THE OTHER WOMAN
At the door of the cabin Jennie greeted her caller effusively. Alice
Endicott, who had insisted upon dressing, had finished her breakfast and
was sitting propped up among the pillows on the bed.
"This is Janet McWhorter, our neighbour," introduced Jennie, taking the
girl by the hand and leading her to the side of the bed, "an' this is
Mrs.--Mrs.--why, do you know I can't call your married name to save me.
I never seen yer husban'--an' he's always spoke of in these parts as
'the pilgrim.'"
"Endicott," smiled Alice, as her glance noted with swift approval the
girl's riding boots, her corduroy skirt, her grey flannel shirt, the
scarf of burnt orange, and the roll-brim Stetson--noted, too, the
six-gun and the belt of yellow cartridges. Each well-appointed detail
bespoke the girl of the open range. But the Eastern woman perceived
instantly that the gliding grace of her walk was never acquired in the
saddle, nor were the well modulated tones of the full, throaty voice
with which she acknowledged the introduction, a product of the cattle
range.
"I am very glad to meet you--Mrs. Endicott." Their hands met, and as
Alice looked into the girl's eyes, she wondered at the peculiar glance
that flashed from their blue-black depths. It was not exactly a glance
of hate, but rather of veiled antagonism, of distrust--almost of
contempt. Alice's own eyes had been frankly friendly, but as they
encountered the look, they fell before the blue-black eyes, and she
turned appealingly toward Jennie. But the woman did not notice. She
chattered on:
"Ontil yesterday, I ain't seen Mrs. Endicott sence that night, it's a
year back, when Tex Benton brung you to the hotel in Wolf River an'
wanted the room--" Janet McWhorter sat down abruptly in a chair beside
the table and became suddenly interested in fingering the rims of the
cartridges in her belt. Jennie continued: "An' I jest give him a good
blessin', 'cause I don't trust no cowpuncher--or didn't then--ontil he
explained how it was. An' then he went away, an' Old Bat come an' tuck
you off, an' we heard afterwards how you an' Bat, an' the pilgrim an'
Tex hit down through the bad lands an' crossed the river, an' you an'
the pilgrim was married in Timber City----"
Alice gave a little cry: "Oh, and he's there now! Worrying his heart
out! He don't know where I am nor what's become of me! Oh, I've got to
go to him! I've got to get word to him, somehow!"
Janet McWhorter looked up quickly, the blue-black eyes resting in frank
surprise on the woman's face. Her husband! Why should she be so
concerned about her husband? Must get back to him! Was she tired of the
Texan already? Had her experience with Purdy taken the romance out of
the adventure? Or, was the concern assumed for the benefit of her
hearers? No. The girl decided the concern was not assumed--it was a very
real concern--and there were real tears in the woman's eyes.
Jennie sought to soothe her: "There you go again, deary. We'll git you
back to him as soon as ever we can. But there ain't no way with the
river where it's at. But, tell us how come Purdy to have you tied up,
an' what's Tex Benton got to do with it--an' your man in Timber City? I
be'n most bustin' to hear about it."
"Oh, it all happened so suddenly--I hardly know myself. It seems like
some horrid dream--some fantastic nightmare. We came to Timber City, Win
and I, to be there on our anniversary. Win is going to buy a ranch, and
while he was talking business I rode out on the trail a little way, and
when I returned it was dark, and there was a crowd of men in front of
the saloon and they were shooting. And one of them told me there was a
man inside--a Texan. Somehow, I just knew it was Tex--our Tex--the one
we came to know so well and to love a year ago. So I told them to stop
shooting and I would go in and try to straighten things out. Tex had
been drinking a little and he was obstinate. He had defied the marshal
to arrest him and he absolutely refused to submit to arrest. I don't
blame him much. The marshal is a fool and he thought, or pretended to
think, that Tex was some terrible desperado, and he intended to hold him
in jail indefinitely until he could look up his record.
"Tex managed to get out of the building and he jumped onto a horse and
dashed right through the crowd, sending them sprawling in all
directions. As he started down the trail they began to shoot at him, and
men began to mount horses to ride after him. I knew they would kill
him--and what had he done? Nothing! Except shoot a few bottles and
things and break some windows--and they would have killed him for that!
"I knew they wouldn't dare shoot me, so before they could get onto their
horses, I swung into the trail behind him so they would have to stop
shooting. On and on I dashed through the darkness. At first I could hear
the sounds of pursuit, yells and curses and shots, but my horse was
faster than theirs and the sounds died away. He had almost reached the
river when I overtook him. His horse had gone lame and we barely made
the ferry-boat ahead of the mob. He tried to send me back as he led his
horse onto the ferry--but I knew that the moment he shoved off from
shore those fiends would kill him--he wouldn't have had a chance. So
before he could prevent me, I followed him onto the boat and cut the
rope that held it and we drifted out into the river--but the men on the
bank didn't dare to shoot. He would have put back then if he could, but
the current was too strong and it carried us farther and farther from
shore.
