THE NORTHER
The wind increased in fury. Fortunately it was at their back. Wilfred
pressed forward on foot, leading Lahoma's horse; and, partly on account
of their unequal position, partly because of awkward reserve, no more
was said for a long time. She bent forward to shelter her face from
the stinging blast while he trod firmly and methodically on and on,
braced slightly backward against the wind, which was like a hand
pushing him forward.
The voice of the wind filled the night. It whistled and shrieked in
minor keys, dying away at brief intervals to come again with a rush and
roar. It penetrated him to the bone, for he had compelled her to wrap
herself in his overcoat, and when the first stinging grains of fiercely
driven sleet pelted his cheek, he smothered a cry of dismay over her
exposed situation.
It could not be far past midnight. The prospect of a snow-storm in the
bleak lands of the Kiowa appalled him, but even while facing that
possibility his mind was busy with Lahoma's attitude toward himself.
Evidently it had never occurred to her that Annabel had vanished from
his fancy years ago; now that she knew, she was displeased--most
unreasonably so, he thought. Lahoma did not approve of Annabel--why
should she want him to remain passively under her yoke? Unconsciously
his form stiffened in protest as he trudged forward. The wind, so far
from showing signs of abatement, slightly increased, no longer with
intervals of pause. The sleet changed rapidly first to snow, then to
rain--then hail, snow and rain alternated, or descended simultaneously,
always driven with cruel force by the relentless wind.
At last Lahoma shouted, "It's a regular norther! How're you getting
along, Wilfred?"
Despite their discomfort, his heart leaped at this unexpected note of
comradeship. Had she already forgiven him for not loving Annabel?
"Oh, Lahoma!" he cried with sudden tenderness, "what will become of
you?"
She returned gravely, "What will become of Brick? Northers are bad,
but not so bad as some men--Red Kimball, for instance." A terrific
blast shook the half-frozen overcoat about her shoulders as if to
snatch it away. "Don't you wish the Indians built their villages
closer to the trail? Ugh! Hadn't we better burrow a storm-cellar in
the sand? I feel awfully high up in the air."
"Poor Lahoma!"
"Believe I'll walk with you, Wilfred; I'm turning to a lady-icicle."
"Do! I know it would warm you up--a little." His teeth showed an
inclination to chatter. "Come--I'll help you down. Can you find my
arm?"
At that moment the horse gave a violent lunge, then came to a
standstill, quivering and snorting with fright. Wilfred's groping arm
found the saddle empty.
"I didn't have to climb down," announced her uncertain voice from a
distance. It came seemingly from the level of the plain.
"You've fallen--you are hurt!" he exclaimed, but he could not go to her
because the horse refused to budge from the spot and he dared not
loosen his hold.
"Well, I'm a little warmer, anyway!" Her voice approached slowly.
"That was quick exercise; I didn't know I was going to do it till I was
down. Lit on my feet, anyhow. Why don't you come to meet me?"
"This miserable beast won't move a foot. Come and hold him, Lahoma,
while I examine in front, to find out what's scared him."
"All right. Where are you? Can you find my hand?"
"Can't I!" retorted Wilfred, clasping it in a tight grasp.
"Gracious, how wet we are!" she panted, "and blown about. And frozen."
"And scolded," he added plaintively.
"But, Wilfred, it never entered my mind that I was the little girl.
Would I have brought up the subject if I'd known the truth? I never
would. That's why I felt you took advantage ... a man ought to bring
up that subject himself even if I AM a girl out West and--"
"But Lahoma--"
"And not another word do I want you to say about it. EVER. At least,
tonight. PLEASE, Wilfred! So I can think about it. I'll hold the
horse--you go on and find out what's the matter.
"Besides, you said--you KNOW you said, when we were
strolling--that--that I didn't understand such matters. And that you'd
tell me when it was TIME...."
"It's time now, Lahoma, time for you to be somebody's sweetheart--and
you said--you KNOW you said, when we were strolling--that I'd fill the
bill for you."
"But I brought up the subject myself, and I mean to close it, right
short off, for it's a man's subject. Oh, how trembly this horse is!"
"But, Lahoma!"
"Well, what is it?"
"I just wanted to say your name." He started away. "It sounds good to
me."
"Yes, it stands for Oklahoma."
"It stands for much more than that!" he called.
"Yes," she persisted in misunderstanding him, "something big and grand."
"Not so big," he cried, now at some distance, "but what there's room
for more than Brick and Bill in the cove!"
If she answered, the wind drowned her words. With extended arms he
groped along the trail with exceeding caution. Suddenly his foot
touched an object which on examination proved to be a human body, a
gaping wound in its breast.
"Found anything?" called Lahoma, her voice shivering.
He rose quickly and almost stumbled over another object. It was a
second body, stiffened in death.
"I'll be there in a minute," he called, his voice grave and steady.
After a brief pause he added--"I've found one of the horses--it's dead."
"Oh, oh!" she exclaimed. "They've driven it to death."
Wilfred had found a bullet hole behind its ear, but he said nothing.
Suddenly the horse held by Lahoma gave a plunge, broke away and went
galloping back over the trail they had traversed, pursued by Lahoma's
cry of dismay. "I couldn't hold him," she gasped. "He lifted me clear
off the ground...."
Wilfred was also dismayed, but he preserved an accent of calm as he
felt his way toward her, uttering encouragement for which their
condition offered no foundation. But his forced cheerfulness suddenly
changed to real congratulation when his extended hand struck against an
upright wheel.
"Lahoma, here's the stage-coach. It's standing just as we saw it last,
except for the horses."
