After two nights and a day of torment unbearable, Kent bolted from his
work, which would have taken him that day, as it had done the day before,
in a direction opposite to that which his mind and his heart followed, and
without apology or explanation to his foreman rode straight to Cold Spring
Coulee. He had no very definite plan, except to see Val. He did not even
know what he would say when he faced her.
Michael was steaming from nose to tail when he stopped at the yard gate,
which shows how impatience had driven his master. Kent glanced quickly
around the place as he walked up the narrow path to the house. Nothing
was changed in the slightest particular, as far as he could see, and he
realized then that he had been uneasy as well as anxious. Both doors were
closed, so that he was obliged to knock before Val became visible. He had a
fleeting impression of extreme caution in the way she opened the door and
looked out, but he forgot it immediately in his joy at seeing her.
“Oh, it's you. Come in, and--you won't mind if I close the door? I'm afraid
I'm the victim of nerves, to-day.”
“Why?” Kent was instantly solicitous. “Has anything happened since I was
here?”
Val shook her head, smiling faintly. “Nothing that need to worry _you_,
pal. I don't want to talk about worries. I want to be cheered up; I haven't
laughed, Kent, for so long I'm afraid my facial muscles are getting stiff.
Say something funny, can't you?”
Kent pushed his hat far back on his head and sat down upon a corner of the
table. “Such is life in the far West--and the farther West you go, the
livelier--” he began to declaim dutifully.
“The livelier it gets. Yes, I've heard that a million tunes, I believe. I
can't laugh at that; I never did think it funny.” She sighed, and twitched
her shoulders impatiently because of it. “I see you brought back the
glasses,” she remarked inanely. “You certainly weren't in any great hurry,
were you?”
“Oh, they had us riding over east of the home ranch, hazing in some outa
the hills. I'm supposed to be over there right now--but I ain't. I expect
I'll get the can, all right--”
“If you're going away, what do you care?” she taunted.
“H'm--sure, what do I care?” He eyed her from under his brows while he bent
to light a match upon the sole of his boot. Val had long ago settled his
compunctions about smoking in her presence. “You seem to be all tore up,
here,” he observed irrelevantly. “Cleaning house?”
“Yes--cleaning house.” Val smiled ambiguously.
“Hubby in town?”
“Yes--he went in yesterday, and hasn't come back yet.”
Kent smoked for a moment meditatively. “I found that calf, all right,” he
informed her at last. “It was too late to ride around this way and tell you
that night. So you needn't worry any more about that.”
“I'm not worrying about that.” Val stooped and picked up a hairpin from the
floor, and twirled it absently in her fingers. “I don't think it matters,
any more. Yesterday afternoon Fred De Garmo and Polycarp Jenks came into
the coulee with a bunch of cattle, and turned all the calves out of the
river field with them; and, after a little, they drove the whole lot of
them away somewhere--over that way.” She waved a slim hand to the west.
“They let out the calves in the corral, too. I saw them from the window,
but I didn't ask them any questions. I really didn't need to, did I?” She
grazed him with a glance. “I thought perhaps you had failed to find that
calf; I'm glad you did, though--so it wasn't that started them hunting
around here--Polycarp and Fred I mean.”
Kent looked at her queerly. Her voice was without any emotion whatever, as
if the subject held no personal interest for her. He finished his cigarette
and threw the stub out into the yard before either of them spoke another
word. He closed the door again, stood there for a minute making up his
mind, and went slowly over to where she was sitting listlessly in a chair,
her hands folded loosely in her lap. He gripped with one hand the chairback
and stared down at her high-piled, yellow hair.
“How long do you think I'm going to stand around and let you be dragged
into trouble like this?” he began abruptly. “You know what I told you the
other day--I could say the same thing over again, and a lot more; and I'd
mean more than I could find words for. Maybe you can stand this sort
of thing--I can't. I'm not going to try. If you're bound to stick to
that--that gentleman, I'm going to get outa the country where I can't see
you killed by inches. Every time I come, you're a little bit whiter, and a
little bigger-eyed--I can't stand it, I tell you!
“You weren't made for a hell like you're living. You were meant to be
happy--and I was meant to make you happy. Every morning when I open my
eyes--do you know what I think? I think it's another day we oughta be happy
in, you and me.” He took her suddenly by the shoulder and brought her up,
facing him, where he could look into her eyes.
“We've only got just one life to live, Val!” he pleaded. “And we could be
happy together--I'd stake my life on that. I can't go on forever just being
friends, and eating my heart out for you, and seeing you abused--and what
for? Just because a preacher mumbled some words over you two! Only for
that, you wouldn't stay with him over-night, and you know it! Is _that_
what ought to tie two human beings together--without love, or even
friendship? You hate him; you can't look me in the eyes and say you don't.
And he's tired of you. Some other woman would please him better. And I
could make you happy!”
Val broke away from his grasp, and retreated until the table was between
them. Her listlessness was a thing forgotten. She was panting with the
quick beating of her heart.
“Kent--don't, pal! You mustn't say those things--it's wicked.”
