"No. I didn't say anything about leaving you." He put his arm around
her. "I'm not that kind of a man. You and I were built for each other--I
felt that on that first ride. I guess it's up to me to take you out of
this." He broke off his emotional utterance and grew keen and alert.
"I've been planning to go, and I'm almost ready--in fact, I could leave
now without much loss, but I didn't come prepared for anything so
sudden. My office furniture don't amount to much, and this team is
Bailey's"--he mused a moment. "_Come!_" he said, with sudden resolution,
"it's go now--we'll never have a better chance."
She turned white with dread--now that she neared the actual deed.
"Oh, Jim! I _wish_ there was some other way."
He was a little rough. Her feminine hesitation he could not sympathize
with.
"Well, there isn't. We've got to get right out of this. Hurry on your
things. The wind is rising, and we must make Wheatland by five o'clock.
I came out to hold down my claim, but it ain't worth it. I reckon I've
squeezed all the juice out of this lemon. This climate is a little
boisterous for me."
He brought in a blanket and warmed it at the fire while she wrapped
herself in cloak and shawl.
"I'd better write a little note to--him."
"What for? I've got nothing against him, except that he saw you first.
But I guess he's out of the running now. It's you and me from this day
on."
"I hate to go without saying good-bye," she said, tremulously. "He's
always been good to me," she added, smitten with sudden realization of
her husband's kindness.
He perceived that she was in earnest. "All right--only it does no good,
and delays us. Every minute is valuable now. The outlook is owly."
The plain was getting gray as they came out of the door, and the woman
shrank and shivered with an instant chill, but Rivers tenderly tucked
the robe about her and leaped into the sleigh.
"Now boys, git!" he shouted to the humped and wind-ruffled team, and
they sprang away into the currents of powdered snow, which were running
along the ground in streams as smooth as oil and almost as silent.
The sleigh rose and fell over the ridges like a ship. Off in the west
the sun was shining through a peculiar smoky cloud, gray-white, vapory,
with glittering edges where it lay against the cold, yellow sky. Every
sign was ominous, and the long drive seemed a desperate venture to the
woman, but she trusted her lover as a child depends upon a father. She
nestled close down under his left arm, clothed in its shaggy
buffalo-skin coat, a splendid elation in her heart. She was at last with
the strong man to whom she belonged.
This elation did not last long. Her sense of safety died slowly out,
just as the blood chilled in her veins. She was not properly clothed,
and her feet soon ached with cold, and she drew her breath through her
teeth to prevent the utterance of moans of pain. She was never free now
from the feeling of guardianship which is the delight and the haunting
uneasiness of motherhood. "I must be warm," she thought, "for _its_
sake."
She heard his voice above.
"I never'll settle in a prairie country again--not but what I've done
well enough as a land-agent, but there's no big thing here for
anybody--nothing for the land-agent now."
"Oh, Jim, I'm so cold! I'm afraid I can't stand it!" she broke out,
desperately.
"There, there!" he said, as if she were a child. "Cuddle down on my
knees. Be brave. You'll get warmer soon as we turn south."
Nevertheless, he was alarmed as he looked about him. He gathered her
close in his arm, holding the robe about her, and urged on his brave
team. They were hardly five miles from the shanty, and yet the storm
was becoming frightful, even to his resolute and experienced brain. The
circle of his vision had narrowed till it was impossible at times to see
fifty rods away. The push of the wind grew each moment mightier. A
multitudinous, soft, rushing, whispering roar was rising round them,
mixed with a hissing, rustling sound like the passing of invisible,
winged hosts. He could feel his woman shake with cold, but she spoke no
further word of complaint.
He turned the horses suddenly to the left, speaking through his teeth.
"We must make the store," he said. "We must have more wraps. We'll stop
at the Ranch and get warm, and then go on. The wind may lull--anyway, it
will be at our backs."
As the team turned to the south the air seemed a little less savage, but
Blanche still writhed with pain. Her hands suffered most; her feet had
grown numb.
"We'll be there in a few minutes," Rivers cheerily repeated, but he
began to understand her desperate condition.
A quarter of an hour later his team drew up before the door of the
ranch-house. It seemed deliciously warm in the lee of the long walls.
"Well, here we are. Now we'll go in and get warm."
"What if Mr. Bailey is there?" she stammered, with stiff lips.
"No matter, you must not freeze."
He shouted, "Hello, Bailey!" There was no reply, and he leaped out.
"Come, you must go in." He took her in his arms and carried her into the
room, dim, yet gloriously warm by contrast with the outside air. "Feels
good here, doesn't it? Now, while I roll up some blankets, you warm--We
must be quick. I'll find you some overshoes."
Blanche staggered on her numb feet, which felt like clods. She was weak
with cold, and everything grew dark before her.
"Oh, Jim, I can't go on. I'll freeze. I'll die--I know I shall. My feet
are frozen solid."
He dragged a chair to the hearth of the stove, in which a coal fire lay.
His action was bold and confident.
"No, you won't. I'll have you all right in a jiffy. Trouble is, you're
not half dressed. You need woollen underclothing and a new fur cloak.
We'll make it sealskin to pay for this."
He unlaced her shoes and slipped them off, and, while she sobbed with
agony, he rolled her stockings down and took her cold, white feet in his
warm, swift hands. In a few minutes the wrinkles of pain on her face
smoothed out, and a flush came into her cheeks. The tears stood on her
eyelashes. She was like a sorrowing child who forgets its grief in a
quick return of happiness.
Suddenly Rivers stopped and listened. His face grew set and dark with
apprehension. "Here, put your veil back, quick! It's Bailey! Don't
answer him, unless I tell you to."
Outside a clear voice pierced through the wind. It was Bailey speaking
to the horses.
Rivers went on, angrily: "If you'd been half dressed, this wouldn't have
happened. There'll be hell to pay unless I can convince him--"
A hand was laid on the knob and Bailey entered.
"Hello, Jim! I didn't think you'd come out to-day." He eyed the muffled
woman sharply. "Who've you got with you--Mrs. Burke?"
"It don't concern you," Rivers replied. He saw his mistake instantly,
and changed his tone. "Yes, I'm taking her home. Come, Mrs. Burke, we
must be going."
"Wait a minute, Jim," said Bailey. He studied them both carefully.
"Something's wrong here. I feel that. Where are you going, Jim?"
Rivers' wrath flamed out. "None o' your business. Come, Blanche." He
turned to her. His tones betrayed him again.
Bailey faced him, with his back to the door.
"Wait a minute, Jim."
"Get out o' my way."
There was a silence, and in that silence the two men faced each other as
if under some strange light. They seemed alien to each other, yet
familiar, too. Bailey spoke first:
"Jim, I know all about it. You're stealing another man's wife--and, by
God, I won't let you do it!" His voice shook so that he hardly uttered
his sentence intelligibly. The sweat of shame broke out on his face, but
he did not falter. "I've seen this coming on all summer. I ought to have
interfered before--"