A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION
Betty was whipping mayonnaise in the kitchen when a voice hailed the
Diamond Bar K ranch in general.
“Hello the house!”
Through the window she saw a rider on a horse, and a moment later her
brain localized him as a neighborhood boy who had recently joined the
forest rangers. She went to the door, sleeves still rolled back to the
elbows of the firm satiny arms.
“Hoo-hoo!” she called, flinging a small hand wildly above her head in
greeting. “Hoo-hoo, Billy boy!”
He turned, caught sight of her, and at once began to smile. It was
noticeable that when Betty laughed, as she frequently did for no good
reason at all except a general state of well-being, others were likely
to join in her happiness.
“Oh, there you are,” he said, and at once descended.
“Umpha! Here I am, but I won’t be long. I’m making salad dressing. Come
in to the kitchen if you like. I’ll give you a cookie. Just out o’ the
oven.”
“Listens good to Billy,” he said, and stayed not on the order of his
coming.
She found him a plate of cookies and a stool. “Sit there. And tell me
what’s new in the hills. Did you pass the dam as you came down? And
what d’you know about the tunnel?”
The ranger stopped a cookie halfway to his mouth. “Say, that
fellow--the one drivin’ the tunnel--he’s been shot.”
“What!”
“Last night--at Don Black’s cabin.”
A cold hand laid itself on her heart and stopped its beating. “You
mean--on purpose?”
He nodded. “Shot through the window at dark.”
“Mr. Hollister--that who you mean?”
“Yep. That’s what he calls himself now. Jones it was at first.”
“Is he--hurt badly?”
“I’ll say so. In the side--internal injuries. Outa his head when I was
there this mo’ning.”
“What does the doctor say?”
“He ain’t seen him yet. On the way up now. I ’phoned down from
Meagher’s ranch. He’d ought to pass here soon.”
“But why didn’t they get the doctor sooner? What were they thinking
about?” she cried.
“Nobody with him but Don Black. He couldn’t leave him alone, he claims.
Lucky I dropped in when I did.”
Impulsively Betty made up her mind. “I’m going to him. You’ll have to
take me, Billy.”
“You!” exclaimed the ranger. “What’s the big idea, Betty?”
“Dad’s gone to Denver to the stock show. I’m going to look after him.
That’s what Dad would want if he were here. Some one’s got to nurse
him. What other woman can go in on snowshoes and do it?”
“Does he have to have a woman nurse? Can’t Mr. Merrick send a man up
there to look after him?”
“Don’t argue, Billy boy,” she told him. “You see how it is. They don’t
even get a doctor to him for fifteen or sixteen hours. By this time
he may be--” She stopped and bit her lip to check a sudden swell of
emotion that choked up her throat.
Bridget came into the kitchen. Betty’s announcement was both a decision
and an appeal. “Mr. Hollister’s been hurt--shot--up in the hills. I’m
going up to Justin to make him take me to him.”
“Is he hur-rt bad?” asked the buxom housekeeper.
“Yes. I don’t know. Billy thinks so. If I hurry I can get there before
night.”
Bridget hesitated. “I was thinkin’ it might be better for me to go,
dearie. You know how folks talk.”
“Oh, talk!” Betty was explosively impatient. She always was when
anybody interfered with one of her enthusiasms. “Of course, if you
could go. But you’d never get in through the snow. And what could they
say--except that I went to save a man’s life if I could?”
“Mr. Merrick might not like it.”
“Of course he’d like it.” The girl was nobly indignant for her fiancé.
“Why wouldn’t he like it? It’s just what he’d want me to do.” Under the
brown bloom of her cheeks was the peach glow of excitement.
Bridget had traveled some distance on the journey of life, and she
had her own opinion about that. Merrick, if she guessed him at all
correctly, was a possessive man. He could appreciate Betty’s valiant
eagerness when it went out to him, but he would be likely to resent
her generous giving of herself to another. He did not belong to the
type of lover that recognizes the right of a sweetheart or a wife to
express herself in her own way. She was pledged to him. Her vocation
and avocation in life were to be his wife.
But Bridget was wise in her generation. She knew that Betty was of the
temperament that had to learn from experience. She asked how they would
travel to the dam.
“On horseback--if we can get through. The road’s not broken yet
probably after yesterday’s storm. We’ll start right away. I can’t get
Justin on the ’phone. The wire must be down.”
The ranger saddled for her and they took the road. Betty carried with
her a small emergency kit of medical supplies.
Travel back and forth had broken the road in the valley. It was not
until the riders struck the hill trail that they had to buck drifts. It
was slow, wearing work, and, by the time they came in sight of the dam,
Betty’s watch told her that it was two o’clock.
Merrick saw them coming down the long white slope and wondered what
travelers had business urgent enough to bring them through heavy drifts
to the isolated camp. As soon as he recognized Betty, he went to meet
her. Billy rode on down to the tents. He knew when he was not needed.
Rich color glowed in her cheeks, excitement sparkled in her eyes.
“What in the world are you doing here?” Merrick asked.
