HEARTS INSURGENT
Seth recovered his revolver, and lunged toward the door. But Claire
was before him. She flung herself upon him, clutching the lapels of
his coat.
"Seth! Seth!" she shrieked. "What are you doing?"
"I'll follow him!" he roared. "I'll follow him! I'll end the whole
thing! I'll finish it, I tell you!"
"No! No!" she wailed; and clung to him frantically.
He was beside himself, almost incoherent, for the moment quite
irresponsible. It is very likely that, but for Claire, he would have
mounted a horse and pursued Haig to his ranch, with such consequences
as anybody except himself could easily have foreseen. But he was not
so far gone in frenzy as to hurt Claire, as he must have done in
tearing himself loose from her. He stood a moment in tragic
helplessness, grinding his teeth, and hurling muttered imprecations
out into the night that covered Philip Haig. Then he looked down at
the golden head pressed against his breast, and felt the frail body
quivering; and some sense of what he was doing, or was about to do,
reached his brain through the fumes of rage. There was yet a long
struggle; for he was too ponderous for quick decisions, and at the
same time too outright for successful equivocation. Defeat was always
a staggering blow to him, since he had no art to mask it. And now,
lacking the sagacity to swallow his mortification and to bide his
time, he could only suffer, rending himself in lieu of another on whom
to pour his fury.
In the midst of this futile passion his roving eyes fell on
Marion. She lay where she had fallen, in a dead faint, limp on the
red-and-yellow rug. Seth stared at her a full minute, while an
indefinable suspicion grew in the back of his brain. She had said,
"I've brought him here to make peace with you." And Haig himself had
given the lie to that speech! What did it all mean? By God, he would
find out!
"Come, Claire!" he said. "Attend to Marion!" And he began to loosen
her fingers from his coat.
But she only clutched it the tighter.
"You'll go!" she cried.
"No! Not to-night!"
"You promise?"
"Yes! Yes!" he growled.
She looked steadily up at him, questioning, fearful, until he bent
down and kissed her.
"There!" he said, roughly and yet not ungently. "Now go to Marion!"
They picked her up, and laid her on the couch at one side of the big
room; and Claire unbuttoned her dress at the throat, and bathed her
face and neck with cold water, while Seth rubbed and slapped her
hands.
Her first impulse, on opening her eyes and seeing Claire and Seth
leaning over her, was to raise her head, and look toward the door. She
saw only a patch of darkness, empty and still. Then she remembered how
she had heard his mocking voice fade away in the night; and her eyes
returned to Seth and Claire. Their faces told her what to expect: and
she knew that they were right in demanding, as they would demand, the
fullest explanation.
"Water, please!" she murmured, moistening her dry lips with her
tongue.
She sat up, slowly emptied the glass that Claire placed in her
trembling hand, then buttoned her collar over her bare throat, and
began to pin up the locks of hair that had fallen about her face and
neck. Her hands, she thought, were very thin and white. She had never
fainted before, and was still a little frightened and surprised.
"What does it all mean, Marion?" demanded Huntington.
"Wait, Seth, can't you?" warned Claire. Then to Marion: "There's no
hurry, dear. When you feel better."
But her eyes denied her words. There was indeed no way out of it.
Marion must speak, and without delay.
"I'm cold," she said, shivering.
"Of course!" cried Claire. "Come to the fire. And Seth! Close the
door, please!"
Huntington strode to the door, and slammed it shut. Then he returned
to the chimney piece, and watched Marion as she leaned toward the
blaze. He could barely restrain himself, waiting for her to begin.
"I've been a silly fool, I suppose," she said presently, sitting erect
again, and facing her cousins courageously. "It was all my fault. You
mustn't blame him."
An impatient exclamation by Huntington drew a warning glance from
Claire.
"Tell us just what happened, dear!" she urged gently.
"I don't exactly know--I can't just understand how it happened,"
Marion began. "I had an accident--in the road. My foot was hurt--my
ankle was twisted--or I thought it was--and I was frightened."
