AN EVIL NIGHT
Peter lumbered heavily away from the house. He had known the futility
of his request beforehand. Yet he had to make it even on the smallest
chance. And now, more than ever, in spite of his disappointment, he
saw how imperative it was that some one should stand by to help any
one of these three. Old "saws" were not for him. The world-old advice
to the would-be interferer might be for those of less thought, less
tact. Besides, he had no intention of interfering. He only meant to
"stand by." That was the key-note of his whole nature, his whole
life.
And the night had revealed so much to him. His horizon was bounded by
storm-clouds threatening unconscious lives. There they were banking,
banking, low down, so as to be almost invisible, and he knew that they
were only waiting a favoring breeze to mount up into the heavens into
one vast black mass. And then the breaking of the storm. His calm
brain was for once feverishly at work. Those three must somehow be
herded to shelter; and he wondered how. His first play had proved
abortive, and now he wondered.
It was his intention to return to his hut for the night, and he stood
for a moment contemplating the dark village. His busy thoughts decided
for him that there was nothing further to be done to-night. He told
himself that opportunity must be his guide in the riddle with which
he was confronted. He must rush nothing, and he felt, somehow, that
the opportunity would come. He turned his eyes in the direction of his
home, and as he was about to move off he became aware of a footstep
crossing the market-place toward him. He waited. The sound came from
the direction of the saloon, and, as he gazed that way, he saw the
lights in the building go out one by one. The person approaching was
one of the "boys" homeward bound.
He was half inclined to continue on his way and thus avoid the
probably drunken man, but something held him, and a moment later he
was glad when he saw the figure of Jim Thorpe loom up. As they came
into view of each other Thorpe hesitated. Nor was it till he
recognized the huge outline of Peter that he came close up.
"That you, Peter?" he said.
And Peter, listening, recognized that Jim was sober.
"Yes," he replied, "just going home."
"Me, too."
There was a brief pause after that, and both men were thinking of the
same thing. It was of the scene recently enacted at the saloon. Peter
was the one to break the silence, and he ignored that which was in his
thoughts.
"Goin' to the ranch on foot, and by way of Eve's shack," he said in
his gently humorous fashion.
"Ye-es," responded Jim after a moment's thought. Then he added with a
conscious laugh, "My 'plug' is back there at Rocket's tie-post,
waiting, saddled." Then he went on, becoming suddenly earnest. "Peter,
I'm going for good. That is, I'm going to quit McLagan's, and get out.
You see, I just wanted to have a look at her shack--for the last
time. I--I don't feel I can go without that. She won't see me,
and----"
"Sort of final look round before you quit the--sinking ship, eh?"
The quiet seriousness of the big man's tone sounded keenly incisive in
the stillness of the dark night. Jim started, and hot blood mounted to
his head. He had been through so much that day that his nerves were
still on edge.
"What d'ye mean?" he demanded sharply. "Who's deserting a sinking
ship--where's the sinking ship?"
Peter pointed back at Eve's home.
"There," he said.
But Jim shook his head.
"I've drunk a lot to-day. Maybe my head's not clear. Maybe----"
Peter's voice broke in.
"It doesn't need much clearness to understand, if you know all the
facts. I'm not going to tell all I've seen and heard to-day either.
But I'm going to say a few words to you, Jim, because I know you and
like you, and because, in spite of a few cranks in your head, you're a
man. Just now you're feeling reckless. Nothing much matters to you.
You're telling yourself that there's no particular reason keeping
straight. You have no interest, and when the end comes you'll just
shut out your lights and--well, there's nothing more to it. That's how
you're thinking."
"And what's my thoughts to do with quitting a sinking ship?" Jim asked
a trifle impatiently. "I don't deny you're likely right. I confess I
don't see that there's much incentive to--well, to stick to a straight
and narrow course. I'll certainly strike a gait of my own, and I
don't know that it'll be a slow one. It'll be honest though. It'll be
honest as far as the laws of man go. As for the other laws, well,
they're for my personal consideration as far as my life is concerned.
But this sinking ship. I'd like to know."
"You love Eve?" Peter abruptly demanded.
"For G----'s sake, what are you driving at?"
"You love her?" Peter's demand would admit of no avoidance.
"Better than my life."
Jim's answer was deep down in his voice; his whole soul was in his
reply.
"Then don't quit McLagan's, boy," Peter went on earnestly. "Don't quit
Barnriff. Jim, boy, you can't have her, but you can help her to
happiness by standing by. I'm going to stand by, too, for she's going
to need all the help we can both give her."
"But how can I 'stand by' with Will--her husband?"
"You must stand by _because_ he's her husband."
"God!"
"Jim, can't you try to forget things where he's concerned? Can't you
try to forget that shooting match and its result? Can't you? Think
well. Can't you, outwardly at least, make things up with him? It'll
help to keep him right, and help toward her happiness. Jim, I ask you
to do this for her sake, lad. I know what you don't know, and I can't
tell you. It's best I don't tell you. It would do worse than no good.
You say you love her better than life. Well, boy, if Eve's to be made
happy we must help to keep Will right. He's got a devil in him
somewhere, and anything that goes awry with him sets that devil
raging. Are you going to help Eve, Jim?"
It was some moments before any answer was forthcoming. It was the old
battle going on of the man against himself. All that was human in Jim
was tearing him in one direction, while his better side--his love for
Eve--was pulling him in the opposite. He hated Will now. He had given
way in this direction completely. The man's final outrage at the
saloon had killed his last grain of feeling for him. And now he was
called upon to--outwardly, at least--take up his old attitude toward
him, a course that would help Will to give the woman he had robbed him
of the happiness which he himself was not allowed to bestow. Was ever
so outrageous a demand upon a man? He laughed bitterly, and aloud.
"No, no, Peter; it can't be done. I'm no saint. I'd hate to be a
saint. Will can go hang--he can go to the devil! And I say that
because I love Eve better than all else in the world."
"And the first sacrifice for that love you refuse?"
"Yes. I refuse to give my friendship to Will."
"You love her, yet you will not help her to happiness?"
"She shall never lack for happiness through me."
Peter smiled in the darkness. A sigh of something like satisfaction
escaped him. He knew that, in spite of the man's spoken refusal, his
appeal was not entirely unavailing.
"You won't leave McLagan's then?" he said.
"Not if Eve needs me."
"Then don't."
But Jim became suddenly impatient.
"For G----'s sake, man, can't you speak out?"
"For Eve's sake, I won't," was the quiet rejoinder.
"Then, Peter, I'm going right on to the ranch now. I'll remain. But,
remember, I am no longer a friend of Will's--and never will be again.
I'll never even pretend. But if I can help Eve you can call on me.
And--I put no limit on the hand I play. So long."
"So long."