THE FACE IN THE PACKAGE
At last Nance Allison knew the meaning of the great light that
seemed to glow upon all the world of the Deep Heart hills.
Instinct awoke in her and she beheld the face of love.
The knowledge set her trembling to her soul’s foundation, sent her
to her knees beside her big bed that she might return to that high
Tribunal which arbited her ways such a deep devotion of thanksgiving
as she had never made before.
Abasement seized her.
What was she in her loneliness and poverty, that such a man as Brand
Fair might find her worthy?
What had she ever done of valor that one might admire her?
There was no light of courageous deeds upon her sordid life, no
record of spectacular events in which she figured.
She had merely been a drudge, working out her soul to carry on her
father’s dreams of empire, to hold fast the place which he had left
to her and hers.
She had only labored and stood firm, watching with anguished eyes
the fruits of those labors being destroyed—she had made no effort to
strike back at her enemies.
And despite all this, Brand Fair loved her!
Loved her and had laid his lips to hers in the first love-kiss of
her life!
Verily was she blessed beyond all reason and she lifted up her heart
in praise.
She did not see the austere beauty of that stern strength which held
her true in the midst of affliction, which lifted those patient blue
eyes of hers to the tranquil Heavens above her ruined fields, her
burned stacks, which made her love her lonely land, her people and
her God with unshaken devotion, which gave her peace in danger and
set before her the burning beacon of right which could not fail to
triumph.
She only knew that she, lone toiler in an unfriendly wilderness, had
been anointed of the Lord with unspeakable glory, and she was bowed
into the dust with gratitude.
It was a holy night she spent upon her knees in the soft darkness
with her work-hardened hands clasped on the ancient coverlet and the
long gold lashes trembling and wet upon her cheeks. It was an
offertory, an adoration and a covenant.
She felt the hours pass with benediction.
Once she looked toward the little window and saw the unfamiliar
stars of the after-night upon the curtain of the sky.
She heard the child’s soft breathing in the improvised crib beyond,
and at false dawn she heard Old John crow from the rafters.
At the first grey light she lifted her face and with a smile at her
lips’ corners she murmured the ancient words of David’s immortal
thanksgiving:
“The King shall joy in Thy strength, Oh, Lord; and in
Thy salvation how greatly shall he rejoice! For Thou
hast made him most blessed forever; Thou hast made him
exceeding glad with Thy countenance. Thou hast given him
the desire of his heart. Selah.”
“Mammy,” she said at breakfast, “I’ve got to tell you something—you
and Bud.”
There was a soft radiance about her long blue eyes, a helpless
surrender to the smiles that would keep coming on her features.
Her mother looked at her calmly.
“Well?” she said.
But over Bud’s young face there passed a spasm of pain.
“You needn’t tell it,” he said sharply, “we know—don’t we, Mammy?
It’s Brand——”
“Sure, we know, Nance, honey,” said Mrs. Allison gently, “an’ we
want to tell you, Bud an’ I, how plumb happy we are—how glad we are
to see happiness come to the best daughter, the best sister, two
people ever had on this here earth. Ain’t we, Buddy?”
The boy swallowed once, then looked at Nance and smiled.
It was not the least courageous thing he was ever to accomplish,
that smile, and his mother knew it, for he adored the girl, and she
had been his only playmate all his life.
But at his mother’s subtle words jealousy died and love stepped back
triumphantly.
“We sure are, Sis,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.
The child slept late that morning. Perhaps he had been more or less
disturbed by Nance’s wakefulness. She stepped to the bedroom door
once and looked at him, but left him there.
“We might as well sit down,” she said, “he’s fast asleep yet and I
can feed him when he does get up.”
They talked gaily all through the meal, reviewing the wonder that
had come to Nance, and it seemed a new future was opening before
them all.
“Brand seems like one of us already,” said Mrs. Allison, “an’ I
think with joy what a help he’ll be to you an’ Bud—th’ land is rich
an’ will keep us all in plenty with a man like him to manage an’ to
stand between us an’ Sky Line. An’ he’s like your Pappy was—kind an’
still, a strength an’ a hope for us. If Bud is willin’ we’ll offer
him share an’ share.”
“Sure,” said the boy decidedly.
When he had once capitulated Bud stood firm, wholeheartedly backing
his decision.
“I just don’t seem able to grasp it all,” said Nance happily, “it
seems like our whole life has changed overnight. There is light
where darkness was, hope again where I’d about given it up—and now
we’ll never have to give up Sonny.”
“That’s so!” cried Mrs. Allison, “an’ I hadn’t thought of that.
Never seemed like we would any way—bless him.”
“Me?” asked a fresh little voice from the doorway, and the child
stood there, rumple-headed, in his small night-gown made from
flour-sacks. The faded red lettering still stood frankly out across
his diminutive stomach.
“Yes—you,” said Nance, “come here to your own Nance.”
