OLLIE’S DILEMMA.
As “Preachin’ Bill” used to say, “Every hound has hits strong pints,
but some has more of ’em.”
Young Stewart was not without graces pleasing to the girl whom he hoped
to make his wife. He seemed to know instinctively all those little
attentions in which women so delight, and he could talk, too, very
entertainingly of the things he had seen. To the simple girl of the
backwoods, he succeeded in making the life in the city appear very
wonderful, indeed. Neither was Sammy insensible to the influence of his
position, and his prospective wealth, with the advantages that these
things offered. Then, with all this, he loved her dearly; and when, if
you please, was ever a woman wholly unmoved by the knowledge that she
held first place in a man’s heart?
For two weeks they were together nearly every day, sometimes spending
the afternoon at the girl’s home on the side of Dewey, or roving over
the nearby hills; sometimes going for long rides through the great
woods to pass the day with friends, returning in the evening to find
Jim smoking in the doorway of the darkened cabin.
When Mr. Lane, at the end of the first week, asked his daughter, in his
point blank fashion, what she was going to do with young Stewart, the
girl answered, “He must have his chance, Daddy. He mast have a good
fair chance. I—I don’t know what it is, but there is—I—I don’t know,
Daddy. I am sure I loved him when he want away, that is, I think I am
sure.” And Jim, looking into her eyes, agreed heartily; then he took
down his violin to make joyful music far into the night.
Ollie did not see Young Matt after their meeting on the Lookout. The
big fellow, too, avoided the couple, and Sammy, for some reason,
carefully planned their rides so that they would not be likely to meet
their neighbor an the ridge. Once, indeed, they called at the Matthews
place, walking over in the evening, but that was when Sammy knew that
Young Matt was not at home.
Day after day as they talked together, the girl tried honestly to enter
into the life of the man she had promised to marry. But always there
was that feeling of something lacking. Just what that something was, or
why she could not feel completely satisfied, Sammy did not understand.
But the day was soon to come when she would know the real impulses of
her heart.
Since that first afternoon, Ollie had not tried to force his suit.
While, in a hundred little ways, he had not failed to make her feel his
love, he had never openly attempted the role of lover. He was conscious
that to put the girl constantly upon the defensive would be disastrous
to his hopes; and in this, he was wise. But the time had come when he
must speak, for it was the last day of his visit. He felt that he could
not go back to the city without a definite understanding.
Sammy, too, realized this, but still she was not ready to give an
answer to the question he would ask. They had been to the Forks, and
were on their way home. As they rode slowly under the trees, the man
pleaded his cause, but the woman could only shake her head and answer
quite truthfully, “Ollie, I don’t know.”
“But tell me, Sammy, is there any one in the way?”
Again she shook her head, “I—I think not.”
“You think not! Don’t you know?” The young man reined his horse closer
to the brown pony. “Let me help you decide, dear. You are troubled
because of the change you see in me, and because the life that I have
tried to tell you about is so strange, so different from this. You need
not fear. With me, you will very soon be at home there; as much at home
as you are here. Come, dear, let me answer for you.”
The girl lifted her face to his; “Oh, if you only could!” But, even as
she spoke, there came to her the memory of that ride home from the
party at Ford’s, when her pony had crowded close to the big white faced
sorrel. It was Brownie this time who was pulled sharply aside. The
almost involuntary act brought a quick flush to the young man’s cheek,
and he promptly reined his own horse to the right, thus placing the
full width of the road between them. So they went down the hill into
the valley, where Fall Creek tumbled and laughed on its rocky way.
A thread of blue smoke, curling lazily up from the old stack, and the
sound of a hammer, told them that some one was at the mill. Sammy was
caught by a sudden impulse. “Why, that must be Young Matt!” she
exclaimed. “Let us stop. I do believe you haven’t seen him since you
came home.”
“I don’t want to see him, nor any one else, now,” returned Ollie. “This
is our last evening together, Sammy, and I want you all to myself. Let
us go up the old Roark trail, around Cox’s Bald, and home through the
big, low gap.” He checked his horse as he spoke, for they had already
passed the point where the Roark trail leaves Fall Creek.
But the girl was determined to follow her impulse. “You can stop just a
minute,” she urged. “You really ought to see Matt, you know. We can
ride back this way if you like. It’s early yet.”
But the man held his place, and replied shortly, “I tell you I don’t
want to see anybody, and I am very sure that Young Matt doesn’t want to
see me, not with you, anyway.”
