THE HARVEST OF PASSION
For one passionate moment the woman's radiant face held the gaze of
the man. He was swayed with an unwholesome hunger at the sight of her
splendid womanhood. The beautiful, terrified eyes, so full of that
allurement which ever claims all that is vital in man; the warm
coloring of her delicately rounded cheeks, so soft, so downy; the
perfect undulations of her strong young figure--these things caught
him anew, and again set raging the fire of a reckless, vicious
passion. In a flash he had mounted to the sill of the window-opening,
and dropped inside the room.
"Say--Jessie," he breathed hotly. "You're--you're fine."
His words were almost involuntary. It was as though they were a mere
verbal expression of what was passing through his mind, and made
without thought of addressing her. He was almost powerless in his
self-control before her beauty. And Jessie's conscience in its weakly
life could not hold out before the ardor of his assault. Her eyelids
lowered. She stood waiting, and in a moment the bold invader held her
crushed in his arms.
She lay passive, yielding to his caresses for some moments. Then of a
sudden she stirred restlessly. She struggled weakly to free herself.
Then, as his torrential kisses continued, sweeping her lips, her eyes,
her cheeks, her hair, something like fear took hold of her. Her
struggles suddenly became real, and at last she stood back panting,
but with her young heart mutely stirred to a passionate response.
Nor was it difficult, as they stood thus, to understand how nature
rose dominant over all that belonged to the higher spiritual side of
the woman. The wonderful virility in her demanded life in the full
flood of its tide, and here, standing before her, was the embodiment
of all her natural, if baser, ideals.
The man was a handsome, picturesque creature bred on lines of the
purer strains. He had little enough about him of the rough camp in
which she lived. He brought with him an atmosphere of cities, an
atmosphere she yearned for. It was in his dress, in his speech, in the
bold daring of his handsome eyes. She saw in his face the high
breeding of an ancient lineage. There was such a refinement in the
delicate chiseling of his well-molded features. His brows were widely
expressive of a strong intellect. His nose possessed that wonderful
aquilinity associated with the highest type of Indian. His cheeks were
smooth, and of a delicacy which threw into relief the perfect model of
the frame beneath them. His clean-shaven mouth and chin suggested all
that which a woman most desires to behold in a man. His figure was
tall and muscular, straight-limbed and spare; while in his glowing
eyes shone an irresistible courage, a fire of passion, and such a
purpose as few women could withstand. And so the wife of Scipio
admitted her defeat and yielded the play of all her puny arts, that
she might appear sightly in his eyes.
But she only saw him as he wished her to see him. He showed her the
outward man. The inner man was something not yet for her to probe. He
was one of Nature's anachronisms. She had covered a spirit which was
of the hideous stock from which he sprang with a gilding of
superlative manhood.
His name was James, a name which, in years long past, the Western
world of America had learned to hate with a bitterness rarely equaled.
But all that was almost forgotten, and this man, by reason of his
manner, which was genial, open-handed, even somewhat magnificent,
rarely failed, at first, to obtain the good-will of those with whom he
came into contact.
It was nearly nine months since he first appeared on Suffering Creek.
Apparently he had just drifted there in much the same way that most of
the miners had drifted, possibly drawn thither out of curiosity at the
reports of the gold strike. So unobtrusive had been his coming that
even in that small community he at first passed almost unobserved. Yet
he was full of interest in the place, and contrived to learn much of
its affairs and prospects. Having acquired all the information he
desired, he suddenly set out to make himself popular. And his
popularity was brought about by a free-handed dispensation of a
liberal supply of money. Furthermore, he became a prominent devotee at
the poker table in Minky's store, and, by reason of the fact that he
usually lost, as most men did who joined in a game in which Wild Bill
was taking a hand, his popularity increased rapidly, and the
simple-minded diggers dubbed him with the dazzling sobriquet of "Lord
James."
It was during this time that he made the acquaintance of Jessie and
her husband, and it was astonishing how swiftly his friendship for the
unsuspicious little man ripened.
This first visit lasted just three weeks. Then, without warning, and
in the same unobtrusive way as he had come, he vanished from the
scene. For the moment Suffering Creek wondered; then, as is the way of
such places, it ceased to wonder. It was too busy with its own affairs
to concern itself to any great extent with the flotsam that drifted
its way. Scipio wondered a little more than the rest, but his twins
and his labors occupied him so closely that he, too, dismissed the
matter from his mind. As for Jessie, she said not a word, and gave no
sign except that her discontent with her lot became more pronounced.
