MEDICINE AT HEART'S DESIRE
_How the Girl from the States kept the Set of Twins from being broken_
Even as the stouter-hearted captains of Heart's Desire began to voice
their confidence, a sudden sense of helplessness, of personal inadequacy,
came upon Porter Barkley, erstwhile leader of the forces of the A. P. and
S. E. Railway Company. With emotions of chagrin and humiliation he found
himself obliged wholly to readjust his estimate of himself and his
powers. He had come hither full of confidence, accustomed to success,
animated by a genial condescension toward these benighted men; and now,
how quickly had the situation been reversed! Nay, worse than reversed.
He, Porter Barkley, a man who had bought a legislature in his time, was
ignored, forgotten by these strangers, as though he did not exist! More
than that, Ellsworth was reticent with him; and worst of all, when he met
Constance at the table she gave him no more than a curt nod and a polite
forgetfulness of his presence.
Porter Barkley wished nothing so much as speedily to get away from the
scene of his twofold defeat, although he knew that farewell meant
dismissal. He knew also that he could restore himself to the respect of
Heart's Desire in only one way; but he did not go out on the street in
search of that way, although the Socorro stage was a full day late in its
departure, and he was obliged to remain a prisoner indoors.
Indeed, Constance and her father were little better than prisoners as
well, for no possible means of locomotion offered whereby they could get
out of town; and all Heart's Desire remained aloof from them, not even
the Littlest Girl coming across the _arroyo_ to call on Constance at the
hotel.
"I'd like to have her come over to see the twins," said Curly to his
spouse, "but I reckon like enough she's sore."
"I'd be mighty glad to have a good square talk with some woman from the
States," rejoined the Littlest Girl, hesitatingly. "I'd sort of like to
know what folks is wearin' back there now. Besides that--"
"Besides what?"
"I don't more'n half believe her and Dan Anderson is gettin' along very
well, someway."
"That so? Well, I don't see how they can, the way he throwed the spurs
into her pa the other night."
"He just worships the ground that girl walks on."
"You oughtn't to talk so much. That ain't our business--but how do you
know?"
"Well, because I _do_ know," responded the Littlest Girl, warmly. "Don't
you suppose I can see? I've talked with Dan every time he come up here
to buy a pie--talked about that girl. He buys more pies now than he used
to. I reckon I _know_."
"That may all be. Question is, how's she a-feelin' toward _him_ these
days?"
"Curly," after a little silence, "I'm going to put on my bonnet and go
over there and see that girl. She's all alone. I'll take her a pie. I
always did think she was nice."
"Well, all right. There's Bill Godfrey drivin' the stage out of his barn
now. I'll go over to the post-office and help the old man with the mail.
May ride out as far as the ranch with Bill and see if Mac has anything
special to do. There was talk of that Nogal sheep outfit gettin' in on
the lower end of our range. If they do, something'll pop for sure. You
go on over to the hotel if you want to. Ma'll take care of the twins."
The departure of the stage for Socorro occurred once a week or so, if all
went well, and the event was always one of importance. Even Mr.
Ellsworth and Constance found themselves joining the groups which
wandered now toward the post-office, next door to Whiteman's store, in
front of which Bill Godfrey regularly made his first stop preparatory to
leaving town. As they two passed up the street from the hotel, they
missed the Littlest Girl, who crossed the _arroyo_ above them by a
quarter of a mile; Heart's Desire being, in view of its population, a
city of magnificent distances.
The man from Leavenworth, postmaster, had nearly finished the solemn
performance of locking up the emaciated mail-bag for Socorro, and Bill
Godfrey was looking intently at his watch--which had not gone for six
months--when all at once the assemblage in and around the post-office was
startled by shrieks, screams, and calls of the most alarming nature.
