A MIDNIGHT VISITOR
Summer had come in earnest, and Leland, who had ridden out at daybreak
with every man at Prospect to cut prairie hay, had not come back, when
Carrie sat late at night beside the stove in the big room. The stove was
lighted, and a kettle stood on it. A meal was laid out upon the table,
for Carrie expected that Leland would arrive during the next hour. In
fact, a horse stood ready saddled in one of the stables, and she was
trying to decide whether she should ride out to meet him or stay where
she was. It was a still night, the house was unpleasantly hot, and the
thought of a canter through the cool darkness was attractive. Leland,
who was busier than ever, had, however, been away somewhat frequently of
late, and pride was still strong in her. She would not unbend too far,
or give him reason to believe that he could be sure of her, while there
was also the difficulty that Urmston, who was then sitting close by,
would probably insist upon accompanying her, and she fancied that such
an arrangement might not commend itself to her husband. Urmston, too,
had been growing somewhat presumptuous, and she felt that on the whole
it might not be advisable to have him for a companion. Something,
however, urged her to set out, though she would not admit that it was
the thought of Leland's satisfaction at meeting her. She had scarcely
seen him, except for an odd five minutes, during the last week or two,
and that piqued her, although she knew that he had many anxieties and
much to do. There was, it seemed, nothing to be gained by being unduly
gracious, so long as he was content without her company.
This was, perhaps, a little hard upon Leland, who was then toiling at
something, or in the saddle, from early morning to late at night. He had
a good many teams to be fed, and hay was scarce after the unusually dry
spring. Hay is seldom sown in that country, and, as the natural grass
is, for the most part, only a few inches high, the prairie farmer must
cut it where it grows harsh and tall in the sloos, or hollows, that are
turned for a few weeks into lakes and ponds by the melting snows. Most
of them had dried up prematurely that season, and, as the supply of the
natural produce was becoming a serious question, Leland had to make long
journeys in search of it. On the night in question, the men were camped
beside a distant sloo, though he himself purposed to ride home, calling
on one of his neighbours on the way. While Carrie considered whether she
would set out to meet him or not, Urmston glanced at the tray upon the
table with a sly little laugh.
"You are getting domesticated, Carrie," he said. "I used to fancy that
you looked down upon anything connected with housekeeping. Be warned,
and don't go too far. You saw what domesticity has done for Mrs.
Custer."
"She seems happy," said the girl, reflectively. "Custer, I believe, is,
in his own way, very kind to her."
There was a trace of wistfulness in her voice that jarred upon the
listener, and the colour rose in his face.
"Carrie," he said with sudden passion, "the possibility of you ever
becoming like her is horrible--wholly horrible. There is much that
Custer is responsible for. One can see what that woman was before she
married him, and what has happened to her since is a warning. The
struggle has worn all the daintiness and refinement out of her. With
that brood of children to be provided for, what has she to look forward
to but a life of hard work that will steadily drag her to the level of
an English dairy drudge?"
Carrie shivered a little, for there was, she knew, some truth in this.
"There is," she said, "a considerable difference between Charley Leland
and Tom Custer."
"Of course," and Urmston, who appeared to put a restraint upon himself,
smiled drily. "In his own half-animal fashion, Custer is, as you
mention, evidently fond of her. If he hadn't been, she might have
escaped part, at least, of what she had to put up with. I'm not sure one
couldn't term it degradation. The difference between the man you married
and Custer is the one thing I am sincerely thankful for."
"Reggie," said Carrie sharply, "I should like to know just what you
mean."
Urmston laughed. "I suppose I'm presuming, but I don't seem to mind.
Your husband is, at least, content to leave you very much alone. He
apparently comes home to eat, and, when he is no longer hungry,
disappears again. It does not seem to matter that he generally gets his
meals alone. I fancy it is a week since I have seen him."
He stopped, and leant forward a little in his chair. "I didn't say it to
hurt you, Carrie, but because the fact that it is so, is and must
necessarily be an unutterable relief to me. The indifference of such a
man is incomparably better than what he would probably consider his
affection. You can see what it has brought Mrs. Custer."
