Bailey woke in the night, chilled. The fire was low, and as he rose to
add some coal to the stove he looked about him in his way. Rivers' bunk
was empty. He glanced toward the bed, and saw him wrapped in his buffalo
coat kneeling beside Blanche's pillow. He seemed asleep, as his cheek
rested upon his right hand, which was clasped in both of hers.
The young pioneer sat for several minutes thinking, staring straight at
his friend. There was something here that made all the difference in
the world. Suppose these people really loved each other as he loved
Estelle? Then he softly fed the fire and lay down again.
His brain whirled as if some sharp blow had dazzled him. Outside the
implacable winds still rushed and warred, and beat and clamored,
shrieking, wailing, like voices from hell. The snow dashed like surf
against the walls. It seemed to cut off the little cabin from the rest
of the world and to dwarf all human action like the sea. It made social
conventions of no value, and narrowed the question of morality to the
relationship of these three human souls.
Lying there in the dark, with the elemental war of wind and snow filling
the illimitable arch of sky, he came to feel, in a dim, wordless way,
that this tragedy was born of conventions largely. Also, it appeared
infinitesimal, like the activities of insects battling, breeding, dying.
He came also to feel that the force which moved these animalculæ was
akin to the ungovernable sweep of the wind and snow--all inexplicable,
elemental, unmoral.
His thought came always back to the man kneeling there, and the clasp of
the woman's hands--that baffled him, subdued him.
When he awoke it was light. The roar of the wind continued, but faint,
far away, like the humming of a wire with the cold. He lay bewildered,
half dreaming, not knowing what it was that had impressed him with this
unwonted feeling of doubt and weariness. At last he heard a movement in
the room and rose on his elbow. Rivers was awake and was peering out at
the window.
Blanche replied to his words of greeting with a low murmur--"I feel very
weak."
She seemed calmer, also, and her eyes had lost something of their
tension of appeal.
Bailey looked at her closely, and his heart softened with pity. He
waited upon her and tried by his cheerful smiles to comfort her,
nevertheless.
They ate breakfast in silence, as if apprehending the struggle which was
still to come.
At last Rivers rose with abrupt resolution.
"Well, now, I'll bring the team around, and we'll get away."
"Wait a minute, Jim," Bailey said. "I want to say something to you."
There was a note of pleading in his voice. "Wait a little. I've been
thinking this thing over. I don't want you to go away feeling hard
toward me." His throat choked up and his eyes grew dim. "I don't want to
be hard on you, Jim. It's a mighty big question, and I'm not one to be
unjust, specially toward a woman. Of course, somebody's got to suffer,
but it hadn't ought to be the woman--I've made up my mind on that. Seems
like the woman always does get the worst of it, and I want you to think
of her. What is to become of her?"
Blanche turned toward him with a wondrous look--a look which made him
shiver with emotion. He looked down a moment, and his struggle to speak
made him seem very boyish and gentle.
"I can't exactly justify this trade, Jim, but I guess it all depends on
the _mother_. She ought to be happy anyway, whether you are or not; so
if she thinks she'd better go with you, why, I ain't got a word to
say."
Blanche gave a low cry, a cry such as no woman had ever uttered in his
presence, and fell upon her knees before him.
The cadence of her moan cut deep into his heart. He realized for the
first time some part of her suffering, her temptations. Her eyes shone
with a marvellous beauty. He was awed by the rapt expression of her
face.
"Don't do that," he stammered. "Please get up."
"You're so good!" she breathed.
"Oh no, I'm not. I don't know--I don't pretend to judge--that's all.
Yesterday I did, but now--well, I leave the whole business with you and
God. Please stand up."
She rose, but stood looking upon him with a fixed, devouring look. He
had never seen tears in her eyes before. She had been gay and sullen
and tense and sad, but now she was transfigured with some emotion he
could not follow. Her eyes were soft and dark, and her pale face, sad
and sweet, was instinct with the tenderness of her coming maternity. The
sturdy plainsman thrilled with unutterable pity as he looked down upon
her.
There was a silence, and then Rivers came to Bailey's side, and said,
brokenly,
"Rob, old man, you've done me good--you always _have_ done me good--I'll
be faithful to her, so help me God!"
Bailey understood him, and shook his hand. They stood for a moment, palm
to palm, as if this were in some sense a marriage ceremony. Bailey broke
the tension by saying:
"Well, now get your team--I wouldn't let you take her out into the cold
only I know she ought to be where a doctor can be reached. The quicker
you go the better."
While Rivers was gone he turned to her and helped her with her cloak and
shawl. His heart went out toward her with a brother's love. He talked
with cheerful irrelevancy and bustled about, heating a bowlder for her
feet and warming her overshoes.
"Now it's all right. Jim will take care of you. Don't worry about Will;
I'll go over and see him." He wrapped her in every available blanket and
shawl, and at last helped her outside and into the sleigh. He tucked the
robe around her while Rivers held the restless horses. His voice
trembled as he said:
"Now, Jim, get her under shelter as quick as you can. Leave the team at
Wheatland. I'll come after it in a day or two. I want to see somebody in
town, anyway."
The woman turned toward him. He saw her eyes shine through her veil. She
bared her hand and extended it toward him. "I hope you and Estelle will
be happy."
He covered her hand with both of his. The gesture was swift and tender.
It seemed to shield and forgive. Then drawing the robe over it without a
word, he briskly said, "Well, Jim, I guess this is the fork in the
road," and he looked at his chum with misty eyes. Rivers turned away,
and they again clasped hands without looking at each other.
"Good-bye, old man," said Rivers.
"Good-bye, Jim, and _good luck_!"
Bailey saw his partner draw the woman close down under the shelter of
his shoulder, while his powerful hand whirled the team to the south.
He stood in the lee of the shanty until the swift sleigh was a slowly
moving speck on the plain, then he went in and sat down to muse on the
wondrous last look in the woman's eyes. "I wonder what Estelle will
say?" he asked himself, and a sense of loneliness, of longing to see
her, filled his heart with dreams.