But Suffering Creek was not done with James yet. The next time he came
was nearly a month later, just as the monthly gold stage was preparing
for the road, carrying with it a shipment of gold-dust bound for Spawn
City, the nearest banking town, eighty miles distant.
He at once took up his old position in the place, stayed two weeks,
staked out a claim for himself, and pursued his intimacy with Scipio
and his wife with redoubled ardor.
Before those two weeks were over somehow his popularity began to wane.
This intimacy with Scipio began to carry an ill-flavor with the men of
the place. Somehow it did not ring pleasantly. Besides, he showed a
fresh side to his character. He drank heavily, and when under the
influence of spirits abandoned his well-polished manners, and
displayed a coarseness, a savage truculence, such as he had been
careful never to show before. Then, too, his claim remained unworked.
The change in public opinion was subtle, and no one spoke of it. But
there was no regret when, finally, he vanished again from their midst
in the same quiet manner in which he had gone before.
Then came the catastrophe. Two weeks later a gold stage set out on its
monthly journey. Sixty miles out it was held up and plundered. Its two
guards were shot dead, and the driver mortally wounded. But
fortunately the latter lived long enough to tell his story. He had
been attacked by a gang of eight well-armed horsemen. They were all
masked, and got clear away with nearly thirty thousand dollars' worth
of gold.
In the first rush of despairing rage Suffering Creek was unable to
even surmise at the identity of the authors of the outrage. Then Wild
Bill, the gambler, demanded an accounting for every man of the camp on
the day of the tragedy. In a very short time this was done, and the
process turned attention upon Lord James. Where was he? The question
remained unanswered. Suspicions grew into swift conviction. Men asked
each other who he was, and whence he came. There was no answer to any
of their inquiries at first. Then, suddenly, news came to hand that
the gang, no longer troubling at concealment, was riding roughshod
over the country. It was a return to the regime of the "bad man," and
stock-raiding and "hold-ups," of greater or less degree, were being
carried on in many directions with absolute impunity; and the man
James was at the head of it.
It was a rude awakening. All the old peace and security were gone. The
camp was in a state of ferment. Every stranger that came to the place
was eyed askance, and unless he could give a satisfactory account of
himself he had a poor chance with the furious citizens. The future
dispatch of gold became a problem that exercised every mind, and for
two months none left the place. And this fact brought about a further
anxiety. The gang of robbers was a large one. Was it possible they
might attempt a raid on the place? And, if so, what were their chances
of success?
Such was the position at Suffering Creek, and the nature of the threat
which hung over it. One man's name was in everybody's mind. His
personality and doings concerned them almost as nearly as their search
for the elusive gold which was as the breath of life to them.
And yet Lord James was in no way deterred from visiting the
neighborhood. He knew well enough the position he was in. He knew well
enough all its possibilities. Yet he came again and again. His visits
were paid in daylight, carefully calculated, even surreptitiously
made. He sought the place secretly, but he came, careless of all
consequences to himself. His contempt for the men of Suffering Creek
was profound and unaffected. He probably feared no man.
And the reason of his visits was not far to seek. There was something
infinitely more alluring to him at the house on the dumps than the
gold which held the miners--an inducement which he had neither wish
nor intention to resist. He reveled in the joy and excitement of
pursuing this wife of another man, and had the camp bristled with an
army of fighting men, and had the chances been a thousand to one
against him, with him the call of the blood would just as surely have
been obeyed. This was the man, savage, crude, of indomitable courage
and passionate recklessness.
And Jessie was dazzled, even blinded. She was just a weak, erring
woman, thrilling with strong youthful life, and his dominating nature
played upon her vanity with an ease that was quite pitiful. She was
only too ready to believe his denials of the accusations against him.
She was only too ready to--love. The humility, devotion, the goodness
of Scipio meant nothing to her. They were barren virtues, too
unexciting and uninteresting to make any appeal. Her passionate heart
demanded something more stimulating. And the stimulant she found in
the savage wooing of his unscrupulous rival.
Now the man's eyes contemplated the girl's ripe beauty, while he
struggled for that composure necessary to carry out all that was in
his mind. He checked a further rising impulse, and his voice sounded
almost harsh as he put a sharp question.