Carrie Leland flushed angrily. It is not especially pleasant to any
woman to be told that, although she may not be fond of him, her husband
or lover is indifferent to her; but it was not that alone which brought
the blood tingling to her face. She was capable of passion, but
domesticity in itself had no great attraction for her. In fact, she
rather shrank from it, and Urmston's words had been unpleasantly
prophetic, since she knew that the placid affection of a man who only
expected that she should rear a brood of children and keep his house in
order would become intolerable to her. Still, she felt that this, at
least, would never be her husband's view concerning her, and that there
was a much greater difference than Urmston realised between him and
Thomas Custer. Leland, in fact, had by a clean life of effort and grim
self-denial, in which the often worn-out body was held in stern
subjection to the will, attained a vague, indefinite something which was
not far removed from spirituality.
"Reggie," she said, "what have I done that would lead you to believe
you were warranted in speaking to me in this fashion?"
The man made a little passionate gesture. "Oh," he said, "nothing. You
are in everything beyond reproach; that is what makes it so hard to
bear. Why should you be wasted upon a man without appreciation?"
"That is enough." As Carrie checked him with a lifted hand, a sparkle
came into her eyes. "Do you suppose for a moment that I would listen to
anything further?"
Urmston sat silent, his face flushed, and his fingers fumbling with his
watch-chain. For five minutes neither of them spoke. It was very still
in the big room, save for the crackling of the stove. Then Carrie
started, with a little gasp, for the door swung softly open, apparently
of itself, and she grasped Urmston's arm.
"Shut it! Be quick!" she said.
Urmston swung round, and she felt the involuntary move he made when his
eyes rested on the door. There were in the house, as both remembered,
only Eveline Annersly, who had retired early with a headache, and Mrs.
Nesbit, who would have come in by the other entrance. Doors do not open
of their own accord when there is not a breath of wind astir, and it is
somewhat disconcerting when they appear to do so in the middle of the
night. Urmston accordingly sat where he was, watching the opening grow
wider, his nerves atingle with something akin to fear. Carrie gripped
him hard.
"Get Charley's rifle!" she whispered.
At last, with no great alacrity, he rose to his feet, but the time when
he might have done anything had passed, for a masked man stood just
inside the threshold with a big pistol in his hand.
"I guess you'll stop just where you are," he said.
Urmston stood still, as most men would have done, though Leland's rifle
hung close above his head. The stranger moved forward a pace or two. He
wore soft moccasins, and a strip of grain-bag, pierced at the eyes and
bound about his face, added nothing to his attractiveness.
"Don't move, Mrs. Leland," he said. "Where is your husband?"
Carrie straightened herself with an effort. She did not like the man's
tone nor his inquiry. Urmston was close beside her, but she felt that
she had not much to expect from him, though she was too distracted to
feel any contempt for him on that account.
"I don't know," she said. "Why? Do you want him?"
The man appeared to smile. "Well," he said, "I guess there's a reason
for it; but, if he's willing to be reasonable, nobody's going to hurt
him. In fact, we just want to make a little bargain."
Carrie glanced at the watch on her bracelet, which was another of the
things which her husband had given her, and realised he might be home at
any time during the next half-hour. Then she glanced covertly towards
the other door which led to the kitchen; but it was some distance away,
and the stranger had a pistol. An almost paralysing fear came upon her,
for she knew her husband was not the man to be driven into doing
anything he did not like. The stranger watched her with eyes that
glittered wickedly behind the mask.
"You know where he went?" he said.
"I do," said Carrie, a trifle too swiftly, as she remembered that he
would not be there now. "He rode out to the sloos on the Traverse trail
to cut prairie hay."
"Exactly!" and the man laughed. "Only he went away again, or we wouldn't
have come on here. Now, there are four or five of us, and we want a word
with your husband, and mean to have it. It's not going to take us two
minutes to find out if he's in the house."
"Then why don't you do it?"
The man looked at her with obvious admiration. Though there was fear in
her heart, there was none in her face. She had the pride of her station,
and every inborn prejudice in her protested against submission to any
dictation from this intruding ruffian. There was a gleam in her dark
eyes, and the red spot showed in her otherwise colourless cheeks again.