“It's true,” he cried hotly. “Can you look at me and say it ain't the
truth?”
“You've spoiled our friendship, Kent!” she accused, while she evaded his
question. “It meant so much to me--just your dear, good friendship.”
“My love could mean a whole lot more,” he declared sturdily.
“But you mustn't say those things--you mustn't feel that way, Kent!”
“Oh!” He laughed grimly. “Mustn't I? How are you going to stop me?” He
stared hard at her, his face growing slowly rigid. “There's just one way to
stop me from saying such wicked things,” he told her. “You can tell me you
don't care anything about me, and never could, not even if that down-east
conscience of yours didn't butt into the game. You can tell me that, and
swear it's the truth, and I'll leave the country. I'll go so far you'll
newer see me again, so I'll never bother you any more. I can't promise I'll
stop loving you--but for my own sake I'll sure try hard enough.” He set his
teeth hard together and stood quiet, watching her.
Val tied to answer him. Evidently she could not manage her voice, for he
saw her begin softly beating her lips with her fist, fighting to get back
her self-control. Once or twice he had seen her do that, when, womanlike,
the tears would come in spite of her.
“I don't want you to go a-away,” she articulated at last, with a hint of
stubbornness.
“Well, what _do_ you want? I can't stay, unless--” He did not attempt to
finish the sentence. He knew there was no need; she understood well enough
the alternative.
For long minutes she did not speak, because she could not. Like many women,
she fought desperately against the tears which seemed a badge of her
femininity. She sat down in a chair, dropped her face upon her folded
arms, and bit her lips until they were sore. Kent took a step toward her,
reconsidered, and went over to the window, where he stood staring moodily
out until she began speaking. Even then, he did not turn immediately toward
her.
“You needn't go, Kent,” she said with some semblance of calm. “Because I'm
going. I didn't tell you--but I'm going home. I'm going to get free, by
the same law that tied me to him. You are right--I have a 'down-east'
conscience. I think I was born with it. It demands that I get my freedom
honestly; I can't steal it--pal. I couldn't be happy if I did that, no
matter how hard I might try--or you.”
He turned eagerly toward her then, but she stopped him with a gesture.
“No--stay where you are. I want to solve my problem and--and leave you out
of it; you're a complication, pal--when you talk like--like you've just
been talking. It makes my conscience wonder whether I'm honest with myself.
I've got to leave you out, don't you see? And so, leaving you out, I don't
feel that any woman should be expected to go on like I'm doing. You don't
know--I couldn't tell you just how--impossible--this marriage of mine has
become. The day after--well, yesterday--no, the day before yesterday--he
came home and found out--what I'd done. He--I couldn't stay here, after
that, so--”
“What did he do?” Kent demanded sharply. “He didn't dare to lay his hands
on you--did he? By--”
“Don't swear, Kent--I hear so much of that from him!” Val smiled curiously.
“He--he swore at me. I couldn't stay with him, after that--could I, dear?”
Whether she really meant to speak that last word or not, it set Kent's
blood dancing so that he forgot to urge his question farther. He took two
eager steps toward her, and she retreated again behind the table.
“Kent, don't! How can I tell you anything, if you won't be good?” She
waited until he was standing rather sulkily by the window again. “Anyway,
it doesn't matter now what he has done. I am going to leave him. I'm going
to get a divorce. Not even the strictest 'down-east' conscience could
demand that I stay. I'm perfectly at ease upon that point. About this last
trouble--with the calves--if I could help him, I would, of course. But all
I could say would only make matters worse--and I'm a wretched failure at
lying. I can help him more, I think, by going away. I feel certain there's
going to be trouble over those calves. Fred De Garmo never would have come
down here and driven them all away, would he, unless there was going to be
trouble?”
“If he came in here and got the calves, it looks as if he meant business,
all right.” Kent frowned absently at the white window curtain. “I've seen
the time,” he added reflectively, “when I'd be all broke up to have Man get
into trouble. We used to be pretty good friends!”
“A year ago it would have broken my heart,” Val sighed. “We do change so! I
can't quite understand Why I should feel so indifferent about it now; even
the other day it was terrible. But when I felt his fingers--” she stopped
guiltily. “He seems a stranger to me now. I don't even hate him so very
much. I don't want to meet him, though.”
“Neither do I.” But there was a different meaning in Kent's tone. “So
you're going to quit?” He looked at her thoughtfully--“You'll leave your
address, I hope!”
“Oh, yes.” Val's voice betrayed some inward trepidation. “I'm not running
away; I'm just going.”
“I see.” He sighed, impatient at the restraint she had put upon him. “That
don't mean you won't ever come back, does it? Or that the trains are going
to quit carrying passengers to your town? Because you can't _always_ keep
me outa your 'problem,' let me tell you. Is it against the rules to ask
when you're going--and how?”