"Where's Zip?" he demanded.
The girl's eyelids slowly lifted. The warm glow of her eyes made them
limpid and melting.
"Gone out to his claim," she said in a low voice.
The other nodded appreciatively.
"Good."
He turned to the window. Out across the refuse-heaps the rest of the
camp was huddled together, a squalid collection of huts, uninspiring,
unpicturesque. His glance satisfied him. There was not a living soul
in view; not a sound except the prattle of the children who were
still playing outside the hut. But the latter carried no meaning to
him. In the heat of the moment even their mother was dead to the
appeal of their piping voices.
"You're coming away now, Jess," the man went on, making a movement
towards her.
But the girl drew back. The directness of his challenge was startling,
and roused in her a belated defensiveness. Going away? It sounded
suddenly terrible to her, and thrilled her with a rush of fear which
set her shivering. And yet she knew that all along this--this was the
end towards which she had been drifting. The rich color faded from her
cheeks and her lips trembled.
"No, no," she whispered in a terrified tone. For the moment all that
was best in her rose up and threatened to defeat his end.
But James saw his mistake. For a second a flash of anger lit his eyes,
and hot resentment flew to his lips. But it found no expression.
Instead, the anger died out of his eyes, and was replaced by a fire of
passion such as had always won its way with this girl. He moved
towards her again with something subtly seductive in his manner, and
his arms closed about her unresisting form in a caress she was
powerless to deny. Passive yet palpitating she lay pressed in his
arms, all her woman's softness, all her subtle perfume, maddening him
to a frenzy.
"Won't you? I love you, Jessie, so that nothing else on earth counts.
I can't do without you--I can't--I can't!"
His hot lips crushed against hers, which yielded themselves all too
willingly. Presently he raised his head, and his eyes held hers.
"Won't you come, Jess? There's nothing here for you. See, I can give
you all you wish for: money, a fine home, as homes go hereabouts. My
ranch is a dandy place, and," with a curious laugh, "stocked with some
of the best cattle in the country. You'll have horses to ride, and
dresses--See! You can have all you want. What is there here? Nothing.
Say, you don't even get enough to eat. Scipio hasn't got more backbone
in him than to gather five cents when it's raining dollars." He kissed
her upturned face again, and the warm responsive movement of her lips
told him how easy his task really was.
But again she pressed him back, so that he held her only at arms'
length. Her swimming eyes gazed long and ardently into his.
"It isn't that, Jim," she said earnestly; "it isn't that. Those things
don't count. It's--it's you. I--I don't want dresses. I don't want the
money. I--I--want you."
Then she started, terrified again.
"But, Jim, why did you come up to this hut?" she cried. "Why didn't
you wait for me down in the bush at the river, as usual? Oh, Jim, if
anybody sees you they'll shoot you down like a dog--"
"Dog, eh?" cried the man, with a ringing laugh. "Let 'em try. But
don't you worry, Jess. No one saw me. Anyway, I don't care a curse if
they did."
"Oh, Jim!"
Then she nestled closer to him for a moment of passionate silence,
while he kissed her, prolonging the embrace with all the fire with
which he was consumed. And after that she spoke again. But now it was
the mother that would no longer be denied, even in the midst of her
storm of emotion.
"But I--I can't leave them--the little ones. I can't, I can't!" she
cried piteously. "Jim, I love you. God knows how badly I love you, but
I--I love them, too. They are mine. They are part of me, and--and I
can't do without them. No--no. I can't go--I won't go," she hurried
on, without conviction. "I can't. I want my babies--my little boy and
girl. You say you love me. I know you love me. Then take them with us,
and--and I'll do as you wish. Oh, I'm wicked, I know. I'm wicked, and
cruel, and vile to leave Scipio. And I don't want to, but--but--oh,
Jim, say you'll take them, too. I can never be happy without them. You
can never understand. You are a man, and so strong." He drew her to
him again, and she nestled close in his arms. "You don't know what it
is to hear a child's voice, and know that it is part of you, your
life, one little tiny atom beginning all over again. No, no--I must
have them."
She slowly drew herself away, watching his handsome face, half
fearfully, half eagerly. She knew in her heart that she was waiting
for his verdict, and, whatever it might be, she would have to abide by
it. She knew she must do as he wished, and that very knowledge
gladdened her, even in spite of her maternal dread of being parted
from her babies.