"An accident?" said Claire.
"I was off my pony--the cinches were loose--and--when I tried to mount
again--I slipped--somehow--and fell. He was just in time to help me,
and--"
"Where was that?" asked Huntington.
"Just below his place. He was coming back--"
"But what were you doing over there?" demanded Huntington.
"Riding," she said calmly, perhaps a little defiantly.
"Yes, I know that. But on his land?"
"Did you ever tell me anything about that?" she retorted.
"No, but--"
"Then how was I to know?"
"But you've heard--"
"Yes, I heard some things at the post-office. You've told me
nothing."
Huntington's face reddened angrily.
"Never mind that now!" cried Claire sharply, sending another warning
look at Seth. "Go on, dear!"
Marion went on, very carefully. With Claire alone she might have been
more frank and confiding, but Seth's belligerent attitude had begun to
stir resentment in her.
"He thought I had a bad sprain. He was annoyed; he didn't take any
pains to conceal that from me. But he lifted me into the saddle,
and rode with me to his stable, and told one of his men to hitch
up a team, and drive me home. That would have been--all right, and he
had no intention--until--something I said--I must have been
hysterical--something made him angry, and he--said he would drive me
home himself."
"And you let him!" cried Claire reproachfully.
"No, I didn't _let_ him. He did it in spite of all I could do. I
pleaded with him, I tried every way to stop him. Once I started to
leap out of the trap. But he caught me. He laughed at me But he was
very angry too; he scolded me dreadfully. Said I needed to be punished
for--I don't know what. He hates women, and says we're always meddling
in men's affairs. It served me right, of course. And please remember
it was all my fault--truly!"
"Did he say anything about making peace?" asked Claire.
"No. That was all mine. I had to do something quickly. You know
that."
"But what did he say about me?" growled Huntington, who was far from
satisfied, and still suspicious.
"Not much. Oh, yes!" she added impulsively. "He said you and he could
probably come to an understanding quickly enough if--"
She paused, embarrassed.
"If what?" demanded Huntington.
"That was only because he dislikes women, I think. He said--if
Claire--Mrs. Huntington, he said,--would let you alone."
"I?" cried Claire. It was almost a scream of astonishment and
indignation.
"I'll show him!" shouted Huntington. "He'd better keep her name out of
it, or I'll--"
"I haven't done anything!" wailed Claire.
"I'll make him pay for that!" bellowed Huntington, bringing his fist
down on the mantel.
"You mustn't blame him!" protested Marion hastily. "He was angry at
me, and I don't think he's as bad as you think he is."
"Marion!" cried Claire, her eyes widening with wonder.
Then Marion had the misfortune to blush under Claire's curious gaze.
She blushed, at first, merely because she had gone too far in her
effort to clear Haig of responsibility for what had occurred that
evening; and then the blood stormed into her cheeks as she encountered
Claire's look, and attached a deeper meaning to it than it actually
conveyed.
Huntington leaned forward, and gazed suspiciously into Marion's
crimsoned face.
"Well, I'll be damned!" he broke out. "You'd think the girl was in
love with this ruffian!"
For an instant there was a silence much like the silence that follows
a clap of thunder. Then Marion rose slowly to her feet, quivering, her
eyes ablaze.
"Ruffian?" she cried. "If there's any ruffian it's--"
She caught herself. She was innately gentle and fastidious, and she
could not, without shame, have forced her lips to say the things that
she felt in her outraged heart. But she looked at him; and under that
look Seth quailed and shrank. What had he said to evoke this luminous
hatred? He had not meant--
"And I think she's right, Seth Huntington!" exclaimed Claire, coming
to Marion, and putting an arm, around her. "If there's any ruffian
it's you, and I'm ashamed of you!"
