked with her?”
Blanche’s interest had become consuming. Her eyes were alight with a
smile. Here was the thing she had always looked forward to. In all the
years of her life she never remembered to have listened to the glowing
description of a girl from Jim.
Jim’s eyes widened.
“Talked? I should say I did. I talked with her, and rode with her, and
helped her round up her lost cows.”
Then a deep note of concern crept into his voice.
“Say, Sis, she’s poor and struggling. She’s dead poor, and fighting a
battle only fit for a strong man. She didn’t say it. No. She’s grit.
But I could see it. It was lying back of all she said. I want to help
her. I want you to help me help her. Say, that girl’s life’s got to be
made easy. And--and I’m going to make it that way.”
Blanche laughed softly. She was sitting with her hands clasped in her
lap. Never in her life had she enjoyed herself as she was enjoying
herself now. A little tender raillery shone in the eyes that were
gazing so affectionately upon her brother.
“You’re going to do more than that, Jim,” she cried triumphantly. “If I
know you, I know what your help means. You’ve fallen for this ‘prairie
flower’--or should I say ‘mountain flower’? You’re going to marry her.”
She shook her head as the man’s eyes widened at her challenge. “It’s no
use, boy. You can’t deceive me. I--I know the signs too well.”
Jim laughed a little self-consciously.
“Can you beat it?” he inquired, appealing to the stove. “Isn’t that
a woman all over? Tell her of a girl, another girl; show her you’re
interested, and mighty grateful, and want to help her; and right away
you’re plumb in love, and mean to marry her. Say!”
“Deny it, boy,” Blanche cried teasingly. “Deny it, and I’ll believe
you.”
Jim shook his head, and refilled and lit his pipe.
“I’ll deny nothing, Sis. I won’t hand you that satisfaction. But you’re
going to tell me right here and now that you’ll help me to help Molly
Marton.”
“Molly Marton? So that’s her name.” Blanche laughed again. “Oh, I’ll
get all the story directly. Molly. I like the name.” Then, quite
suddenly, her teasing passed and her eyes sobered.
“Jim, dear, there’s not a thing in the world I wouldn’t do to help
pass you the happiness you deserve. Molly Marton shall get all the
friendliness I know how to show her. And if she’s the girl you reckon
her to be, I shan’t regret a thing of our time in these hills. Say,
this is the most exciting thing I’ve known in years. Help? You’ve only
got to start me right. Just tell me the thing you need me to do. And
I’ll do it--to the limit.”
Jim smiled and glanced around as the door opened to admit the
red-headed figure of Larry Manford. Then his eyes came back to the girl
who had risen to welcome the late-comer.
“I knew you would, Blanche. Thanks.”