These rapidly approached from the direction of the _arroyo_, beyond
which lay the residence portion of Heart's Desire. Presently there was
to be distinguished the voice of a woman, raised in terrified
lamentations, accompanied with the broken screams of a child in evident
distress. There appeared, hastening toward the group in front of the
store, Curly's mother-in-law, wife of the postmaster of Heart's Desire,
and guardian as well of the twins of Heart's Desire. It was one of these
twins, Arabella, whom she now hurried along with her, at such speed that
the child's feet scarce touched the ground. When this latter did happen,
Arabella seemed synchronously to catch her breath, becoming thus able to
emit one more spasmodic wail. There was pain and fright in the cries,
and the whole attitude of the woman from Kansas was such that all knew
some tragedy had occurred or was impending.
"Good Lord!" cried Curly, "I'll bet a thousand dollars the kid's got my
strychnine bottle this time! I left it in the window. There was enough
to poison a thousand coyotes!"
He sprang forward to catch the other arm of the sobbing child. The man
from Kansas, postmaster of Heart's Desire, hastened to join his wife in
the street, wagging his gray beard in wild queries. In half a moment all
the population was massed in front of Whiteman's store, incoherent,
frightened, utterly helpless.
"She's dyin'!" cried the woman from Kansas. "Poison! Oh, Willyam, what
shall we do?" But the postmaster was unable to offer any aid or counsel.
"I just left it there in the window," explained Curly, excitedly; "I was
goin' to put out some baits around a water hole, about to-morrow."
"Oh, it's awful!" sobbed the woman from Kansas. "What shall we do? What
shall we do?"
"Doc," said Curly to Doc Tomlinson, "you run the drug store--ain't you
got no anecdote for this?" Doc Tomlinson could only shake his head
mournfully. A ring of bearded, beweaponed men gathered about the little
sufferer, hopeless, at their wits' end.
Constance and her father, hurrying to learn the cause of the commotion,
received but incoherent answers to their questions. "Good Lord! girl,
that child's hurt!" cried Ellsworth, helpless as the others. "What'll we
do?"
Constance did not even reply to him. Without his assistance, indeed
without looking to right or left, she made straight through the circle of
men, who gave way to admit her.
"What's the trouble here? What's wrong?" she demanded sharply, catching
the weeping woman by the arm, even as she reached out a hand toward the
suffering Arabella.
"Poison!" wailed the woman from Kansas again. "She's goin' to die!
There ain't no way to help it."
"What poison--what has the child taken?" asked Constance.
"It was strychnine, ma'am, like enough," ventured Curly. "There was
some--"
"Nonsense! It's not strychnine," cried the girl. In an instant her eye
had caught what every other individual present had overlooked, although
it was certainly the most obvious object in all the landscape,--the
half-empty can which still remained tightly clutched in Arabella's free
hand.
"Why, here it is!" she exclaimed. "The child has eaten concentrated lye.
Quick! Get her in somewhere. What are you standing around here for--get
out of the way, you men!"
They scattered, and Constance glanced about her. "Where's some
grease--some lard? Quick!" she called out to Whiteman, who was looking
on.
"In here, lady--dis vay," he answered eagerly; but she outfooted him to
the rear of the store, carrying Arabella in her arms. Spying a lard tin,
she thrust off the cover, and plunged in a hand. Immediately the sobs of
Arabella changed to sputterings, for the physician in charge had covered
her face, lips, and a goodly portion of the interior of her mouth and
throat with the ameliorating unguent! At this act of first aid, the
wails of the woman from Kansas ceased also, and a vast sigh of relief
arose from the confederated helplessness of Heart's Desire.
"Is she going to die?" gasped the woman from Kansas.
"No," said Constance, scornfully. "I've seen much worse burns. The lye
has perhaps lost a little of its strength, too. The burns are all well
in the front of the mouth and tongue, and I don't think she swallowed any
of it. Lard is as good as anything to stop the burn. Why didn't you
think of it?"
"I don't know, ma'am," confessed the woman from Kansas.
A sudden loquacity now seized upon all those recently perturbed and
silent.
"Now," said Curly, "it's this-a-way; the women they must have left that
can of lye settin' around. It's mighty careless of 'em. I _needed_ my
strychnine, but there ain't no _sense_ in leavin' lye settin' around.
Them twins was due to eat it, shore. Why, they was _broke_ to eat
anything that comes in tin cans!"