She saw his expression change. She saw the look of perplexity in the
sudden drawing together of his finely marked brows, she saw the
half-angry impatience flash into his eyes, she saw this again replaced
with a half-derisive smile. And each emotion she read in her own way,
molding it to suit and fall in with her own desires, yet with a
willing feeling that his decision should be paramount, that she was
there to obey him.
He slowly shook his head, and a curious hardness set itself about his
strong mouth.
"Not now," he said. "I would, but it can't be done. See here, Jess,
I've got two horses hidden away down there in the bush beside the
creek--one for you, and one for me. We can't fetch those kiddies along
with us now. It wouldn't be safe, anyhow. We've got sixty-odd miles to
ride through the foothills. But see, I'll fetch 'em one day, after, if
you must have 'em. How's that?"
"But they'll never let you," cried Jessie. "The whole camp will be up
in arms when they know I've gone. You don't know them, Jim. They're
fond of Zip, and they'll stand by him."
James laughed contemptuously.
"Say, Jess," he cried, "you come right along with me now. And if
you need those kiddies, not all Suffering Creek--no, nor hell
itself--shall stop me bringing 'em along to you." Then he chuckled
in an unpleasant manner. "Say, it would tickle me to death to set
these mutton-headed gophers jumping around. You'll get those kiddies
if you need 'em, if I have to blow hell into this mud-heap of a
city."
Jessie's eyes glowed at the man's note of savage strength and
confidence. She knew he could and would do as he said, and this very
fact yielded her to him more surely than any other display could have
done. It was this wonderful daring, this reckless, savage manhood that
had originally won her. He was so different from all others, from her
puny husband. He swept her along and dazzled her. Her own virility
cried out for such a mate, and no moral scruples could hope to stay so
strong a tide of nature.
"You'll do it?" she cried fervently. Then she nodded joyously. "Yes,
yes, you'll do it. I know it. Oh, how good you are to me. I love you,
Jim."
Again she was in his arms. Again his kisses fell hot and fast upon her
glowing face. Nature was rushing a strong flood tide. It was a moment
that could have no repetition in their lives.
They stood thus, locked in each other's arms, borne along by a passion
that was beyond their control--lost to all the world, lost to all
those things which should have mattered to them. It was the fervid
outpouring of two natures which had nothing that was spiritual in
them. They demanded the life of the senses, and so strong was the
desire that they were lost to all else.
Then suddenly in the midst of their dream came the disturbing patter
of small feet and the joyous, innocent laughter of infantile glee. Two
tiny mud-stained figures rushed at the doorway and fell sprawling into
the hut. They were on their feet again in a moment, laughing and
crowing out their delight. Then, as the man and woman sprang apart,
they stood round-eyed, wondering and gaping.
Jamie and Vada paused only till the grown-up eyes were turned in their
direction, then their chorus broke out in one breath.
"We got fi' 'piders--"
"An' two bugs!"
The important information was fairly shrieked, to the accompaniment of
dancing eyes and flushed cheeks.
Jessie gasped. But her emotion was not at the news so rudely broken.
It was the breaking of the spell which had held her. Just for one
horrific moment she stood staring helplessly at the innocent picture
of her four-year-old twins, beautiful in spite of their grimy
exterior, beautiful as a Heaven-inspired picture to the mother.
The man smiled. Nor was it an unpleasant smile. Perhaps, somewhere in
his savage composition, he had a grain of humor; perhaps it was only
the foolish smile of a man whose wits are not equal to so incongruous
a situation.
"They're most ev'ry color," piped Vada, with added excitement.
"Uh!" grunted Jamie in agreement. "An' the bugs has horns."
But the man had recovered himself. The interruption had brought with
it a realization of the time he had spent in the hut.
"You'd best go and find more," he said. "There's heaps outside." Then
he turned to Jessie. "Come on. We must be going. Have you got the
things you need ready?"
But the mother's eyes were on the small intruders. Something was
gripping at her heart, and somehow it felt like four small and dirty
hands.
"Wher' you goin'?" demanded Vada, her childish curiosity roused, and
all her beautiful spiders forgotten for the moment.
Her question remained unanswered, leaving the room in ominous silence.
Then Jamie's treble blundered into its midst, dutifully echoing his
sister's inquiry.