Sammy flushed at this, and answered with some warmth, “There is no
reason in the world why you should refuse to meet an old friend; but
you may do as you please, of course. Only I am going to the mill.” So
saying, she started down the valley, and as there was really nothing
else for him to do, the man followed.
As they approached the mill, Sammy called for Young Matt, who
immediately left his work, and came to them. The big fellow wore no
coat, and his great arms were bare, while his old shirt, patched and
faded and patched again, was soiled by engine grease and perspiration.
His trousers, too, held in place by suspenders repaired with belt
lacing and fastened with a nail, were covered with sawdust and dirt.
His hands and arms and even his face were treated liberally with the
same mixture that stained his clothing; and the shaggy red brown hair,
uncovered, was sadly tumbled. In his hand he held a wrench. The morrow
was grinding day, and he had been making some repairs about the engine.
Altogether, as the backwoodsman came forward, he presented a marked
contrast to the freshly clad, well groomed gentleman from the city. And
to the woman, the contrast was not without advantages to the man in the
good clothes. The thought flashed through her mind that the men who
would work for Ollie in the shops would look like this. It was the same
old advantage; the advantage that the captain has over the private; the
advantage of rank, regardless of worth.
Sammy greeted Young Matt warmly. “I just told Ollie that it was too bad
he had not seen you. You were away the night we called at your house,
you know; and he is going home to-morrow.”
The giant looked from one to the other. Evidently Sammy had not heard
of that meeting at the Lookout, and Stewart’s face grew red as he saw
what was in the big fellow’s mind. “I’m mighty glad to see you again,”
he said lamely. “I told Sammy that I had seen you, but she has
forgotten.”
“Oh, no, I haven’t,” replied the girl. “You said that you saw him in
the field as you passed the first day you came, but that you were in
such a hurry you didn’t stop.”
At this Ollie forced a loud laugh, and remarked that he was in
something of a hurry that day. He hoped that in the girl’s confusion
the point might be overlooked.
But the mountaineer was not to be sidetracked so easily. Ollie’s poor
attempt only showed more clearly that he had purposely refrained from
telling Sammy of the might when Young Matt had interfered to save his
life. To the simple straight-forward lad of the woods, such a course
revealed a spirit most contemptible. Raising his soiled hands and
looking straight at Ollie, he said, deliberately, “I’m sorry, seein’ as
this is the first time we’ve met, that I can’t shake hands with you.
This here’s _clean_ dirt, though.”
Sammy was puzzled. Ollie’s objection to their calling at the mill, his
evident embarrassment at the meeting, and something in Young Matt’s
voice that hinted at a double meaning in his simple words, all told her
that there was something beneath the surface which she did not
understand.
After his one remark to her escort, the woodsman turned to the girl,
and, in spite of Sammy’s persistent attempts to bring the now sullen
Ollie into the conversation, ignored the man completely. When they had
talked for a few moments, Young Matt said, “I reckon you’ll have to
excuse me a minute, Sammy; I left the engine in such a hurry when you
called that I’ll have to look at it again. It won’t take more’n a
minute.”
As he disappeared in the mill shed, the young lady turned to her
companion, “What’s the matter with you two? Have you met and quarreled
since you came home?”
Fate was being very unkind to Ollie. He replied gruffly, “You’ll have
to ask your friend. I told you how it would be. The greasy hobo doesn’t
like to see me with you, and hasn’t manners enough even to hide his
feelings. Come, let us go on.”
A look that was really worth seeing came into the girl’s fine eyes, but
she only said calmly; “Matt will be back in a minute.”
“All the more reason why we should go. I should think you have had
enough. I am sure I have.”
The young woman was determined now to know what lay at the bottom of
all this. She said quietly, but with a great deal of decision, “You may
go on home if you wish; I am going to wait here until Young Matt comes
back.”
Ollie was angry now in good earnest. He had not told Sammy of the
incident at the Lookout because he felt that the story would bring the
backwoodsman into a light altogether too favorable. He thought to have
the girl safely won before he left the hills; then it would not matter.
That Young Matt would have really saved Ollie’s life at the risk of his
own there was no doubt. And Stewart realized that his silence under
such circumstances would look decidedly small and ungrateful to the
girl. To have the story told at this critical moment was altogether
worse than if he had generously told of the incident at once. He saw,
too, that Sammy guessed at some thing beneath the surface, and he felt
uneasy in remaining until Young Matt came back to renew the
conversation. And yet he feared to leave. At this stage of his dilemma,
he was relieved from his plight in a very unexpected manner.