"Then a great tree drifted down against us, and to save the boat from
being swamped, Tex seized the ax and hacked the cable in two. The tree
hit his head and knocked him senseless for a time. I bandaged it the
best I could by the light of the lightning flashes, and we drifted on,
fighting the flood and the trees. The boat sprang a leak and we bailed
and bailed, and the next thing I knew he was shaking me, and day was
just breaking, and we were close to shore. And he tied the rope to the
saddle of my horse and made him jump overboard and we followed. That's
the last I remember--jumping into the water--until I awoke, it must have
been hours later, to find myself tied--and I got loose, and saw Long
Bill Kearney beside the river, and I flew back to the horses, and just
as I was about to escape, there stood that unspeakable Purdy, grinning
at me." Alice paused and pressed her hands to her eyes as if to keep out
the sight, "And, oh, the things he told me--the awful things--the
threats--the promises--that were worse than the threats. I must have
lost consciousness again--for the next thing I remember--I was here in
this room, and you were bending over me."
The two listeners had sat spellbound by the narrative and at its
conclusion, Janet McWhorter leaned forward and took one of Alice's
hands in both of hers. And when Alice looked again into the girl's eyes
lifted to her own, she read something akin to adoration in their depths.
The girl's lips moved: "And you did that--risked your
life--everything--to save his life--to keep him from being shot!"
"It wasn't anything," protested Alice. "It was the least I could do. He
risked his life for ours--Win's and mine--last year--and--why, I love
that boy--like a sister. I never had a brother and--I need one."
"And maybe he needs--a sister," murmured Janet softly. And at the words
Alice Endicott glanced swiftly into the girl's face, and her eyes glowed
suddenly with the light of great understanding. Her own troubles were
forgotten, and into her heart welled a mighty gladness. She pressed the
hands that held her own.
"Do you know him?" she whispered.
The girl nodded: "Yes--a little. He borrowed one of our horses--and I
rode with him when he went back to get you and bring you to the ranch.
And I rode to the edge of the bad lands with him when he took Purdy's
trail. And then he sent me back."
"Then, he _is_ safe! Oh, I'm glad--glad! Purdy told me he had drowned,
but I didn't believe him. I knew he would come to my rescue." She paused
and her face clouded, "but, now, I am safe and he is in danger. Purdy
may kill him----"
"Don't you go frettin' about that, deary," broke in Jennie. "If they's
any killin' to be done between them two, Tex'll do it. Purdy's a gunman
all right, but he'll never git Tex. Tex is the best man--an' Purdy knows
it--an' his kind ain't never no good when they're buffaloed."
"But, he might shoot him from ambush!"
"He better do it all to one shot, then. 'Cause, believe me, Tex, he'll
hit the ground a-shootin'! An' now you two make yerselves to home while
I run out an' tell Joe--I'm just a-bustin' to tell him an' he'll want to
know."
As the woman hurried toward the stable, Alice patted the girl's hands.
"He's splendid," she whispered, "splendid!" Janet's eyes did not meet
hers, and she continued, softly: "He's just a boy--impulsive, lovable.
And yet, at times he's so very much a man. And there doesn't seem to be
anything he can't do. Always, no matter what the emergency, he does the
right thing at the right time. And he has another side--once when I
ventured to say that Corot would have loved to paint a certain sunset we
were watching, he quietly informed me that Corot could not have painted
it--could not have got into the feel of it--and I knew that he was
right."
"He gets drunk," said the girl, without raising her eyes, "I could hate
a man that gets drunk."
"I didn't say he is a saint. But I happen to know that when he makes up
his mind not to drink, no power on earth can make him take even a
single drink."
"He wouldn't drink at the ranch--I offered him a drink because I thought
he needed one--and he did--but he refused it."
"Do you know why?"
The girl shook her head.
"Because he promised me he wouldn't take a drink until after he had
talked with my husband. Win wants to see him on business. Wants to
persuade him to keep the place he's held for a year, as foreman of the Y
Bar. Win is going to buy the Y Bar."
"The Y Bar!"
"Yes, do you know the Y Bar?"
The girl nodded slowly: "I was born there, and lived there the most of
my life. Dad moved over here onto Red Sand while I was away at school.
The Y Bar is--is like home to me."
"Mr. Colston says he's the best foreman he ever had. You should hear him
speak of him--of his taming a great wild stallion they call the Red
King----"
"The Red King!" cried Janet, her eyes wide with excitement, "I know the
Red King--I've seen him often on the range. He's the most wonderful
horse in the world. They said nobody could ride him. Once or twice men
tried it--and the Red King killed them. And, did Tex ride him?"
Alice nodded: "Yes, he rode him--tamed him so the great wild horse
would come when he whistled. But he wouldn't brand him. And then, one
night, he leaped onto his back without saddle or bridle and rode him
straight out onto the open range--and turned him loose!"