"'Es, wher' you doin'?"
The man's eyes were narrowly watching the woman's face. He noted the
tremulous lips, the yearning light in her eyes. In a moment he was
answering the children, lest their innocent words should upset his
plans.
"Say, your momma's going for a horse-ride. She's just going right out,
and I'm going to show her a dandy place where she can fetch you, so
you can catch heaps an' heaps of bugs and spiders. She's just wanting
you to stop right here and catch more bugs, till I come along and
fetch you."
"O--oh!" cried Vada, prolonging her exclamation gleefully. "Say, can't
us go now?"
"Me do too," murmured her faithful shadow.
One quick glance at the mother's face and the man spoke again.
"Not now, kiddies. I'll come and fetch you. Run along." Then he turned
swiftly upon Jessie. "Where's your bundle?" he asked in his usual
masterful manner.
And her reply came in a tone of almost heart-broken submission.
"In there," she said, with a glance at the inner room.
The man gave her no time to add anything more. He felt the ground he
was treading was more than shaky. He knew that with the coming of
these children a tremendous power was militating against him--a power
which would need all his wits to combat. He passed into the inner
room, and returned in a moment with the girl's bundle. And with his
return one glance showed him how nearly his plans were upset. Jessie
was clasping Jamie in her arms, kissing him hungrily, tears streaming
down her cheeks, while, out of sheer sympathy, little Vada was
clinging to her mother's skirts, her small face buried in amongst
them, sobbing as though her heart would break.
In a moment he was at her side. This was not a time when any drastic
methods could serve him, and he adopted the only course which his
shrewd sense told him would be likely to avail. Gently but firmly he
took the boy out of her arms.
"You want him to go with us?" he said kindly. "Very well. Maybe we're
doing wrong--I mean, for his sake. Anyhow, I'll carry him, and then
I'll come back for Vada. It's not good. It's too hard on him, carrying
him all that distance--too dangerous. Still, I want you to be happy,
Jess. I'd do anything for that, even--even at his expense. So--"
"No--no!" cried the mother, carried away by the fear he expressed so
subtly, and warmed by his carefully expressed sympathy. "Don't take
any notice of me. I'm foolish--silly. You're right--he--he couldn't
make the journey with us. No, no, we--won't--take him now. Set him
down, Jim. I'll go now, and you'll--you'll come back for them. Yes,
yes, let's go now. I--I can't stay any--longer. I've left a letter for
Zip. Swear I shall have them both. You'll never--never break your
word? I think I'd--die without them."
"You shall have them. I swear it." The man spoke readily enough. It
was so easy to promise anything, so long as he got her.
But his oath brought neither expression of gratitude nor comment. The
woman was beyond mere words. She felt that only flight could save her
from breaking down altogether. And, thus impelled, she tore herself
from the presence of the children and rushed out of the hut. The
horses were down at the creek, and thither she sped, lest her purpose
should fail her.
James followed her. He felt that she must not be left by herself to
think. But at the door he paused and glanced keenly around him. Then
he breathed a sigh of relief. Not a living soul was to be seen
anywhere. It was good; his plans had worked out perfectly.
He set Jamie down, and, all unconscious of the little drama being
played round his young life, the child stretched out a chubby hand in
the direction of the soap-box he and his sister had been playing
with.
"'Piders," he observed laconically.
Vada rushed past him to inspect their treasures, her tears already
dried into streaks on her dirty little cheeks.
"An' bugs," she cried gleefully, squatting beside the box.
They had forgotten.
* * * * *
The man hurried away down towards the creek, bearing the pitiful
bundle of woman's raiment. The girl was ahead, and, as she again came
into his view, one thought, and one thought only, occupied his mind.
Jessie was his whole world--at that moment.
He, too, had forgotten.
"They've runned away," cried Vada, peering into the box.
"Me don't like 'piders," murmured Jamie definitely.
Vada's great brown eyes filled with tears. Fresh rivulets began to run
down the muddy channels on her downy cheeks. Her disappointment found
vent in great sobbing gulps.
Jamie stared at her in silent speculation. Then one little fat hand
reached out and pushed her. She rolled over and buried her wet face in
the dusty ground and howled heart-brokenly. Then Jamie crawled close
up beside her, and, stretching himself out, wept his sympathy into the
back of her gaping frock.