The Life Game
Trump cards you must have to win in the life game; and you must know how
to play them, or a much poorer hand may beat you. You must know the
exact time to play your highest trump, and there is no general rule that
is safe, but Belle had a woman's instinctive knowledge of the game.
In two weeks Jim was to leave Cedar Mountain. Belle had reasoned with
him, coaxed him, cajoled him into seeing that that was the right trail
for him. He must complete his college course, then they could marry with
the sanction of the Church and be assured of a modest living. But the
rules were strict; no ungraduated student might marry. The inadequacy of
the stipend, the necessity for singleness of aim and thought, the
imperative need of college atmosphere--these were absolute. Viewed from
any standpoint, celibacy was the one wise condition for the untrained
student.
It had taken all of Belle's power to make Jim face the horror of those
classrooms in the far East; and from time to time his deep repulsion
broke into expression. Then she would let him rage for a while, chew the
bit, froth and rail till his mood was somewhat spent. And when the
inevitable reaction set in she would put her arm about him and would
show him that the hard way was surely the best way, and then paint a
bright picture of their future together when his rare gifts as an orator
should bring him fame, and secure a position in the highest ranks of the
Church. Thus she had persuaded him, holding out the promise that every
vacation should be spent with her; curbing her own affections, even as
she had curbed his, she walked the path of wisdom--determined,
resigned--in the knowledge that this was the way to win. And Jim had
come to face it calmly now, even as she had done. The minute details of
the plan were being filled in. Then came those little words from
Lou-Jane.
Had Jim been a worldly-wise person with many girl friends and a mouth
full of flattery for them all, Belle would have paid no attention to the
proposed visit of Lou-Jane to Rochester. Knowing Jim as she did, and
having a very shrewd idea of Lou-Jane's intentions, Belle realized that
this was a crisis, the climax of her life and hopes, that everything
that made her life worth while was staked on the very next move.
She said little as they walked home from the parsonage, but her hand,
locked in his arm, clung just a little more than usual, and he was moved
by the tenderness of her "Good-night."
Little she slept that night; but tossed and softly moaned, "That woman,
that coarse, common woman! How _can_ he see anything in her? She is
nothing but an animal. And yet, what may happen if he is East and she is
playing around, with me far away? It cannot be. I know what men are. Now
he is mine; but, if I let him go far away and she follows----
"It cannot be! It must not be--at any price, I must stop it. I must hold
him."
And she tossed and moaned, "At any price! At any price! I'd do
anything----"
The simple, obvious plan was to put him under promise never to see or
hear from Lou-Jane; but her pride and her instincts rebelled at the
thought. "What? Admit that there was danger from that creature? No,
no--why, that would have just the wrong effect on him; she would become
doubly interesting; no, that would not do. She would ignore
that--that--that snake. And then what?
"At any price, this must be stopped"; and out of the whirling maelstrom
of her thoughts came this: "If I cannot keep her from going, I'll go,
too!" How? In what capacity? Belle knew enough of his mind to be sure
that however the plan was carried out, it would shock his ideas of
propriety and be a losing game.
Lou-Jane was playing better than she was, and it maddened her ever more
as she realized that the present plans could end only in one way--the
way that she, at any price, must stop. And in the hours of tumult, of
reasoning every course out to its bitter end, this at length came clear:
There was but one way--that was _marry him now_. It was that or wreck
the happiness upon which both their lives had been built. And yet that
meant ruin to his whole career. She, herself, had told him so a hundred
times. "He must go back to college. He must not marry till his three
years were completed." These were her very words.
It seemed that ruin of his hopes was in one scale; ruin of hers in the
other. And she tried to pray for light and guidance; but there do seem
to be times when the Lord is not interested in our problems; at least,
no light or guidance of the kind she sought for came.
And she wrought herself up into a state of desperation. "At any price,
this must stop," she kept saying over and over. Every expedient was
turned in her mind and its outcome followed as far as she could; and
ever it came back to this--her hopes or his were to be sacrificed.
"_I will not let him go_," she said aloud, with all the force of a
strong will become reckless. "It would certainly be my grave; but it
need not be his. There are other colleges and other ways. I'm not afraid
of that. At any price, I must keep him. I'll marry him now. We'll be
married at once. That will settle it."
* * * * *
The storm was over. The one plan was clear. That she would take--take
and win; but, oh, how selfish she felt in taking it! She was sacrificing
his career.
Yet ever she crushed the rising self-accusation with the "There are
other colleges and other ways. I'll open the way for that." That was the
sop to her inner judge, but the motive power was this: "At any price I
must hold him." And convinced that the time had come to play her highest
trump she fell asleep.
* * * * *
The following morning found Belle fully prepared for energetic action.
She cleared the table and washed the dishes, putting them in their
accustomed places, and stopped suddenly with the last of the china in
her hand, wondering how long it would be before she held it again.