"Well," said the outlaw, "I guess we mean to, but I'm not going to leave
you while you and your partner sneak away."
He raised his voice. "He's not here, Tom, but you may as well go round
and make sure of it."
There was a tramp of booted feet in the hall outside, and then footsteps
on the stairs, first mounting and then again descending. "No," a voice
said, "he hasn't come home."
"Light out, and tell the others. I'll fix things with the lady," said
his comrade in the room. Then he turned to Urmston. "You're a little
too near that rifle. Get across there."
Urmston crossed the room as he was bidden, for which one could scarcely
blame him, and the man sat down where he could watch them both.
"Now," he said, "I'm talking, Mrs. Leland. You listen to me. We are
going to see your husband, and it might be better if we saw him here. If
you can persuade him to be reasonable, you will please the boys and me.
Well, it's only natural that you should know where he is, and you can't
do anything. Old Jake's fast asleep in his shed, and there's not a boy
about the homestead."
"Still," said Carrie quietly, "I haven't the least intention of telling
you anything."
The man showed his impatience in a gesture.
"Then I guess all we have to do is to wait for him, but I can't quite
figure why you should be willing to make trouble for yourself. Everybody
knows you don't care two cents for Charley Leland."
Carrie winced, and felt she could have struck Urmston when she saw the
little sardonic smile in his eyes. Her face grew almost colourless with
anger, and she closed one hand at her side. Something which had been
latent within her was now wholly roused and dominant. She knew that what
the man had said was wholly untrue, and that her husband's safety
depended then on her. She did not suppose for a moment that he would
yield because of anything these men could do, and it was clear that they
were desperate men with a bitter grievance against him. They might even
kill him, and she resolutely grappled with a numbing fear. She dared not
let it master her, for something must be done, and once more she felt
that she had only herself to depend upon.
"Charley Leland will make you sorry for that some day," she said.
The man grinned. "It is quite likely he is going to be sorry for himself
before we are through with him. Anyway, I don't know any reason why I
shouldn't eat his supper. I've ridden most of forty miles to-day
trailing him."
He drew the tray upon the table nearer to him, and ate voraciously,
while Carrie grew faint with apprehension as she watched him. Urmston,
who had taken out a cigar, sat motionless, save that he fumbled with it
instead of his watch-chain. The room was once more very still, except
for the snapping of the stove and the unpleasant sounds the outlaw made
over his meal. Time was flying, and Leland might arrive at any moment
now. She feared that the other men were hidden beside the trail through
the birch bluff, waiting to waylay him.
Then the outlaw turned to her. "I guess it would be nice to be waited on
by a lady, and it might please Charley Leland when he hears of it. I'd
like some coffee, and I see the pot here. Bring me the kettle."
Carrie looked at Urmston. At any risk he would surely resent this insult
to her. But, though there was a shade more colour than usual in his
cheeks, Urmston sat still. Then, in a flash, the inspiration came. With
a glance towards the rear door, which led to the kitchen, she rose with
the kettle in her hand. The lamp stood upon the table about a yard from
the man, but, as he was sitting, a little nearer to her.
"Will you hold out the pot?" she said. "It's scalding hot. Take care of
your hand."
The man turned his eyes a moment, and that was enough, for before he
looked up again Carrie swung the kettle round, and there was a crash as
it struck the lamp. Then there was sudden darkness, out of which rang
venomous expletives and howls of pain. Carrie sped towards the second
door. She heard the man falling among the chairs behind her, and wasted
another moment or two turning the key, which was outside. This cost her
an effort, for the lock was rusty from disuse. Then she flitted along
the dark corridor, and, opening the kitchen door softly, looked out upon
the prairie. There was no moon, and the night was still and dark. She
could hear no sound on that side of the homestead.
Slipping out, she crept in quiet haste along the wall, and with wildly
beating heart crossed the open space between it and the stable. Nobody,
however, attempted to stop her, and in another moment or two she was
standing beside the horse which Jake had ready saddled. The animal was
fresh and mettlesome, and she lost several precious minutes before she
contrived to get into the saddle by scrambling on a mound of sod piled
against the outside of the building. Then she struck him viciously with
the quirt. One cut was all that was needed, and they were flying out
into the darkness at a furious gallop.