Sonny sidled in, holding up the hindering garment with one hand, the
other shut over some small article.
As Nance lifted him to her lap he laid this on the table’s edge.
“See,” he said, “the pretty lady. She was in a bundle on your
bed—where’d you get her, Nance?”
And Nance Allison looked down into the pictured face of—Cattle Kate
Cathrew.
For a moment the laughter still drew her lips, the soft light of
happiness still illumined her eyes.
Then the light and the laughter were erased from her features as if
an invisible hand had wiped them.
In their place came first a blankness, an incredulity—then, as
realization and memory struck home to her brain, the anguish of
death itself swept across her face.
She stared with dilating pupils at the small picture.
“Nance!” cried her mother, “_Nance!_”
She raised her eyes and looked at Mrs. Allison and the latter felt a
chill of fear.
“Take—Sonny, Bud,” she said slowly, “and get his clothes.”
Bud, tactful and quiet, did as she asked, and when she was alone
with her mother the girl held out the picture.
“Brand told me—last night,” she said haltingly, “that a package he
gave me—to open in case anything happened—to him—held the face
of—of—of Sonny’s mother. This is Cattle Kate Cathrew.”
“My good Lord A’mighty!” ejaculated Mrs. Allison.
Nance nodded.
“Then—who’s his—father?”
“Who d’you suppose, Mammy?” asked the girl miserably, “I’m afraid
it’s Brand—the man who says he loves me!”
The gaunt old mother came round the table and put an unaccustomed
arm about her daughter’s shoulders. Caresses were rare with her.
“No,” she said decidedly, “Brand Fair ain’t a deceiver. I’d stake a
lot on that. I feel to trust him, honey. Whatever is wrong in this
terrible tangle, it ain’t Brand—an’ you can take your old Mammy’s
word on that.”
The girl straightened her shoulders, lifted her head.
“I do trust him, Mammy,” she said gallantly, “whatever has happened
in the past I know it has not made him a liar—and I feel to be
ashamed of myself.”
“Needn’t,” said Mrs. Allison succinctly, “it’s natural—th’ age-old
instinct of jealousy. Come down from our naked ancestors when th’
man was th’ food-getter an’ th’ woman fought with tooth an’ nail if
another female hove in sight. You’d like to go right out now an’
scratch that woman’s eyes out, wouldn’t you?”
A sickly smile trembled on Nance’s lips.
“I guess I would,” she said unsteadily, “because—you see—if—if she’s
his wife—why—he can’t take another.”
“There’s divorce laws in this country, ain’t there? How do you know
she’s his wife now?”
“Mammy,” said Nance gratefully, “you’re the most wonderful woman I
ever knew! You’ve got more reason than a houseful of lawyers. And
I’m going to take heart right now. I’ll put this picture away in the
package and wait till Brand is ready to tell me all about it—and
I’ll stand steady in my love and my faith.”
“That’s my big girl!” said the mother, “now get to work at
something. It’s th’ best cure-all on earth.”
* * * * *
Cattle Kate Cathrew sat on the broad veranda at Sky Line. She was
clad like a sybarite, in shining satin. Rings sparkled on her
fingers, lights sparkled in her hard eyes, a close-held excitement
was visible in her whole appearance. She looked down across the vast
green-clad slopes of Mystery and held her breath that she might the
better listen for a sound in the stillness.
For she was waiting for the writer of those letters, the man from
New York who came at regular intervals to bask in the peace of Sky
Line—for Lawrence Arnold himself.
It had been months since she had seen him, and the passion in her
was surging like molten lava.
It made her heart beat in slow, heavy strokes, too deeply charged
for swiftness. It made her lips dry as fast as she could wet them,
set a feeling of paralysis along the muscles of her arms.
She was in a trance of expectation, as exquisite as the fullest
realisation. She had been so ever since the departure at early dawn
of Provine with a led horse—none other than Bluefire whose proud
back no one but this man ever crossed, except herself.
For three hours she had sat in the rustic rocker like a graven
image, her hands spread on the broad arms, her immaculate black head
seemingly at rest against the back.
And not a soul at Sky Line would have disturbed her.
From a distant corral where he tinkered at some trivial task Big
Basford watched her with wild red eyes. At these times the man was a
savage who would have killed Arnold joyfully had the thing been
possible. Minnie Pine, busy at the kitchen window, watched him.
“The Black Devil is in hell, Josefa,” she said guardedly, “he knows
the master’s coming—and that the Boss will lie in his arms.”
“He pays for his sins,” said Josefa calmly, “which is more than the
others do.”
“Rod,” returned the half-breed, “has no sins.”
“He-ugh! He-ugh!” laughed the old woman, “so says the young fool
because she loves him.”
“I know what I know,” said Minnie, “the Blue Eyes has a clean heart.