"The stage-coach!" she marveled, coming toward him. "Oh, Wilfred, I
see now what's happened. One of the horses dropped dead, and Red
Kimball and his men jumped on the other three.... But I wonder what
became of the driver?"
"Get inside!" he ordered. "Thank God, we've found SOMETHING that we
can get inside of. That'll shelter us till morning, anyway, and then
we can determine what's to be done."
Once in the coach, they were safe from the wind which howled above and
around them, rattling the small windows and making the springs creak.
There was no help for the discomfort of soaking garments, but Wilfred
lighted a reserve lantern and placed it in a corner, while thick
leather cushions and stage-blankets offered some prospect of rest.
As no plans could be formed until morning revealed their real plight,
they agreed that all conversation should be foregone in order to
recuperate from the hardships of the day for the trials of tomorrow.
Lahoma soon fell asleep after her exhausting journey of a day and half
a night since leaving the train at Chickasha.
For hours Wilfred sat opposite, staring at her worn face, pathetic in
its youthful roundness from which the bloom had vanished, wondering at
her grace, beauty, helplessness and perfect faith in him. That faith
revealed in every line of the form lying along the seat, and spoke from
the unconscious face from which the brown hair was outspread to dry.
How oddly her voice had sounded, how strange had been its accent when
she said, "It never entered my mind that _I_ was the little girl!" Had
she been sorry for the thought to come? Did she think less of him
because he had not remained true to Annabel? Would it not have been
far better to wait until reaching their destination before hinting of
love? Even while perplexed over these problems, and while charmed by
that appealing face with the softly parted lips, by the figure that
stirred in the rhythm of slumber, other thoughts, other objects weighed
upon him--the two dead men, the dead horse just outside. One of those
men might be Red Kimball; other bodies might lie there which he had
failed to discover. Had the stage been attacked by Indians, or by
white desperadoes who found shelter in the Kiowa country? In either
case, might not the enemy be hovering about the trail, possibly waiting
to descend on the coach?
Armed and watchful, Wilfred waited through the hours. When no longer
able to bear the uncertainty, he crept from the stage with the lantern,
and examined the recent scene of a furious struggle. There were only
two slain--the driver and one of Red Kimball's companions. Either
Kimball and his other comrade had escaped, or had been captured. If
any of the attacking party had fallen, the bodies had been borne away.
Blood-stains indicated that more than two had been shot. From that
ghastly sight it was a relief to find himself once more enclosed by the
coach walls with Lahoma so peacefully sleeping.
Once he fell into a doze from which he was startled by the impression
that soft noises, not of wind or rain, were creeping over the earth.
He sat erect with the confused fancy that wolves were slinking among
the wheels, were glaring up at the windows, were dragging away the
corpses. The sudden movement of his hand as it grasped his pistol
awoke Lahoma.
She opened her eyes wide, but did not lift her cheek from the arm that
lay along the cushion. "There you are," she said, "just as I was
dreaming."
He pretended not to be uneasy, but his ears strained to catch the
meaning of those mysterious movements of the night. Her voice cut
across the vague murmur of the open plain:
"You only came once!"
Although her eyes were wide, she was apparently but half-awake; not a
muscle moved as she looked into his face. "I thought," she murmured,
"it was on account of Annabel."
"I went away because I loved you," he answered softly. "I promised
Brick I'd go if I felt myself caring--and nobody could help caring for
you. That's why I left the country. Just as soon as we laughed
together--it happened. That's why I didn't come again."
"Yes," sighed Lahoma, as if it was not so hard to understand, now.
"And that's why I've come back," he added. "Because I've kept on
loving you."
"Yes," she sighed again. She closed her eyes and seemed to fall
asleep. Perhaps it was a sort of knowing sleep that lost most of the
world but clung tenaciously to a few ideas. The noises of the night
died away. Presently he heard her murmur as a little smile crept about
the parted lips, "The cove's pretty big ... there's more room than I
thought."
When she was wide awake, daylight had slipped through the windows. "Oh,
Wilfred!" she exclaimed, sitting suddenly erect, and putting her hands
to her head mechanically. "Is--are we all right?"
"All right," said the young man cheerily. "There's a good deal of snow
on the ground but it was blown off the trail for the most part. Some
friends have provided us with the means of going forward."
"But I don't understand.'
"We'll finish the sandwiches, and melt some snow for water, and then
mount. Look--see those two Indian ponies fastened to the tongue of the
stage? They'll carry us to the next station like the wind."
She stared from the window, bewildered.
"I don't know any more about them than you," he answered her thoughts.
"But there they are and here we are." He said nothing about the bodies
evidently carried away by those who had brought the ponies. "It's all
a mystery--a mystery of the plains. I haven't unraveled the very first
thread of--it. What's the use? The western way is to take what comes,
isn't it, whether northers or ponies? There's a much bigger mystery
than all that filling my mind."
"What is that?"
"You."
She bent over the sandwich with heightened color. "Poor Brick!" she
murmured as if to divert his thoughts. But his sympathy just then was
not for Brick.
"Lahoma, you said that this is a subject a man should bring up."
She looked at him brightly, still flushing. "Well?"
"I'm bringing it up, Lahoma."
"But we must be planning to save Brick from arrest."
"I'm hoping we'll get home in time--note that I say HOME, Lahoma. I
refer to the cove. I'm hoping we'll reach home in time to forestall
Red Kimball. We've lost a great deal of time, but Brick doubtless is
safely hiding. And when we get to the journey's end--Lahoma, do you
know what naturally comes at the journey's end?"
"A marriage."
"I thought that was what you meant."
"Will you marry me at the journey's end?"
Lahoma turned very red and laid down the sandwich. Then she laughed.
Then she started up. "Let's get on the ponies!" she cried.