She knew that her flight was heard, for shouts rose behind her; but she
knew too that her horse was fresh and the outlaws' tired after a hard
day's ride. It was also very probable that his comrades had tethered
their horses somewhere while they watched the trail, since it is
usually difficult to keep a prairie broncho quiet very long. All this
flashed upon her while the lights of Prospect blinked and vanished as
the barns and stables shut them in. With a sigh of relief, she brought
the quirt down again.
There were stars in the heavens, but the night was dark, and she could
just discern an outlying birch bluff, a shadowy blur against the sky, a
mile in front of her. The prairie was rutted deep along the trail by
waggon-wheels, and riddled here and there with deadly badger-holes, but
these were hazards that must be taken as they came. One thing was
sure--the man she had married was in imminent peril, and she alone could
deliver him. The fact that Urmston was left behind in the outlaws' hands
did not seem to trouble her. Indeed, she scarcely remembered him at all.
She swept on, her light skirt blown about her, her loosened hair
whipping her hot face, while a thud of hoofs broke out behind her. The
horse's blood was up, too, so she let him go, stretched out at a flying
gallop, up low rise and over long level. The birches flashed by, and the
open waste lay in front. While nobody riding that pace could find the
trail, there was a shallow coulee a league away with stunted birches on
the edge of it, which would presently rise for a landmark out of the
prairie. Once she glanced over her shoulder. There was only the soft
darkness, out of which there came a thumping that seemed to be growing
fainter.
She was almost upon the birches when she heard another beat of hoofs in
front of her now, and she sent up a breathless cry.
"Charley!" she called, and again in fierce impatience, "Charley!"
For a moment she was conscious of a torturing suspense, and then a man's
voice came out of the darkness in answer.
"All right," it said. "I'm coming straight along."
In another few moments a shadowy figure had materialised out of the
prairie. She pulled her horse up with a struggle when Leland drew bridle
beside her.
"Steady, my dear," he said. "Get your breath and tell me what it is."
Carrie gasped out her news, and the man sat silent a moment or two.
"Urmston's there, and Mrs. Annersly," he said. "I don't think they'll
hurt them, but I'd better get on."
Carrie leant out from the saddle, and attempted to touch his bridle as
the fidgeting horses pranced side by side.
"No," she said, "you mustn't. I will not have you go. I think they mean
to kill you."
Leland appeared to smile. "I guess that contract would be a little too
big for them. Still, if Urmston riled them, they might hurt him. The
man's a friend of yours."
Carrie laughed somewhat bitterly. "I don't think he will do anything
very injudicious. Eveline Annersly's room is just across the house, and
she sleeps very soundly."
"They wouldn't hurt her," said Leland, reflectively. "One could count on
that. Urmston would be all right, too, if he has sense enough to keep
quiet. Now, there are two of Grier's troopers camping in a bluff a
league back to watch the trail, and if I could only bring them up
before the rustlers go, we ought to get one or two of them. It's 'most
worth while trying. You'll ride round with me?"
Nothing more was said when Carrie signified that she was willing, and
they rode on again to where the troopers were. Then with these
reinforcements they turned back to Prospect, arriving there when dawn
was climbing into the sky. There was no sign of the rustlers, but
Urmston stood just outside the door.
"They went soon after Mrs. Leland got away," he said. "I feel that I
ought to make excuses for leaving the thing to her, though I'm not sure
that there was, in view of the circumstances, any other course open to
me."
Leland laughed as he swung himself from the saddle. "That's all right.
You did the sensible thing, and nobody's going to blame you," he said.
"If you don't mind rousing Jake, we'll get the troopers breakfast before
they go away. You know your way to the stables, boys."
Urmston and the troopers disappeared, and Carrie looked down on her
husband, who stood, a shadowy figure, beside her stirrup.
"You," she said, with a little soft laugh, "would have found another
course."
Leland said nothing, but stretched his arms up, and, when she slipped
from the saddle into them, held her there while he kissed her.