Upstairs, she quickly packed her hand-bag for "a one-night camp" and,
keeping ears and eyes alert, noted when at length her father had gone to
his office and her mother had settled to her knitting. Then she went to
her room and set about a careful toilet. The rebellious forelock was
curled on a hot slate pencil and tucked back among its kind. Over each
ear, she selected another lock for like elaboration. She put on her most
becoming dress and studied the effect of her two brooches to make sure
which one would help the most. She dashed a drop of "Violetta" on her
handkerchief and pinched her cheeks to heighten their colour and remove
the traces of the previous night's vigil. The beauty-parlour methods
were not yet known in Cedar Mountain.
Jim always dropped in for a chat in the morning and it was not long
before his cheery whistle sounded as down the street he came to the tune
of "Merry Bandon Town." In his right hand he twirled a stout stick in a
way that suggested a very practical knowledge of the shillelah. The
flush of health and of youth suffused his cheeks and mounted to his
forehead. All signs of worry over his impending fate were gone; indeed,
no worry could live long in his buoyant mind; its tense electric
chargement was sure death to all such microbes. Arrived at the Boyds',
he did not stop to open the five-foot gate. Laying his fingers on the
post, he vaulted over the pickets.
Belle met him on the porch. From somewhere back, Ma Boyd called out a
thin-voiced "good morning," as they went into the front room.
"My little girl looks pale to-day," he said, as he held her at arm's
length.
"Yes, I didn't sleep well. I wish I could get out for a few hours. Can't
you take me?"
"Sure, that's what I came for," he answered gaily.
"I don't feel much like riding, Jim. Can you get a good buckboard?"
"Why, yes, of course I can. Carson says I can have his double-harness
buckboard any time, ponies and all."
"Good! Just the thing. I want to go out to Bylow's Corner to make a
call, and maybe farther, if we can manage. I'll be ready by the time you
are here with the rig."
She went to her desk and wrote a note to her father. Somehow, mother
didn't seem to count.
DEAR DAD: If I am not home to-night, I shall be with Aunt Collins.
Lovingly, BELLE.
Then she put it in his tobacco jar, where he would be certain to see it
on coming home for dinner, and where Ma Boyd would never dream of
looking.
When Jim returned she carried a hand-bag: "Some things I need," and she
laughed happily as he lifted her into the rig and inquired if she wasn't
taking a trunk. Then away they went, as they had so many times before.
Youth and health, love and beauty; October and the Dakota Hills--what a
wonderful conjunction! The world can do no better to multiply the joy of
being alive. If either had a care, it was quickly buried out of sight.
Jim was in rollicking mood. Not a prairie dog sat up and shook its tail
in time to its voice, but Jim's humour suggested resemblances to some
one that they knew; this one looked like Baxter, the fat parson of the
Congregationalists; "that little one's name is likely Higginbotham; see
how Hannah makes him skip around. And there goes Lawyer Scrimmons," he
chuckled, as a blotched, bloated rattlesnake oozed along and out of
sight at the hint of danger. Two owls that gazed and blinked in silence
were named for a pair of fat twin sisters of their church; perfectly
well-meaning, but without a word of conversation or any expression but
their soulful eyes. And a solitary owl that gazed from the top of a post
straight up in the sky was compared to an old-time Methodist woman with
her eyes uplifted in prayer while the collection plate was shoved under
her nose.
Bylow's Corner was reached all too soon. As Jim was about to draw up
Belle said: "Let's go on farther; we can take them in on the road back.
Let's go as far as Lookout Mountain." And Jim was happy to go.
They were six miles from Cedar Mountain now, with no more houses by the
road for miles. Belle had fallen silent. It was all as she had planned,
but somehow the firm resolve of the night before seemed open to question
now. She gazed absently away over the level, toward a distant hillside,
and the smile faded from her lips. To his next light speech she barely
made response. He threatened to charge a "thank you ma'am" at high speed
if she didn't laugh. Then, getting no response, he burst out:
"What the divil is the matter with my little girl to-day? Have ye
anything on your mind, Belle?"
This was the fork in their trail: either she must tell him or give him
up. For a fraction of an instant she lived through the agony of doubt.
Then, with a certainty she had not thought possible, she said: "Yes,
Jim, I surely have."
"Well, shake it off, Belle. Let some other mind have it. Use mine, if
you'll allow that I have one."
"I haven't slept all night for thinking of it, Jim," she began.
"Thinking of what?"
"Your going away."
His face clouded; he became suddenly silent and she continued:
"Jim, dear, I've tried to keep my feelings out of it altogether; I've
argued it out, using nothing but my judgment, and it seemed the wise
thing for you to go back East to college. All my judgment says: 'send
him back'; but, oh, all my instincts say 'keep him here.'" She covered
both his hands with hers and put her cheek on them for a moment.
