CARRIE MAKES A COMPARISON
A week had passed since the last meeting of the farmers at Prospect,
when Carrie and Eveline Annersly sat out on the verandah of the house
somewhat late at night. A full moon hung over the prairie, and the
silence was impressive. Urmston, who was, as usual, also there, leant
against the balustrade with his back to the light, missing every
uplifting appeal in the boundless sweep of softly gleaming grass of the
prairie. He was not one of the men upon whom the silent strength of
Nature has any marked reaction. His thoughts concerned himself and the
pleasures of the moment, and he was seldom still or silent very long,
though his activities, like his speeches, were usually petty, for the
capacity for absorption in a sustaining purpose was not in him. Carrie
Leland had come to realise it of late, though she did not exactly know
why. It may have been the result of a subconscious comparison of him
with another man. In any case, the recognition of the fact had brought
her a sense of annoyance, for there was strength as well as pride in
her, and she was fond of Urmston, who was a man of her own world.
Urmston, in the meanwhile, found the contemplation of her sufficient for
him, and it is probable that most other men would have done the same.
She lay, clad in a long white dress, in a big lounge-chair, with the
silvery moonlight full upon her. It brought out the duskiness of her
eyes and hair, and made her somewhat cold beauty the more apparent,
though there was at the time a faint, illusory gentleness in her face, a
note the man had noticed more than once of late. He would have liked to
think that he had brought it there, but could not quite persuade himself
that this was so, though there had been a time when he had seen that
soft light creep into her eyes as she greeted him. He had also a vague,
uncomfortable feeling that, although circumstances had certainly been
against him, it was, perhaps, his own fault that he could now no longer
call it up. Carrie was gracious to him, save when he was too
venturesome, but he saw that her regard for him was widely different
from what it had been. There was more reserve in her attitude towards
him than her mere recognition of what was due to her husband could
account for. He also noticed that she was a trifle anxious, which
brought him no great consolation, in view of the fact that Leland had
ridden out with his rifle early the day before. Eveline Annersly finally
spoke after the silence that had lasted for several minutes.
"Gallwey seems to fancy Charley should have been back several hours
ago," she said. "Charley told him he would be in to supper, if all
went--as they expected it to."
She stole a swift glance at Carrie, who was then gazing out across the
prairie as though in search of something, and, though the girl did not
move, she fancied there was a change in her expression. It suggested a
growing uneasiness.
"I scarcely suppose Charley could tell exactly how long they would be,"
she said.
"That," said Eveline Annersly, "is very probable, and, in any case, he
is not likely to come to harm. In fact, one would be more inclined to
feel anxious about the outlaws he might fall in with than about Charley
Leland. I daresay it was fanciful, but, when he rode away, he reminded
me of the picture the Acres have of the moss-trooper. You, of course,
know the one I mean--the man in the steel cap with the moonlight
sparkling on his spear. There is something of the same grimness in both
faces, and, in the moss-trooper's case, the artist hit it rather well.
It is an intangible something one can't well define, primitive probably,
for I don't remember having seen it in the face of any man I am
acquainted with at home."
She turned towards Urmston with a little laugh. "You haven't got it,
Reggie, though now and then I almost fancy that Carrie has. I don't
think you would have made a good moss-trooper."
Urmston smiled in turn. "I really don't think the kind of life they led
would have appealed to me."
"No," said Eveline Annersly, "you would have sat with the harp in the
bower, and made love rather nicely and judiciously--that is, when
circumstances were propitious."
Urmston flushed, glad he was in the shadow where Carrie could not see
him. He felt, as he had felt before, that he would rather like to gag
Eveline Annersly.
"Can one fall in love judiciously?" he asked.
"As a matter of fact, I'm not sure that one can. In the days we are
referring to, they very seldom did. The border knights apparently put on
steel cap and corselet when they went wooing. When Lochinvar rode to
Netherby, he swam the Esk, and it is very probable that the men who made
love in his fashion later on had their swords loose when they crossed
it, whipping hard for Gretna by the lower bridge. Of course, as
everybody knows, all that has gone out of fashion long ago--only I think
the primitive something remains which would drive a man full tilt
against circumstances for sweet love's sake. At least, one sees it now
and then in the eyes of the men out here."
Urmston longed to stop her, but he had discovered on other occasions
that an attempt to do so was very apt to bring about unwished-for
results. He accordingly said nothing, and Carrie, who, perhaps, felt as
he did, changed the subject.
"It was rather curious that the man who threw the note through the
window when our neighbours were last here was able to creep up without
being seen," she said.