The girl's eyes were shining: "Oh, I'm glad--glad! Wait till you see the
Red King, and you will be glad, too. He's the embodiment of everything
that's wild, and free, and strong. I should hate to think of
him--branded--labouring under the saddle like a common cow-horse."
"That's just what the Texan thought--so he turned him out onto the range
again. It was a great big thing to do--and it was done in a great big
way--by a man with a great big poetic soul." There was a long silence
during which the little clock ticked incessantly, Alice spoke again,
more to herself than to the girl: "What Tex needs is some strong
incentive, something worth while, something to work for, to direct his
marvellous energy toward--he needs someone to love, and who will love
him. What he needs is not a sister--it's a wife."
"Why didn't you marry him, then?" flashed the girl.
Alice smiled: "He never asked me," she answered, "and I couldn't have
married him, if he had. Because, really, I've always loved Win--for
years and years."
"Maybe he won't ask--anyone else, either. If he asks me, I won't marry
him. I won't marry anybody!" She concluded with a defiant toss of the
head.
"I certainly shouldn't either, if I felt that way. And if he should ask
you, you stick to it, or you will spoil my plans----"
"Your--plans?" questioned the girl.
"Yes, I've got the grandest scheme. I haven't told a soul. When we get
settled on the Y Bar I'm going to send for a friend of mine--she's a
perfectly beautiful girl, and she's just as adorable as she is
beautiful. And I'm going to make her come and pay us a long visit. I'm a
great believer in propinquity, and especially out here----"
Janet sniffed audibly: "She'd probably get lost the first thing----"
"That's it, exactly!" cried Alice enthusiastically. "That's just what
I'm counting on--and who would find her? Why Tex, of course! There you
have it--all the ingredients of a first-class romance. Beautiful maiden
lost on the range--forlorn, homesick, wretched, scared. Enter
hero--rescues maiden--if I could only work in a villain of some
kind--but maybe one will turn up. Anyway, even without a villain it's
almost sure to work--don't you think?"
Alice repressed a desire to smile as she noted the girl's flushed face,
"I--I think it's perfectly horrid! It's a--what do they call it? A
regular frame-up! Suppose he don't love the girl? Suppose he don't want
to marry her?"
Alice laughed: "Well, then you may rest assured he won't marry her! He
won't marry anyone he don't want to, and as the Irish say, 'by the same
token,' when he finds the girl he wants to marry, he'll marry her. If I
were a girl and he wanted to marry me, and I didn't want to marry him,
I'd jump onto a horse and I'd ride and ride and ride till I got clear
out of the cattle country."
Janet stood up and drew on her gloves. "Well, I must be going. It's
nearly noon. Good-bye. Glad to have met you, I'm sure."
"Good-bye," called Alice, as the girl stepped from the door, "and when
we get settled at the Y Bar, do come over and see us--make us a nice
long visit. Please!"
"Thank you, so much! I certainly shall--come to see you at the Y Bar."
Alice Endicott smiled as she watched the girl stamp away toward the
corral.
Declining the pressing invitation of both Jennie and Cinnabar Joe to
stay for dinner, Janet mounted and rode across the creek.
"Well, I never!" exclaimed Jennie, as she watched her out of sight, "she
acted like she's mad! An' here I thought them two would hit it off fine.
Ain't that jest like women? I'm one myself, but--Gee, they're funny!"
Out on the bench Janet spurred the bay mare into a run and headed
straight for the bad lands. A jack-rabbit jumped from his bed almost
under her horse's hoofs, and a half-dozen antelope raised their heads
and gazed at her for a moment before scampering off, their white tails
looking for all the world like great bunches of down bobbing over the
prairie--but Janet saw none of these. In her mind's eye was the picture
of a slenderly built cowboy who sat his horse close beside hers, whose
gloved hand slipped from her sleeve and gripped her fingers in a strong
firm clasp. His hat rested upon the edge of a bandage that was bound
tightly about his head--a bandage bordered with tatting. His lips moved
and he was speaking to her, "For God's sake, don't hinder--help!" His
fine eyes, drawn with worry and pain, looked straight into hers--and in
their depths she read--"Oh, I'm coming--Tex!" she cried aloud, "I must
find him--I must! If he knows she's safe--maybe he will--will stop
hunting for Purdy! Oh, if anything should--happen to him--now!"
"Little fool of an Eastern girl!" she exploded, a few miles farther on.
"If she did come out here and get lost and if he did find her, and
if--she'd never make him happy, even if he did marry her! But that Mrs.
Endicott--I like her." She pulled up abruptly upon the very edge of the
bad lands and gazed out over the pink and black and purple waste. Her
brow drew into a puzzled frown. "I wonder," she whispered, "I wonder if
she _did_ know I was just crazy about her Texan?" And, with the question
unanswered, she touched the bay mare with her spurs and headed her down
a long black ridge that extended far into the bad lands.