One sin, maybe, yes—or two, maybe—but he sits sometimes with his
head in his hands, and he mourns—like our people for death. _He_
says it _is_ for death—death of a man’s honor killed by mistake. _I_
know, for I’ve sat with him then—and he has put his face in my
neck.”
There was a high beauty about the simple words and the ancient dame
looked at the girl with understanding. For a moment the cynicism was
absent.
“You speak truth,” she said softly, “the man is a stranger to these
others. Also he is of a white heart. He should have been a Pomo
chief in the old days.”
Noon came and passed and Kate Cathrew did not eat.
She watched the sun drop over toward the west, the pine shadows turn
on the slopes.
And then, far down, she caught the sound of hoofs and rose straight
up from her chair, one hand on her thundering heart. The action was
her only concession to the fierce emotion which was eating her. When
Sud Provine came out of the pines below with Bluefire and his rider
in convoy she was seated again in the broad-armed rocker, to all
intents as calm as moonlight on snow.
Lawrence Arnold dismounted stiffly and handed the rein to Provine,
then raised his eyes and looked at her.
Over his white-skinned, aquiline features there passed a smile of
the closest understanding.
He knew the volcano covered in and shut from sight under this
woman’s cool exterior—this woman who was his woman.
Cattle Kate rose languidly and came to meet him and her brilliant
eyes returned the understanding to the _nth_ degree—they were full
of passion, of promise.
“Man,” she said under her breath, as their hands met, “Oh, man! It’s
been so long!”
That was all for the prying eyes that compassed them.
They entered the house and Minnie Pine served the meal which had
been waiting and which was the best Sky Line could produce, and
afterward Lawrence Arnold reclined on a blanket-covered couch in the
living-room and smoked in smiling peace.
Kate Cathrew sat near, her eyes devouring his slim form, and talked
swiftly of many vital matters.
“Do you need any new men?” he asked her, “I have two who would be
good. One is out on bail—mine—the other was acquitted, as usual.
Both will crawl.”
“No,” said Kate, “and I want to give you back one I have—Provine. He
is insubordinate. Deal with him hard.”
Arnold nodded.
“Was the last shipment O.K.?” asked Kate. “Have I done well, my
master?”
She smiled jestingly, but the title was true in every sense of the
word.
“Exceedingly,” he answered, “the shipment was prime and we cleaned
up on it. In my grips there are several little trinkets for you,
bought with some of the surplus. I commend you.”
He reached for her hand and the woman flushed with pleasure.
“This new shipment,” she said, “can you trust your agent to float
it?”
“Absolutely, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“It goes out in a few days—as soon as the hue-and-cry dies down a
bit. There is plenty of feed in Rainbow’s Pot to hold the herd
several weeks, if need be, but I like to get clear as quick as
possible.”
“Good work. You’re a clever girl, Kate. We’re making money fast. One
thing more—have you succeeded in getting hold of the big feeding
flats on the river?”
Kate frowned.
“No—the damned poor trash hang on like grim death. I’ve done
everything but kill them, and they’re still there.”
“That’s too bad,” said the man, “I guess maybe you need a little
help. What have you done?”
“Everything. Used all the arts of intimidation I know—and destroyed
their livelihood.”
“H’m,” said Arnold, “must be a pretty courageous outfit. Who are
they?”
“Old Missouri mother—boy—and a big slab-sided girl who’s the whole
backbone of the family. Impudent baggage. You remember when the old
man—ah—fell down Rainbow a couple of years ago?”
Arnold nodded again.
“Well, they’re trash—_trash_,” said Kate, “and stick to the flats
like burrs. The girl’s religious. Talked some drivel about the hand
of God being before her face, and came out flat-footed and
said—before a crowd at the store, too—that those flats would feed a
lot of cattle through, and that maybe I had a—hope—concerning them.”
“The devil she did!” said Arnold, sitting up. “I rather think you do
need another head to handle this.”
“And that isn’t all,” said the woman. “Sheriff Selwood is knocked
out at present, but he watched the boys drive this last bunch into
the Pot. He rode to the very Flange itself. We’ve got to get these
cattle down the Pipe and out before he comes round—though from what
we can hear, it don’t seem likely he’ll come round. Sud shot him in
the head. I think he’ll die myself, or I’d have driven out by now.”
Arnold was looking at her sharply.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Kate,” he said decidedly, “never take
chances on the human system. I’ve seen a man come to after being
electrocuted. We’ll get busy right now—tomorrow. In the meantime,
please remember that I haven’t seen you for many moons. Let’s talk
of love, tonight.”
There was a step at the door, and a dusty rider stood there.
“Want to report,” he said, “that I’ve just come up the Pipe and I
found tracks—brushed out—at the mouth in Blue Stone—there were two
men on foot. No hoof-marks. They looked in behind the willows.”
Kate Cathrew rose straight up to her feet.
“Hell’s fire!” she said.