"Because everything I saw there emphasized the irrevocable loss I had
suffered. I couldn't endure the thought of it, and I fled. I could not
remain without weeping, and you know a man is ashamed of his tears; but
when I got your note of warning I flung conscience to the winds! 'It is
not a crime to love a woman,' I said. 'I will write to her and say to
her "I love you, no matter what happens;"' and, now I find you here, I
tell it to you instead of writing it."
She was facing him with a look of perplexity and alarm. One hand laid
upon her throat seemed to express suffering. When she spoke her voice
was very low.
"What do you expect me to say; you make it so hard for me! Why do you
tell me this?"
"Because I could not rest till I had spoken. For a long time I thought
you were bound to Lawson, and since then I've tried to keep silent
because of my poverty and--no one knows better than I the unreason of it
all--I do not ask you to speak except to say, 'I am sorry.' When I found
you were still within reach, the desire to let you know my feeling
overcame every other consideration. I can't even do the customary thing
and ask you to wait, for my future is as uncertain as my present, but if
you could say you loved me--a little--" he paused abruptly, as though
choked into silence by a merciless hand.
Elsie remained silent, with her eyes turned towards the window, her
hands in her lap, and at last he went on:
"If your father is a true prophet, I shall be ordered back to my
regiment. That will hurt me, but it won't ruin me exactly. It would be a
shameful thing if the department sacrificed me to expediency; but
politicians are wonderful people! If you were not so much an artist and
Andrew Brisbane's daughter, I would ask you to come to me and help me do
my work, but I can't quite do that--yet; I can only say you are more to
me now than any other soul in the world. I do this because I can't keep
from it," he repeated, in poor ending.
"I've heard that the best way to make a woman love a man is to persecute
the man," she replied, smiling a little, though her eyes were wet.
"When you were apparently triumphant I hated you--now--" she hesitated
and a sudden timidity shook her.
He sprang up. "Can you carry out the figure? I dare you to finish the
sentence. Do you care for me a little?" His face, suddenly illuminated,
moved her powerfully.
"I'm afraid I do--wait, please!" She stopped him with a gesture. "You
mustn't think I mean more than I do. My mind is all in a whirl now; it
isn't fair to hurry me; I must take time to consider. Your being poor
and an Indian agent wouldn't make any difference to me if I--But I must
be sure. I respect you--I admire you very much--and last night when I
said good-bye I felt a sharp pain here." She put her hand to her throat.
"But I must be sure. There are so many things against it," she ended,
covering her eyes with her hand in piteous perplexity.
His eyes were alight, his voice eager. "It would be such a glorious
thing if you could join me in my work."
The mention of his work stung her. "Oh no! It is impossible. I should
die here! I have no sense of duty towards these poor vagabonds. I'm
sorry for them--but to live here--no, no! You must not ask it. You must
go your way and I will go mine. You are only torturing me needlessly."
"Forgive me," he pleaded. "I did not mean to do so."
She continued, wildly: "Can't you see how crazy, how impossible, it is?
I admire you--I believe in your work--it is magnificent; but I can't
live your life. My friends, my art, mean too much to me."
There was a tremulous, passionate pleading which failed of finality: it
perplexed her lover; it did not convince him.
"You are right; of course you are right," he said again; "but that does
not help me to bear the pain of your loss. I can't let you go out of my
life--utterly--I can't do it--I will not--Hark! What is that?"
A faint, far-off, thundering sound interrupted him. A rushing roar, as
of many horsemen rapidly approaching. Hastening to the window, Curtis
bent his head to listen. "It sounds like a cavalry charge. Here they
come! Cowboys--a mob of them! Can it be Yarpe's gang? Yes; that is
precisely what it is. Yarpe leading them into some further deviltry."
Whooping and cursing, and urging their tired horses with quirt and spur,
the desperadoes, somewhat thinned of ranks, pouring by in clattering,
pounding rush--as orderless as a charging squad of Sioux
warriors--turned up a side street and disappeared almost before any one
but Curtis was aware of them.
"They are bent on mischief," said the soldier as he turned upon the
girl, all personal feeling swept away by the passing mob. "They have
followed me in to force the jail and hang Cut Finger." He caught up his
cap. "I must prevent it!"
"No! No!" cried Elsie, seizing his arm. "You must not go out in the
street to-night--they will kill you--please don't go--you have done your
duty. Now let the mayor act, I beg of you!"
"Dear girl, I _must_ thwart this lynching party. I would be disgraced!
Don't you see? They have seized the moment when the citizens are all in
the hall away from the jail to do this thing. I must alarm the town and
prevent them."
Even as he pleaded with her the tumult in the hall broke forth again,
roared for a moment in wild crescendo, and then ceased instantly,
strangely. A moment's silence followed, and a confused murmur arose,
quite different from any sound which had hitherto emanated from the
hall. A powerful voice dominated all others, and through the open
windows the words of command could be distinctly heard. "_Keep back
there! Keep your seats!_"
"The meeting is breaking up!" exclaimed Curtis. "Some one has alarmed
them. See, they are pouring out to prevent this crazy mob from carrying
out its plan."
The shouting ceased, but the trample of feet and the murmur of voices
thickened to a clamor, and Elsie turned white with a new fear. "They are
rushing across the square! Perhaps they are coming for _you_!"
"I don't think so; they would not dare to attack me--they hate me,
but--"
Her over-wrought nerves gave way. A panic seized her. "Hide! Hide! They
will kill you!" she cried out, hoarsely.
"No; I am going to help them defend the jail."
"For my sake!" she pleaded, "don't leave me! Listen! they are coming!"
she whispered. The sound of many feet could be heard in the lobby below,
the roar of a hundred voices came up the stair-way, but even the excited
girl could now detect something hushed and solemn in the
sound--something mournful in the measured footsteps up the stairs.
"It is father!" she cried, with a flash of divination. "Something has
happened to him!" And with this new terror in her face she hurried out
into the hall.
Curtis reached her side just as the head of the procession topped the
stair-way.
Brisbane, up-borne by Lawson and a tall young stranger, first appeared,
followed by a dozen men, who walked two and two with bared heads and
serious faces, as if following a hearse. The stricken man's face was
flushed and knobby, and his eyelids drooped laxly like those of a
drunkard. He saw nothing, and his breathing was labored.
"Father, what has happened?" called Elsie. "Tell me--quick!"
"A touch of vertigo," answered Lawson, soothingly. "The doctor says
nothing serious."
"Are you the doctor?" she turned to the young man.
"Yes. Don't be alarmed. The Senator has over-taxed himself a little,
that is all, and needs rest. Show me his bed, and we will make him
comfortable."
Elsie led the way to the bedroom, while Curtis stood helplessly facing
the crowd in the hall. Lawson relieved the situation by coming out a few
moments later to say:
"Gentlemen, the doctor thanks you, and requests you to leave the Senator
to rest as quietly as possible."
After this dismissal had dispersed the on-lookers, Lawson turned to
Curtis. "The old man's work as a speaker is done. Rather tragic
business, don't you think? He was assailing you with the utmost
bitterness. His big, right fist was in the air like a hammer when he
fell; but it was his last effort."
Curtis seized his hand and said: "I envy you your chance to go with her
and serve her." His voice changed. "The mob! Did you hear Yarpe and his
men pass?"
"No; when?"
"Not ten minutes ago. I fear some mischief."