The Quarrel
The morning of the third was biting hot, with that stinging, piercing
heat that we have, when we have heat at all, in this high altitude.
The sixty mile trip across the deserts to Telko, on a day like this,
would be exactly the same as a sixty mile trip through an oven at the
right heat for a roast of beef.
Nevertheless, before seven o’clock that morning, every man-jack of a
puncher on the place, with all of his trimmings and trappings,
including wives, squaws, papooses, children and firearms, had set off
in flivvers or on horseback, bound for the celebration, leaving the
place hole-empty, as Sam said, when he came into my kitchen with a
gallon of cream from the dairy.
He pulled the stool out from under the table, perched on it, and
remarked, as cheerfully as if he were reading it off a tombstone,
“‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’”
I didn’t want him bothering me in the kitchen, when I had everything
to do, with Belle, Sadie and Goldie gone gadding; but being a woman,
normal I hope, I asked him what he meant by that.
“I’m not going to be surprised,” he answered, “if we have another
visitor, one of these days.”
“Nor me either,” I said, though much astonished, because it was as if
he had read my mind. At that minute I had been worrying about Sadie.
She was expecting her baby, before long, and Land only knew what such
a trip as she was off taking now, and the celebration to boot, might
precipitate. “That fool girl,” I went on. “It wouldn’t surprise me a
bit if this was the death of her—not a bit.”
“Pshaw!” Sam said. “What have you found out, Mary?”
“She told me herself, the last of July.”
“Yes? I thought all along that she knew.”
Since he seemed as sober as an owl, and as serious, I decided that
there was no answer to make, and I made none.
“She’s off a few weeks, though. I sent a telegram, and got an answer
yesterday. It is the fourth of July.”
“Sam,” I found breath to retort, “one of us is plumb crazy. I think it
is you. Do you think it is me?”
“Not to make any bones about it,” Sam said, “I have thought, here
lately, that every dang soul on the place was only saved from being in
the asylum because of the ignorance of the authorities. But, in this
case, I think I am sane and certain. I wired the warden of the
penitentiary. He said that Daniel Canneziano was to be released on the
morning of the fourth of July. Gaby told you the last of July?
Probably some time off, for good behavior.”
“I wasn’t talking about Canneziano,” I snapped. “And how did I know
you were? I was talking about Sadie’s baby.”
I dropped into a chair, feeling sort of weakened from the news about
Canneziano, and waited with what patience I could for Sam to stop
laughing.
“You mark my words,” I said, when the laugh had gone down to a silly
giggle, over which I could make myself heard, “all these queer actions
around here have something to do with that man’s release.”
“I’ll bet you,” Sam said. “But blame my soul if I know what to do,
about anything.”
“I know what I’d do about Canneziano, if he shows up here,” I told
him.
“Yes, I know. But he is Danny’s father, and Danny is going to marry
John. After all, money is not much good unless you take it to market.
If I could come to a decent agreement with the fellow—— And if he’d
take that Gaby with him. I’m dead certain that her hanging around here
isn’t going to contribute any to John’s and Danny’s married life——”
“What do you mean by that, Sam?” Gaby asked the question, walking
right into the kitchen. I was all taken aback; but Sam didn’t seem to
be.
“Eavesdroppers, my girl,” he said, “hear no good of themselves. I mean
that I don’t think any girl who wanted to act right would treat her
sister’s betrothed as you treat John.”
“You,” she said, very slowly, to make insult baste each word, “are a
damned old fool, Sam Stanley.”
I shook in my shoes. I had not dreamed that there was a living human
being who would dare say that, in that tone of voice, to Sam.
He stood up. He put his hands on her shoulders, gently though, and
turned her around.
“You are a bad, wayward girl,” he said. “March out of here, now, and
get your manners mended before I see you again.”
He sobered even her, for a minute. She walked to the door, without
another word. There, she whirled around like a crazy thing, and, I
declare to Goodness, I don’t know what she said. It was the sort of
talking I had never heard in my life; my ears were not enough
accustomed to the words to take in their meanings. But one thing that
she kept screaming, screaming so loudly that she could be heard all
over the place, was that Sam had threatened her once too often. Sam
stood there, paralyzed, I think, as I was, for perhaps a couple of
minutes, before he turned and walked off, into the backyard.
Hubert Hand came rushing in. Gaby threw her arms around his neck, and
kept on with the screaming and sobbing. Chad came in through the
pantry. Mrs. Ricker opened the door that was at the foot of the back
stairway.
She stood there, in the doorway, watching Hubert Hand, with both his
arms around Gaby, petting and soothing her. She dampened her tight
lips with her tongue; but, without saying a word, she went back up the
stairs, closing the door behind her. Hubert Hand led Gaby into the
dining-room, and through it into the living-room.
“What in God’s name happened?” Chad said to me.
I went and washed my face and took a drink of water. “Chad,” I said,
“Gabrielle Canneziano has lost her mind. She is insane.”
His face went white as lard. “I don’t believe it.”
“Either that,” I said, “or else she is the wickedest, the——”
“Stop it,” he shouted at me. “You, nor anyone, can talk to me like
that about the girl I love.”
“Love! Love your foot!” I snapped at him. The idea of mooning about
love to me, at a time like that.
“None of you understands her,” he said, “nor tries to. She is in some
sort of trouble—terrible trouble. Anyone can see that. I’d give my
soul to help her—— To serve her——”
“If you are so crazy about serving her,” I said, “you might go into
the dining-room and set the table, and help me serve her, and the rest
of you, some breakfast.”
He went into the yard. Like a lot of men, I thought, who want to give
their souls and so on to women, he didn’t care to be bothered with
smaller details, such as feeding them.
I wronged him. Whether or not a man has the giving of his soul, in his
own hands, I do not know. A man can give his life. That is what Chad
gave.