"I'm always trying to be wise, Jim, but I suppose I'm really very stupid
and very weak like most humans; and there come times when I feel like
kicking everything over and saying 'what's the use?' This time I'm going
to let my feelings hold the reins."
"Why, Belle darling! That sounds more like me than you."
"Jim, as I lay awake last night, a voice seemed to be sounding in my
heart: 'Don't let him go. If he goes, you'll lose him, you'll lose each
other.' Jim, do you suppose God brought you and me together in this way,
to be so much to each other, to be exactly fitted to round out each
other's life, to let us separate now?"
"Belle, I believe He sent me out here to meet you, and any one coming
between us is going against God."
"I know, Jim. And yet I have the feeling, which I can't shake off, that
as sure as you go back to college, I shall lose you."
"Then, by Heaven! I won't go; and that settles it, Belle. I'll chuck the
whole thing." And his forehead flushed with passion.
She dropped her face on her knees and shook in a paroxysm of weeping.
All the emotional side of her nature--so carefully repressed throughout
these weeks and months of struggle--swept away their barriers. Now that
she had spoken the fear that was in her heart, the reality of the danger
that threatened their happiness crushed her down. Jim threw his arm
around her. "Belle, Belle, I can't see you cry that way. Belle, don't!
We are not going to part."
It was long before she found her voice. In broken sounds she sobbed: "I
can't give you up now," and she leaned toward him though still she hid
her face.
"Belle, why do you talk of such a thing? You won't give me up, because I
won't let you. I won't go, Belle, that's settled."
Her only answer was to cling to him passionately. After a long silence,
during which the ponies dropped to a walk, she said half questioningly:
"Jim, we can't--give up all and--and--separate now."
"Belle darling," and Jim suddenly became calm and clear in thought, and
a strange new sense of power came on him as he gripped himself, "there
are times when a man must just take the bit in his teeth and break
through everything, and I'm going to do that now. There's just one way
out of this; we're half-way to Deadwood. Let's go right on and get
married. The college and everything else can go to the divil so long as
I can be with you.
"Will you agree to that?" he asked, lifting her head from his shoulder
and looking into her eyes.
"Jim," she said, pushing him gently away from her and leaning back so
that they occupied the sides of the wide seat, "let's be fair with each
other. For a long time you've had your fling at the hardship of going
back to Coulter while I have urged you to go. This is my fling at
it"--she smiled at him through her tears--"my rebellion, so perhaps
we're quits. But the problem still remains. I thought about it all last
night and I decided I could not let you go--that it meant the end of our
hopes. When you first asked me, up the road, I doubted my right to tell
you the fears I had. But, oh, Jim, it is _our_ happiness, _ours_, not
yours or mine alone. If we have that we can _make_ the rest come right.
If we lose that----"
"But we're not going to lose it," he cried, "if you'll only answer my
question, Will you marry me to-day if we go on to Deadwood?" He put out
his arms to her and she yielded with a happy sob to his ardour. Holding
her and pressing his lips to hers, he said simply: "I am very happy."
After a little while she took his head between her palms and looking
into his face with eyes that sought his spirit, as though she would
pledge her faith to his, she said: "You will never be sorry for this,
darling."
* * * * *
At Lookout Mountain was the half-way house. They fed their horses,
rested an hour, and then sped on. At four o'clock they reached Deadwood.
Jim put up the horses at the little inn, whose parlour he remembered;
together they went to the jeweller's shop, purchased a ring, and then to
the mayor's office.
The great man was busy with affairs of State, but the world has a kindly
heart for lovers and the experienced official can recognize them afar.
He glanced over a crowd of many men advancing various claims, and said,
with a knowing smile, "Hello!"
"License," was all Jim said, and a subdued "Ha, Ha!" was the amused
response.
The mayor pulled out a drawer, produced a form, and rattled off the
usual questions: Name? Age? Married before? etc., filling it in; then
did the same for Belle. "Now stand up. You swear to the truth of each
and all of the statements?" Each of them raised a hand and swore.
"Want to finish it up now?" said the mayor.
"Yes."
"Put on the ring and hold her hand." Jim did so. The mayor stood up,
holding their clasped hands in his left. He raised his right and said:
"James and Belle, in accordance with the laws of the United States and
of the State of Dakota, I pronounce you man and wife." He signed the
paper, gave each in turn the pen to sign, and said, "Now I want another
witness."
"Sure, I'd like to be in on that there dokiment," said a rough voice.
"Can you write?"
"Bet your life I can."
A big heavy man came forward; the mayor handed him the pen; and, after
the word "Witness" he wrote, "Pat Bylow, of Cedar Mountain"; and then
with a friendly grin he offered his hand to the Preacher, and they
gripped hands for the first time.
"Two dollars, please," said the mayor.
Jim paid it, and he and Belle stepped forth as man and wife.