Constance gathered Arabella in her arms. The tailored gown was ruined
now. One hand remained gloved, but both were grease-laden to the wrists.
She was unconscious of all this. Her gaze, frowning, solicitous,
maternal, bent itself upon the face of her patient. The men of Heart's
Desire looked on, silent, relieved, adoring. A few began to edge toward
the open air.
"You ain't no kind of a drug-store man," said the postmaster, scornfully,
to Tomlinson.
"Why ain't I?" retorted the latter, hotly. "What _chance_ does a
merchant get in this town? What do I get for carrying a full line of
drugs here for years? Now, _lard_ ain't drugs. It ain't in the
pharmacopy."
"I don't know but it's a good thing for that kid," said Curly. "She
ought to be plumb soft-spoken all her life, after all that lard in her
frontispiece. But it won't do 'em no good,--they'll eat my strychnine
next. This here stage-coach--with her along," jerking his thumb towards
the physician in charge, "won't be any more'n out of sight before that
twin corporation will be fryin' dynamite on the kitchen stove. I shore
thought that set of twins was busted this time for keeps. Unless there's
two of 'em, twins ain't no good!"
"Ma'am, your dress is just ruined," said the woman from Kansas; "you are
lard clean from head to foot!"
"I know it," cried Constance, gayly, the color coming to her cheeks; "but
never mind, the baby's all right now."
"Well, you've got to come over to our house and get fixed up. Was you
goin' out on the stage? You stay here for a day or so and watch that
child; we'd like it mighty well if you would."
It was a flag of truce from Heart's Desire. Nevertheless, Constance
seemed to hesitate. Ah! wily Constance. A great many things might
happen which had not yet happened, but which ought to happen. And in all
that group Dan Anderson was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps after a time he
might come!
Constance hesitated just long enough. The dignity of Bill Godfrey had to
be sustained. His stagecoach had not started on the appointed and
stipulated time any day these many months; yet for that stage, ready
equipped for its journey, to stand waiting idly upon the convenience of
any mortal after the "mails" had been brought out from the post-office
and placed safely in the boot, was mortal affront to any stage-driver's
reputation. Bill Godfrey again looked solemnly at his watch and gathered
up the reins. "All aboard!" he cried. "Git up!" and so swung a wide
circle and headed down the street to the hotel. Presently he departed.
He carried a solitary passenger. Constance and her father were still
prisoners, or guests, in Heart's Desire for an indefinite time! And in
an indefinite time many things may occur.
In his house across the _arroyo_ Dan Anderson endured the silence and
loneliness as long as he could, turning over and over again in his mind
the old questions to which he had found no answer. Most of all, one
question was insistent. Had he been just to her, to Constance, in
allowing himself to accept her alleged conduct as a motive for his own
actual conduct? He had taken for granted much--all--and upon what manner
of testimony? The babblings of a half-witted herder! He had asked the
men of Heart's Desire to hear both sides of his own case. The men of
Heart's Desire had heard both sides of the railroad's case. But he had
condemned without trial the woman whom he loved--her--Constance! It was
impossible, unbelievable of any man.
When the horror of this thought broke upon him fully, Dan Anderson sprang
up, caught his hat, and started fast as he might for the hotel. He
crossed the _arroyo_ below the post-office, and so did not know, at the
time, of the peril and rescue of Arabella. Nor did he know that all of
Heart's Desire was penitent regarding her and her father; nor that both
were to remain for yet a little time.
Dan Anderson approached the stone hotel in time to watch the stage
depart, himself unobserved. Then he stepped farther toward the hotel
door. He met the Littlest Girl just emerging from the building, whither
she had gone upon the same errand as his own.
"She ain't here, Mr. Anderson," explained the Littlest Girl; "her and her
pa has just went to the post-office."
He looked at her silently. "Oh, I know who you come to see," asserted
the Littlest Girl, "and I don't blame you. It's _time_ you did, too."
Without a word he turned and walked with her up the street, there to miss
Constance by three moments, which, potentially, might have been a
life-time.