She was the least bit dashed by his manner. It suggested censure,
implied that her adventure--whatever the cause of it--was a bit of
headstrong folly. Did he think it was a girl’s place to stay at home
in weather like this? Did he think that she was unmaidenly, had bucked
miles of snowdrifts because she could not stay away from him?
“Have you heard about Mr. Hollister? He’s been hurt--shot.”
“Shot?”
“Last night. At Black’s cabin.”
“Who shot him?”
“I don’t know. He’s pretty bad, Billy says.”
“Doctor seen him yet?”
“He’s on the way now. I want you to take me to him, Justin.”
“Take _you_? What for?”
“To nurse him.”
He smiled, the superior smile of one prepared to argue away the foolish
fancies of a girl.
“Is your father home yet?”
“No. He’ll be back to-morrow. Why?”
“Because, dear girl, you can’t go farther. In the first place, it’s not
necessary. I’ll do all that can be done for Hollister. The trip from
here won’t be a picnic.”
“I’ve brought my skis. I can get in all right,” she protested eagerly.
“I grant that. But there’s no need for you to go. You’d far better not.
It’s not quite--” He stopped in mid-sentence, with an expressive lift
of the shoulders.
“Not quite proper. I didn’t expect _you_ to say that, Justin,” she
reproached. “After what he did for us.”
“He did only what any self-respecting man would do.”
Her smile coaxed him. “Well, I want to do only what any self-respecting
woman would do. Surely it’ll be all right if you go along.”
How could he tell her that he knew no other unmarried woman of her age,
outside of professional nurses, who would consider such a thing for the
sake of a comparative stranger? How could he make her see that Black’s
cabin was no place for a young girl to stay? He was exasperated at her
persistence. It offended his _amour propre_. Why all this discussion
about one of his employees who had been a tramp only a few months
since?
Merrick shook his head. His lips smiled, but there was no smile in his
eyes. “You’re a very impulsive and very generous young woman. But if
you were a little older you would see--”
She broke impatiently into his argument. “Don’t you see how I feel,
Justin? I’ve got to do what I can for him. We’re not in a city where we
can ring up for a trained nurse. I’m the only available woman that can
get in to him. Why did I take my Red Cross training if I’m not to help
those who are sick?”
“Can’t you trust me to look out for him?”
“Of course I can. That’s not the point. There’s so much in nursing.
Any doctor will tell you so. Maybe he needs expert care. I really can
nurse. I’ve done it all my life.”
“You don’t expect to nurse everybody in the county that falls sick, do
you? Don’t you see, dear girl, that Black’s shack is no place for you?”
“Why isn’t it? I’m a ranchman’s daughter. It doesn’t shock or offend
me to see things that might distress a city girl.” She cast about in
her mind for another way to put it. “I remember my mother leaving us
once for days to look after a homesteader who had been hurt ’way up on
Rabbit Ear Creek. Why, that’s what all the women on the frontier did.”
“The frontier days are past,” he said. “And that’s beside the point,
anyhow. I’ll have him well looked after. You needn’t worry about that.”
“But I would,” she urged. “I’d worry a lot. I want to go myself,
Justin--to make sure it’s all right and that everything’s being done
for him that can be. You think it’s just foolishness in me, but it
isn’t.”
She put her hand shyly on his sleeve. The gesture was an appeal for
understanding of the impulse that was urgent in her. If he could only
sympathize with it and acknowledge its obligation.
“I think it’s neither necessary nor wise. It’s my duty, not yours,
to have him nursed properly. I’ll not shirk it.” He spoke with the
finality of a dominant man who has made up his mind.
Betty felt thrown back on herself. She was disappointed in him and her
feelings were hurt. Why must he be so obtuse, so correct and formal?
Why couldn’t he see that she _had_ to go? After all, a decision as to
what course she would follow lay with her and not with him. He had no
right to assume otherwise. She was determined to go, anyhow, but she
would not quarrel with him.
“When are you going up to Black’s?” she asked.
“At once.”
“Do take me, please.”
He shook his head. “It isn’t best, dear girl.”
In her heart flamed smokily rebellious fires. “Then I’ll go with Billy.”
He interpreted the words as a challenge. Their eyes met in a long,
steady look. Each measured the strength of the other. It was the first
time they had come into open conflict.
“I wouldn’t do that, Betty,” he said quietly.
“You don’t know how I feel about it. You won’t understand.” Her voice
shook with emotion. “I’ve _got_ to go.”
Merrick knew that he could prevent the ranger from guiding Betty to the
gulch where the wounded man was, but it was possible to pay too great a
price for victory. He yielded, grudgingly.
“I’ll take you. After you’ve seen Hollister, you can give us directions
for nursing him. I should think the doctor ought to know, but, if you
haven’t confidence in him, you can see to it yourself.”
Betty found no pleasure now in her desire to help. Justin’s opposition
had taken all the joy out of it. Nor did his surrender give her any
gratification. He had not yielded because he appreciated the validity
of her purpose, but because he had chosen to avoid an open breach. She
felt a thousand miles away from him in spirit.
“Thank you,” she said formally, choking down a lump in her throat.