That night Shannon insisted upon taking her turn at Custer’s bedside,
and she was so determined that they could not refuse her. He was still
suffering, but not so acutely. The doctor had left morphine, with
explicit directions for its administration should it be required. The
burns, while numerous, and reaching from his left ankle to his cheek,
were superficial, and, though painful, not necessarily dangerous.
He slept but little, and when he was awake he wanted to talk. He told
her about Grace. It was his first confidence--a sweetly sad one--for he
was a reticent man concerning those things that were nearest his heart
and consequently the most sacred to him. He had not heard from Grace
for some time, and her mother had had but one letter--a letter that had
not sounded like Grace at all. They were anxious about her.
“I wish she would come home!” he said wistfully. “You would like her,
Shannon. We could have such bully times together! I think I would
be content here if Grace were back; but without her it seems very
different, and very lonely. You know we have always been together, all
of us, since we were children--Grace, Eva, Guy, and I; and now that you
are here it would be all the better, for you are just like us. You seem
like us, at least--as if you had always lived here, too.”
“It’s nice to have you say that; but I haven’t always been here, and,
really, you know I don’t _belong_.”
“But you do belong!”
“And I’m going away again pretty soon. I must go back to the city.”
“Please don’t go back,” he begged. “You don’t really have to, do you?”
“I had intended telling you all this morning; but after the spurs, I
couldn’t.”
“Do you _really_ have to go?” Custer insisted.
“I don’t have to, but I think I ought to. Do you want me to
stay--honestly?”
“Honest Injun!” he said, smiling.
“Maybe I will.”
He reached over with his right hand and took hers.
“Oh, will you?” he exclaimed. “You don’t know how much we want you--all
of us.”
It was precisely what he might have done or said to Eva in boyish
affection and comradeship.
“I’m going to stay,” she announced. “I’ve made up my mind. As soon as
you are well I’m going to move down to my own place and really learn to
work it. I’d love it!”
“And I’ll come down and help you with what little I know about oranges.
Father will, too. We don’t know much--citrus growing is a little out of
our line, though we have a small orchard here; but we’ll give you the
best we’ve got. And it’ll be fine for Eva--she loves you. She cried the
other day--the last time you mentioned in earnest that you might not
stay.”
“She’s a dear!”
“She is all of that,” he said. “We have always had our fights--I
suppose all brothers and sisters do--and we kid one another a lot; but
there never was a sister like Eva. Just let any one else say anything
against me! They’d have a fight on their hands right there, if Eva was
around. And sunshine! The old place seems like a morgue every time she
goes away.”
“She worships you, Custer.”
“She’s a brick!”
He could have voiced no higher praise.
He asked about the fire, and especially about the horses. He was
delighted when she told him that a man had just come down to say that
the fire was practically out, and the colonel was coming in shortly;
and that the veterinary had been there and found the team not seriously
injured.
“I think that fire was incendiary,” he said; “but now that Slick Allen
is in jail, I don’t know who would set it.”
“Who is Slick Allen,” she asked, “and why should he want to set fire to
Ganado?”
He told her, and she was silent for a while, thinking about Allen and
the last time she had seen him. She wondered what he would do when he
got out of jail. She would hate to be in Wilson Crumb’s boots then, for
she guessed that Allen was a hard character.
While she was thinking of Allen, Custer mentioned Guy Evans. Instantly
there came to her mind, for the first time since that last evening at
the Vista del Paso bungalow, Crumb’s conversation with Allen and the
latter’s account of the disposition of the stolen whisky. His very
words returned to her.
“Got a young high-blood at the edge of the valley handling it--a fellow
by the name of Evans.”
She had not connected Allen or that conversation or the Evans he had
mentioned with these people; but now she knew that it was Guy Evans
who was disposing of the stolen liquor. She wondered if Allen would
return to this part of the country after he was released from jail. If
he did, and saw her, he would be sure to recognize her, for he must
have had her features impressed upon his memory by the fact that she so
resembled some one he had known.
If he recognized her, would be expose her? She did not doubt but that
he would. The chances were that he would attempt to blackmail her; but,
worst of all, he might tell Crumb where she was. That was the thing
she dreaded most--seeing Wilson Crumb again, or having him discover
her whereabouts; for she knew that he would leave no stone unturned,
and hesitate to stoop to no dishonorable act, to get her back again.
She shuddered when she thought of him--a man whose love, even, was a
dishonorable and dishonoring thing.