“Just as soon as I can get my trunks packed, and Polycarp--or
somebody--comes to help me load them into the spring wagon. I promised
Arline Hawley I would be in town to-night. I don't know, though--I don't
seem to be making much progress with my packing.” She smiled at him more
brightly. “Let's wade ashore, pal, and get to work instead of talking about
things better left alone. I know just exactly what you're thinking--and I'm
going to let you help me instead of Polycarp. I'm frightfully angry with
him, anyway. He promised me, on his word of honor, that he wouldn't mention
a thing--and he must have actually hunted for a chance to tell! He didn't
have the nerve to come to the house yesterday, when he was here with
Fred--perhaps he won't come to-day, after all. So you'll have to help me
make my getaway, pal.”
Kent wavered. “You're the limit, all right,” he told her after a period of
hesitation. “You just wait, old girl, till you get that conscience of
yours squared! What shall I do? I can pack a war-bag in one minute and
three-quarters, and a horse in five minutes--provided he don't get gay and
pitch the pack off a time or two, and somebody's around to help throw the
hitch. Just tell me where to start in, and you won't be able to see me for
dust!”
“You seem in a frightful hurry to have me go,” Val complained, laughing
nevertheless with the nervous reaction. “Packing a trunk takes time, and
care, and intelligence.”
“Now isn't that awful?” Kent's eyes flared with mirth, all the more
pronounced because it was entirely superficial. “Well, you take the time
and care, Mrs. Goodpacker, and I'll cheerfully furnish the intelligence,
This goes, I reckon?” He squeezed a pink cushion into as small a space as
possible, and held it out at arm's length.
“That goes--to Arline. _Don't_ put it in there!” Val's laughter was not far
from hysteria. Kent was pretending to stuff the pink cushion into her hand
bag.
“Better take it; you'll--”
The front door was pushed violently open and Manley almost fell into the
room. Val gave a little, inarticulate cry and shrank back against the wall
before she could recover herself. They had for the moment forgotten Manley,
and all he stood for in the way of heartbreak.
A strange-looking Manley he was, with his white face and staring, bloodshot
eyes, and the cruel, animal lines around his mouth. Hardly recognizable to
one who had not seen him since three or four years before, he would have
been. He stopped short just over the threshold, and glanced suspiciously
from one to the other before he came farther into the room.
“Dig up some grub, Val--in a bag, so I can carry it on horseback,” he
commanded. “And a blanket--where did you put those rifle cartridges?” He
hurried across the room to where his rifle and belt hung upon the wall,
just over the little, homemade bookcase. “I had a couple of boxes--where
are they?” He snatched down the rifle, took the belt, and began buckling it
around him with fumbling fingers.
Mechanically Val reached upon a higher shelf and got him the two boxes of
shells. Her eyes were fixed curiously upon his face.
“What has happened?” she asked him as he tore open a box and began pushing
the shells, one by one, into his belt.
“Fred De Garmo--he tried to arrest me--in town--I shot him dead,” He
glanced furtively at Kent. “Can I take your horse, Kent? I want to get
across the river before--”
“You shot--Fred--” Val was staring at him stupidly. He whirled savagely
toward her.
“Yes, and I'd shoot any man that walked up and tried to take me. He was
a fool if he thought all he had to do was crook his finger and say 'Come
along.' It was over those calves--and I'd say you had a hand in it, if I
hadn't found that calf, and saw how you burned out the brand before you
turned it loose. You might have told me--I wouldn't have--” He shifted his
gaze toward Kent. “The hell of it is, the sheriff happened to be in town
for something; he's back a couple of miles--for God's sake, move! And get
that flour and bacon, and some matches. I've got to get across the river. I
can shake 'em off, on the other side. Hurry, Val!”
She went out into the kitchen, and they heard her moving about, collecting
the things he needed.
“I'll have to take your horse, Kent.” Manley turned to him with a certain
wheedling tone, infinitely disgusting to the other. “Mine's all in--I rode
him down, getting this far. I've got to get across the river, and into
the hills the other side--I can dodge 'em over there. You can have my
horse--he's good as yours, anyway.” He seemed to fed a slight discomfort at
Kent's silence. “You've always stood by me--anyway, it wasn't so much
my fault--he came at me unawares, and says 'Man Fleetwood, you're my
prisoner!' Why, the very tone of him was an insult--and I won't stand for
being arrested--I pulled my gun and got him through the lungs--heard 'em
yelling he was dead--Hurry up with that grub! I can't wait here till--”
“I ought to tell you Michael's no good for water,” Kent forced himself to
say. “He's liable to turn back on you; he's scared of it.”
“He won't turn back with _me_--not with old Jake Bondy at my heels!” Manley
snatched the bag of provisions from Val when she appeared, and started for
the door.
“You better leave off some of that hardware, then,” Kent advised
perfunctorily. “You're liable to have to swim.”
“I don't care how I get across, just so--” A panic seemed to seize him
then. Without a word of thanks or farewell he rushed out, threw himself
into Kent's saddle without taking time to tie on his bundle of bacon and
flour, or remembering the blanket he had asked for. Holding his provisions
under his arm, his rifle in one hand, and his reins clutched in the other,
he struck the spurs home and raced down the coulee toward the river. Fred
and Polycarp had not troubled to put up the wire gate after emptying the
river field, so he had a straight run of it to the very river bank. The two
stood together at the window and watched him go.