Huntington's jaw dropped, and he stared at them, his eyes bulging with
astonishment. Then suddenly he turned, and bolted from the room. The
door leading to the kitchen was flung shut behind him; then the outer
door banged; and in a moment his heavy footsteps were heard on the
veranda, where he strode to and fro in helpless rage and shame and
wonder. He had a feeling of soreness over all his body, as if some one
had roundly pummelled him; his face itched beneath his beard; he could
not find a comfortable place for his hands. Well, he agreed with Haig
about one thing: women were hell! And here was Claire siding with
Marion against him; and calling him a ruffian! Was he a ruffian? What
had he said to merit that? Couldn't they take a joke? But this
casuistry did not go down, though he tried to hammer it down with many
violent gestures. He began to have certain qualms that he recognized
as premonitory signs of weakening; and he struggled to bolster up his
anger. Damn Haig! If he had only finished him that day in the timber,
when the others had wanted to! But this was a vain regret. There
remained the present situation. Gradually his steps faltered. He
stopped often to look vacantly at the stars. They had nothing to say
to him. He felt very solitary, alone in the world.
After a time the kitchen door was opened softly.
"Seth!" came a whisper from that direction.
"Well?" he answered uncertainly.
"Aren't you cold?"
"No."
"Well, we are. The fire's going out."
"Umph!"
"Won't you please fetch some wood?"
No reply. Claire slipped out, and crept up to him.
"Come!" she commanded softly. "Do you want us to freeze?"
Still no reply.
"Oh, you do, do you?"
"It's time you went to bed."
"No, it isn't. We're not going to bed until you come in and beg
Marion's pardon."
"No, I'll be--"
She tried to clap her hand over his mouth, but succeeded only in
hitting his nose a smart tap, which was just as effective, since it
checked him.
"No swearing, either!" she went on. "You've been rude enough for one
night, don't you think? I'll tell you my opinion of it later. She's
going to be easy with you because she's sorry about it all. Come!"
Huntington did not move, or answer her.
"Do you want her to leave by the next stage--and have this all over
the Park too--like Haig's visit? Come!"
He groaned, but followed her. At the door of the living room he caught
sight of Marion seated before the fireplace, where only embers glowed
dull red.
"I'll get some wood," he said quickly, glad of even a few minutes'
grace.
Fortune tossed him a small favor: the wood bin near the kitchen door
was empty--almost. Another time that would have brought a storm down
on the head of the unlucky stable hand whose duty it was to keep the
bin filled. But now Seth rejoiced at having to go to the wood yard,
and found it much too near.
He re-entered the house with an armload of sticks, and placed them
carefully on the embers; stirred up the glowing mass with a poker;
readjusted the fresh wood; provoked the red coals once more; and at
last, having exhausted the dilatory possibilities of the fire, stood
up clumsily to face the ordeal.
"Well, Marion," he began awkwardly, "I'm in for it, I reckon."
She did not reply; she only looked at him. There were dark shadows
around her eyes that heightened the pallor of her cheeks; but the eyes
themselves were clear and piercing, and as cold now as they had been
fiery before. For once in his life Huntington was conscious of his
bulk; he felt conspicuous; and the wound in his shoulder, almost
healed, began to itch and ache.--There were worse things than being
shot.--If she would only turn those eyes away from him! And then it
dawned upon him that she was waiting.
"I beg your pardon, Marion!" he stammered. "I was ugly. I didn't
really mean--I hope you'll forgive me."
For a minute longer she let him stew in his kettle, then lifted him
out scrupulously, at the end of a very long fork, and dropped him
steaming, as if he had been a lump of unsavory fat.
"Yes, I forgive you," she said, very, very distantly. "You probably
weren't thinking."
If that was forgiveness! But he did not know--even Claire did not know
then--how deeply he had wounded Marion with his rude and accusing
speech,--as if he had called a jeering crowd to look at the little
flower that blooms but once, and very secretly, in a woman's heart.
Forgive him? She never would forgive him for that blundering outburst,
which was indeed the more unforgivable because he did not seriously
mean, and certainly did not believe, the thing he said.
