CHANCE--AND A MAN
Della must have slept, for when she again opened her eyes the light had
been extinguished and a gray glow was coming through the north window.
Morning had come. She gathered the bedclothes around her and sat up,
glancing around the cabin for Lawler. He must have gone out, for the
heavy wooden bar had been removed from the door--it was standing in a
corner. She suspected Lawler had gone out to care for the horses, and
she hurriedly got out of the bunk, ran to the door and barred it, and
began to dress.
A fire roared in the fireplace, and it was warm in the cabin. But she
noted, with an interest that was almost calm, that the storm still raged
as furiously as the night before. There was this difference. Last night
the wind had been driven against the cabin in fitful blasts, for the
most part; now to her ears there came a ceaseless, droning hum with no
intervals of silence between--a steady, vicious, incessant rushing roar
that made her fear the cabin walls could not long resist it.
When she thought of last night's tragedy it seemed almost remote to
her--a thing that had happened long ago; an incident that time had
robbed of its gruesomeness.
For she saw, now, that it had been inevitable--that Lawler had acted in
self-defense. There had been no other way. She shuddered when she
thought of the ghastly things that were lying under the windbreak; but
her own comfort became instantly paramount, and she drew a chair close
to the fire and enjoyed its welcome warmth while dressing.
After dressing she got up from the chair and walked over to the
chuck-box, smiling as she noted the bulging sides; her eyes glowing with
satisfaction when she lifted the lid and saw the well-filled interior.
She paused before the shelf upon which reposed a supply of canned foods;
and exclaimed with delight when she saw, affixed to the wall near the
door, a piece of broken mirror. She spent some time looking into the
glass, combing her hair with a fragment of comb she found on a shelf
beside the mirror.
She had finished when she heard a knock on the door. She removed the
bar, and when Lawler stepped in, closing the door instantly to keep out
the rush of wind, she was standing in a corner, smiling demurely at him.
His face was grave, and he did not respond to her mood as he stood
there, watching her.
"Well," she said, after a silence, during which his face did not change
expression; "can't you say something complimentary?" She lifted her eyes
challengingly, as though to invite his inspection.
He saw that the tragedy had not affected her as it would have affected
some women--his mother and Ruth Hamlin, for example--though he veiled
the reproof in his eyes with a smile. The vanity she exhibited, her
self-interest, egotism disgusted him.
"You've found the mirror," he said. "Well, you look pretty well slicked
up. What happened last night seems to have affected you very little."
"Why should it?" she demanded, defiantly. "I don't intend to brood over
two men that I did not know--two men who attempted to commit murder! Of
course, it was an awful shock, and all that, but I am not going into
hysterics over it. Besides, I didn't kill them."
Lawler abruptly turned away from her and walked to the fireplace. His
face was pale and his eyes were glowing with contempt. She followed him
as far as the table, her lips in a pout--and stood there watching him,
her gaze mocking, defiant.
He finally turned and looked at her, his lips set in straight lines.
"Yes, I killed them, Miss Wharton," he said, evenly. "Do you know why?"
"Because they seemed determined to kill you--because they attacked you,
I suppose," she returned.
"You are wrong, Miss Wharton. There was nothing personal in that
killing. Those men were carrying out a principle of the unscrupulous
system you defended in our talk last night. If there had been no system
those men would not have attempted to cut my fence, I would not have
captured them, and they would not have attempted to kill me. Do you see
what I meant last night when I said the system was evil?"
She held his gaze unflinchingly. "Mr. Lawler," she said; "those men had
no orders to kill you--they attempted that because you captured them, I
suppose. And I did not, last night, attempt to defend Gary Warden's
action in sending them here. In fact--if you remember--I came over here
purposely to defeat them."
"But if there was no scheme to control cattle there would have been no
incentive to cut my fence," he said, impatiently.
"Perhaps some other persons would have cut it," she answered; "criminals
are everywhere. Please don't preach to me, Mr. Lawler," she added,
pleadingly. "I--I think you ought to be glad that I came--aren't you?"
He smiled grimly. "Well, I am not going to turn you out into the storm."
Getting out some cooking utensils he began to prepare breakfast. She
watched him for an instant, and then went to the north window, rubbed a
hole through the frost and tried to look out. She could not see more
than a few inches into the white blur that roared against the glass, and
so she turned, sought a chair near the table, and resumed watching
Lawler. And her eyes filled with a warm light as they followed his
movements--noting that he seemed handsomer now than he had appeared when
she had met him that day at the foot of the stairs. And she smiled at
his back, exulting in the continued fury of the storm. For it meant that
she would be alone with him for days--many, perhaps. And she told
herself that she loved Lawler; that she had loved him since the day she
had encountered him at the foot of the stairs leading to Warden's
office. He was wealthy, handsome; and in her code of morals it was no
crime to take advantage of every opportunity that chance presented. And
chance----
Here Gary Warden's face flashed in her mental vision. And she smiled.
For Warden had never thrilled her as this man had thrilled her. Warden
was cold, coarse, gross. This man was vibrant with life, with
energy--there was fire in him. And it had been Warden's scheming that
had sent her to Lawler. She laughed and snuggled contentedly down in the
chair.