"I can't help thinking that somebody must have seen him," said Eveline
Annersly.
"Then why didn't they mention it?"
"I naturally don't know. Still, one would fancy that the outlaw found
means of impressing whomever he came across with the fact that he didn't
want to be announced, and that it would be wiser to fall in with his
wishes. Afterwards, the man he met would no doubt feel that, as his
silence wasn't altogether creditable, it would be advisable to say
nothing about it."
Carrie looked up sharply. "Of course, that sounds possible. Only from
what I know of them, he would hardly have succeeded in overawing any of
the boys at Prospect."
"You can't imagine your husband or Gallwey standing against a tree with
his eyes shut for ten minutes because a ferocious stranger requested him
to?"
"No," and Carrie's laugh had a little ring in it, "I certainly couldn't.
In fact, I think it would be very apt to bring trouble on the stranger."
She stopped a moment, and looked again, expectantly, across the prairie.
"I can't understand how the rustler got here without being noticed at
all," she said reflectively. "Jake was in the paddock when I went out,
and he feels quite sure that nobody could have slipped by without his
seeing them. Of course, it is possible the man came through the bluff."
"I fancy not. In that case Reggie would have met him. I was standing by
the window when he sauntered into the wood, and it would be about ten
minutes, or, perhaps, a little more, before you left the house."
She flung a glance in the direction of Urmston, who felt horribly
uncomfortable. It occurred to him that, if she had seen him enter the
bluff, it was also possible that she had seen the outlaw come out. That
she did not say she had done so was, after all, no great consolation,
for he knew Eveline Annersly could be silent when she had a reason. He
was afraid that, if she had one now, the result might not be altogether
creditable to him when she saw fit to speak. In the meanwhile, it was
evident that she expected him to say something.
"I believe you were right about the time," he said.
Carrie looked up, for his indifference seemed too pronounced to be quite
natural, but she brushed the half-formed thought out of her mind.
Urmston was a man of her own station, and could not, she reasoned, be
deficient in qualities which even her husband's teamsters possessed.
Still, while she sat silent, looking out upon the vast sweep of plain,
she could not help once more contrasting him with the man she had been
driven into marrying. She understood Leland better, now that she had
seen the land he lived in, for there were respects in which he resembled
it. Men, indeed, usually do not only fit themselves to their
environment, but borrow from it something that becomes a part of them.
It was evidently from the prairie that Charley Leland had drawn his
strength of character, his capacity for holding on with everything
against him, and his silent, deep-rooted optimism. She had seen that
plain bleached with months of frost and parched with drought, but the
flowers had sprung up from the streaming sod, and now the wheat was
growing tall and green again. One could feel out there that, while all
life is a struggle which every blade of wheat must wage, in due time
fruition would come. Her husband, it seemed, realised it, and had also
faith in himself. She remembered how, when his neighbours hesitated,
fearing the outlaws' vengeance, he had said he was going on even if he
went on alone. She also knew that he would be as good as his word, for
he was not the man to turn back because there was peril in his path.
She could rather fancy him hastening to meet it, with the little hard
smile she had often seen in his steady eyes.
Then from out of the great stillness there crept the distant sound of a
moving horse, and Carrie felt a feeling of relief come over her. She
would scarcely admit it to herself, but, during the past two or three
hours, she had been troubled by a growing sense of uneasiness. She would
not have felt it a few months earlier, for, while she would have had no
harm come to him, there was no hiding the fact that it would have set
her free from an almost intolerable bondage. It was, however, different
now.
The thud of hoofs grew louder, and the dim figure of a mounted man grew
out of the prairie. A little thrill ran through her as she watched him
swing past at a canter and draw rein between the house and the stables.
He waited a moment as though looking for somebody in whose care to leave
the horse, and Carrie could see that he was weary and dusty. Though his
face was dimly visible, she fancied it was drawn and grey. Slanting over
his shoulder, the barrel of his Marlin rifle glinted in the moon.
"That," said Eveline Annersly, "is, I think, more suggestive than ever
of the border spear."
She glanced at Carrie as the girl rose and went down the stairway. Then
Eveline Annersly turned to Urmston with a little smile.
"I scarcely think they will want us, and I'm going in," she said.
Urmston had moved into the moonlight now, and his face was set. "There
is, of course, no reason why you shouldn't, but I'm not sure that you
are entirely right," he said. "In fact, if it's permissible to mention
it, I had a notion that Carrie asked you here to make the convenient
third."