Then she turned her eyes to the face of the man lying there on the bed
beside which she sat. He would never love her; but her love for him had
already ennobled her.
If the people of her old life did not discover her hiding place, she
could remain here on her little grove, near Ganada, and see Custer
often--nearly every day. He would not guess her love--no one would
guess it; but she should be happy just to be near him. Even if Grace
returned, it would make no difference--even if Grace and Custer were
married. Shannon knew that he was not for her--no honorable man was
for her, after what she had been--but there was no moral law to be
transgressed by her secret love for him.
She felt no jealousy for Grace. He belonged to Grace, and even had she
thought she might win him she would not have attempted it, for she had
always held in contempt those who infringed selfishly upon settled
affections. It would be hard for her, of course, when Grace returned;
but she was determined to like her, even to love her. She would be
untrue to this new love that had transfigured her should she fail to
love what _he_ loved.
Custer moved restlessly. Again he was giving evidence of suffering. She
laid a cool palm upon his forehead, and stroked it. He opened his eyes
and smiled up at her.
“It’s bully of you to sit with me,” he said; “but you ought to be in
bed. You’ve had a pretty hard day, and you’re not as used to it as we
are.”
“I am not tired,” she said, “and I should like to stay--if you would
like to have me.”
He took her hand from his forehead and kissed it.
“Of course I like to have you here, Shannon--you’re just like a sister.
It’s funny, isn’t it, that we should all feel that way about you, when
we’ve only known you a few weeks? It must have been because of the way
you fitted in. You belonged right from the start--you were just like
us.”
She turned her head away suddenly, casting her eyes upon the floor and
biting her lip to keep back the tears.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I am not like you, Custer; but I have tried hard to be.”
“Why aren’t you like us?” he demanded.
“I--why, I--couldn’t ride a horse,” she explained lamely.
“Don’t make me laugh, please; my face is burned,” he pleaded in mock
irony. “Do you think that’s all we know, or think of, or possess--our
horsemanship? We have hearts, and minds, such as they are--and souls,
I hope. It was of these things that I was thinking. I was thinking,
too, that we Penningtons demand a higher standard in women than is
customary nowadays. We are a little old-fashioned, I guess. We want the
blood of our horses and the minds of our women pure. Here is a case
in point--I can tell you, because you don’t know the girl and never
will. She was the daughter of a friend of Cousin William--our New York
cousin. She was spending the winter in Pasadena, and we had her out
here on Cousin William’s account. She was a pippin of a looker, and I
suppose she was all right morally; but she didn’t have a clean mind. I
discovered it about the first time I talked with her alone; and then
Eva asked me a question about something that she couldn’t have known
about at all except through this girl. I didn’t know what to do. She
was a girl, and so I couldn’t talk about her to any one, not even my
father or mother; but I didn’t want her around Eva. I wondered if I was
just a narrow prig, and if, after all, there was nothing that any one
need take exception to in the girl. I got to analyzing the thing, and
I came to the conclusion that I would be ashamed of mother and Eva if
they talked or thought along such lines. Consequently, it wasn’t right
to expose Eva to that influence. That was what I decided, and I don’t
just _think_ I was right--I _know_ I was.”
“And what did you do?” Shannon asked in a very small voice.
“I did what under any other circumstances would have been unpardonable.
I went to the girl and asked her to make some excuse that would
terminate her visit. It was a very hard thing to do; but I would do
more than that--I would sacrifice my most cherished friendship--for
Eva.”
“And the girl--did you tell her why you asked her to go?”
“I didn’t want to, but she insisted, and I told her.”
“Did she understand?”
“She did not.”
They were silent for some time.
“Do you think I did wrong?” he asked.
“No. There is mental virtue as well as physical. It is as much your
duty to protect your sister’s mind as to protect her body.”
“I knew you’d think as I do about it; but let me tell you it was an
awful jolt to the cherished Pennington hospitality. I hope I never have
to do it again!”
“I hope you never do.”
He commenced to show increasing signs of suffering, presently, and then
he asked for morphine.
“I don’t want to take it unless I have to,” he explained.
“No,” she said, “do not take it unless you have to.”
She prepared and administered it, but she felt no desire for it
herself. Then Eva came to relieve her, and she bade them good night
and went up to bed. She awoke about four o’clock in the morning, and
immediately thought of the little black case; but she only smiled,
turned over, and went back to sleep again.