"Thank you, Marion dear!" said Claire softly.
At that Marion suddenly rushed to Claire, and knelt by her chair. She
had her own faults to be forgiven.
"I've been very foolish!" she cried. "I've caused you pain and
humiliation. I'm sorry. Please forgive me!"
So they cried it out in each other's arms, while Huntington rolled a
cigarette, took one whiff of it, and tossed it into the fire. It
required a stronger narcotic than tobacco to soothe his fevered
spirits. After a while he whirled around and faced the two women.
"See here, Marion!" he said. "It's all our fault for not telling you
about Haig. But we didn't want to annoy you with our troubles, and we
never imagined you'd stumble on to him. Do you know now what this is
all about?"
She spared him the answer that she had heard something on that point
the day of the shooting.
"No; that is, very little."
"Well, it's just this: Before he came here we were all playing the
game peacefully together. Each of us had just about enough land, with
the cut hay and the winter pastures, to pull through the winter, and
there was just enough free grazing up in the edges of the timber to
keep the cattle going through the summer and early fall."
"That was government land," explained Claire.
"And open to all of us," added Seth. "We never had any dispute with
the Englishman who owned Haig's ranch before him, and he got fair
treatment, though he wasn't here much of the time to look after it. We
heard he had some family trouble, and one day when he'd been gone a
long time--"
"That's four years now," interrupted Claire.
"Yes. Haig showed up, and said the ranch was his. He started in
straight off to hog the whole thing. Bought a thousand head of
cattle--that made thirteen hundred head--almost as many as all the
rest of us had put together. He turned the thirteen hundred into the
open range, and hired men to keep them moving the right way for the
good feed, and--"
"He had a perfect right to do that, you see," Claire put in hastily.
"Legal right, maybe," Huntington went on. "But he didn't have any real
right to more than his share. We organized, bunched our cattle, and
stayed with 'em. That way we were stronger than he, and soon had his
cattle starving. Then he disappeared, and we didn't see anything of
him for three weeks. And what do you suppose the damned skunk--"
"Seth!" cried Claire warningly, with an anxious look at Marion.
Marion merely shook her head.
"Well, he fooled us. He went to Denver, got a lawyer on the job,
looked up the records, found there'd been a mistake in the surveys,
and came back to us with a government deed to almost half the forest
reserve that we'd been using as free pasture. Then he ordered us off,
and we went, with six Winchesters pointed at our fool backs. What do
you think of that, Marion?"
"But why?" asked Marion. "I mean what was his motive in all that? He
isn't a cattleman. I mean--I don't think he cares enough--"
She stopped, finding herself in dangerous waters.
"Why? Because he's a--" Huntington checked himself. "Anyhow, he barely
escaped a lynching that night. And if he only knew it, I'm the one
that stopped it. I said we'd find some other way. But we haven't found
it. We had to bring most of our stock down to the pastures we needed
for winter, and in winter we had to buy hay at eighteen dollars a ton.
And Haig had hay to sell. Three of our men were driven out of
business. Tom Jenkins, being dead broke and discouraged, with a
family, killed himself. I had to sell off a third of my cattle, and
twenty head disappeared, and I never saw them again. And maybe you can
understand now how I felt when I saw him this evening, standing there
in my own house, grinning at me. God!"
He turned, grabbed up the poker, and began jabbing viciously at the
fire.
Yes, Marion could understand that, but--She was not satisfied. There
was something missing from Seth's narrative. Haig's accusations that
day at the post-office--his missing cattle, and the cut wires at the
Forbidden Pasture--And if all that Seth had said was true, which she
doubted, the mystery was only deepened. She was sure that Haig was
only playing a part, that he was not a cattleman by choice, and that
his heart was not in the game, whatever it was. She wanted to ask
questions, but refrained, lest she should again arouse Seth's
suspicions. She would see Smythe.