His companion looked at him with a faint gleam in her eyes. "You haven't
any great penetration, after all, or you would have seen that I have
outstayed my usefulness. In any case, I feel inclined to favour you with
a piece of advice. It may save you trouble if you go back to your
agricultural duties as soon as possible."
"You seem unusually anxious to get rid of me," said the man, with
something in his tone that suggested satisfaction.
Eveline Annersly laughed as she rose and moved back into the shadow.
"Oh, dear no! If I were really anxious, the thing would be remarkably
easy."
She left him with this, and Urmston, who leant somewhat moodily on the
balustrade, felt that his love for her was certainly no greater than it
had been before. He began to feel himself especially unfortunate in
having fallen in with the rustler.
In the meanwhile, Leland, who started as he saw the girl coming towards
him, swung himself out of the saddle and stood awaiting her, with the
bridle of the jaded horse in his hand. His face was worn and weary, and
he stood slackly with all the springy suppleness apparently gone out of
him. The grime was thick upon his coarse blue shirt and jean jacket.
"It was very good of you to wait so long," he said.
Carrie smiled in a curious fashion. "Did you expect me to sleep?"
"You were a little anxious about me, then?"
"Of course!" said the girl, softly. "Wouldn't it have been unnatural if
I hadn't been?"
Leland made an abrupt gesture. "My dear, I don't want you to do the
natural or the correct thing, that is, just because it is so."
"Ah," said Carrie, "who can tell exactly why they do anything? Still, I
was anxious. How have you got on?"
The man laughed a trifle grimly. "Badly--we were either fooled or
outgeneraled, and the whisky boys came out ahead of us. We had one horse
shot, and another broke its leg in a badger-hole. Hadn't you better go
in now? It'll take me some time to put up."
"I slept most of last night, and you have been out on the prairie two
nights and days. I'm coming with you to the stable. I can, at least,
hold a lantern."
They turned away together, Leland walking very stiffly, the girl, who
felt her heart beating, close at his side, until they reached one of the
uninjured buildings. It was very dark inside, and redolent with the
smell of wild peppermint in the prairie hay. Leland groped for a
lantern, and, when he had lighted it, hung it to a hook in the stall
joist, so that its light fell upon them.
"I really think you would have been sorry if the boys had brought me
back with a bullet in me?" he said, half-questioningly.
He saw the little shiver that ran through his companion, but, in another
moment, she was standing very straight and still. "How can you ask me
that?" she said. "I did not think you would be vindictive--to me."
"Look at me," and Leland, leaning forward, laid a hard, dust-grimed hand
on her shoulder. "It wouldn't have been a release when you had got over
the shock of it?"
The colour crept into Carrie's face, and, after the first moment, she
did not meet his eyes, while the man, with an impetuous movement,
slipped a hand about her waist. Then, with a forced calm, he slowly drew
her towards him and kissed her on the brow and cheek and mouth. For an
instant only he held her fast. Then he let his hands fall.
Carrie looked at him, with the hot blood tingling in her cheeks.
"Now," he said gravely, though there was a faint ring of exultation in
his voice, "that is for a sign that you belong to me, and I guess I'm
strong enough to keep what is mine. You couldn't get away from me if you
wanted to."
Carrie realised it, though the fact no longer brought her any sense of
intolerable restraint or disgust. She said nothing, and made no sign.
Leland went on.
"Still, I'm not going to hurry you, or spoil things by impatience," he
said. "You will be willing to take me for what I am some day, and, if
things hurt you as they are now, that's the one way of escape. There
can't be any other until one of us is dead."
He turned from her, and commenced to unbuckle the horse's girth, while
Carrie, scarcely knowing why, slipped past him, busying herself with the
head-stall. Then she brought the chopped fodder while he went for water,
and stood holding the lantern while he rubbed the jaded beast down.
Neither of them said anything, but it was evident to both that the
distance between them had been lessened. By and by they went back
together towards the house, and Leland laughingly held up the lantern
when they reached the threshold.
"You see, I never even remembered to put this thing down," he said.
Carrie smiled, but there was a trace of diffidence in her manner.
"I have kept your supper, and will bring it in as soon as you come
down," she said. "Everything you will want clean is laid out in your
room."
"Oh, yes," said Leland, reaching out and grasping her arm, "Mrs. Nesbit
is quite a smart housekeeper."
Carrie shook his grasp off, and flitted away from him. "Mrs. Nesbit is
not responsible this time," she said laughingly. "I'm afraid I haven't
looked after my household duties as I should have done hitherto."