"BULL" FINDS AN ALLY.
"For Heaven's sake, man, you don't mean this for a fact, do you?"
It was Mark who spoke; he sat alone in his tent with Texas late that
evening, and Texas was telling him the story of Mary Adams and what she
had done during the day.
"And did she tell you to tell me this?" Mark continued, in amazement.
"No," said Texas; "she didn't want me to a bit. I couldn't make her out
't all. She wanted you to know it, but she didn't want me to tell it."
"I'm afraid," laughed the other, "that you haven't a very delicate sense
of propriety. I'm afraid you're no ladies' man, Texas."
"That's all right," answered Texas. "I think I managed this yere affair
right well. Now, what I want to know is, what you're goin' to do 'bout
it?"
"That's just what I want to know," said his friend. "I'm as puzzled as
you. Why, I hadn't the least idea the poor girl felt that way about me."
"Don't you care for her?"
"Why, of course, man. I like her well enough, from what I know of her.
But I don't want any of that sickly, sentimental business in mine, and
especially about a girl like her. I'm afraid of her, and I don't know
what on earth to say to her. I wish to gracious, old man, you hadn't
said a word to me about it."
Texas gazed at Mark with a grieved expression. That was a nice thing to
say to a man who was just priding himself on having managed a delicate
affair so nicely. And Texas arose to his feet.
"Well," said he, "I'm sorry you don't like it. An' ef that's all I git,
I'll keep out of it."
With which he bounced out of the tent and strode away. Mark also left
the tent for a walk a moment later, still thinking.
The girl was sincere, that was certain. And he knew it all, and so did
she. The question was, what could Mark do without hurting her feelings.
She was wildly jealous of Grace. Now Mark had not the remotest idea of
dropping Grace Fuller, his "angel"; he did not like even to think of her
in connection with this girl. He knew in his heart it would be best to
let Mary Adams alone from this time on. But what would she think then?
Mark was weighing this question as he went. He was not noticing,
meanwhile, where he was going. It was within half an hour or so of
tattoo he knew, and a dark, cloudy night. He had taken the path down
through "Flirtation Walk," heeding no one; he had strolled to the other
end, and turned to retrace his steps when suddenly he halted in
surprise. A dark figure was hurrying past him, and as he gazed at it and
recognized it, he exclaimed aloud:
"Miss Adams!" he cried. "You here!"
The girl turned and faced him, pushing aside the shawl she wore and
disclosing her face in all its passionate beauty.
"Mr. Mallory!" she cried, in just as much surprise; and then gazed at
him trembling.
"Miss Adams," said Mark, quietly, after a moment's thought. "I want to
have a talk with you, if you please. May I?"
"Yes," she cried. "Yes, but not here. I want to see you alone."
She turned, and Mark followed her, almost having to run to keep up with
the girl's excited pace. They descended the hill at the end of the path,
and then on they went almost to the Hudson's shore. It was a dark,
deserted spot, and there the girl halted. Mark stopped too, and she
turned about and gazed at him.
"Now, then," said she.
Mark said nothing at first; he was watching her features, admiring them
and at the same time wondering at the emotion they showed. Her cheeks
became red as fire under his gaze.
"Mr. Powers has told you all?" she demanded at last. "He has; I can see
it!"
Mark started as he noticed the tone of her voice; he had never heard her
speak that way before. Usually her voice was soft and melodious, a voice
with a hidden, musical charm. Now it was cold and harsh, and Mark knew
at once what that meant.
The girl was angry already. She saw that he was about to cast her aside,
after all her passionate, humiliating confession. And she was putting a
bold, brazen front upon it.
"I can see!" she cried, suddenly. "I can see it all in your face. You do
not care for me!"
"Miss Adams," he began, quietly; the girl shook her head impatiently.
"Call me Mary or Moll!" she exclaimed. "Call me Mary and be done with
it. They all do."
Mark was puzzled. He did not wish to call her Mary, he did not wish to
indicate any familiarity. He saw on the other hand that to refuse would
be to cut her to the quick; but he chose the latter course.
"I shall call you Miss Adams," he said, decisively. "And I want to
explain to you----"
The girl stamped her foot upon the ground.
"There is no need for you to explain!" she cried. "I know! I know it
all! I have watched you, followed you, dreamed of you, and you have
flung me off."
As she spoke, the girl had been striding about the spot. As she finished
she bowed her head and broke into a passion of tears.
"But, Miss Adams," expostulated Mark, "you will not let me explain."
"'Explain!'" The girl raised her head and tossed her dark hair in anger,
while her eyes flashed. "I do not want you to explain! Your explanations
are simply honeyed words to hide the facts. I know the facts. You want
to tell me why. I know why! It is because of her, of her! I hate her,
the yellow-haired creature. And I hate you! Yes, I hate you! You have
treated me as if I were a puppet, as if I had no right to live. And I do
not want to live. I have no use for life. I wish I were dead!"
The girl had raised her hands to the sky, a weird figure; she gazed
about her despairingly as she finished.
"I wish I were dead!" she cried, again.
The wind whistled through the lonely trees as she spoke, and made a
strange accompaniment to her impassioned voice. A steamboat, plying the
river, was softly churning little waves that lapped against the shore
and made a low, gurgling sound upon the rocks. The girl gazed over the
steep, dark bank as she cried out in her wretchedness, and the next
instant she sprang forward.
The thought had flashed over Mark at the same moment. He saw the girl
move, and seized her. She turned upon him with the fury of a tiger, a
tiger she was, with all a tiger's passions. For a moment they struggled
and wrestled, the girl crying out all the time. And then she tore
herself loose with one mighty effort--Mark had only one free hand--and
lunged down, down into the darkness.
Mark heard a splash and a gurgle of the black invisible waters. And then
all was silent as the grave.
Mark Mallory hesitated, hesitated for the first time in his life. One
arm was bound tight in a sling and helpless. He was weak and faint yet
from his maltreatment. Still he could not see her die without trying to
save her. His hesitation gone, he took a step forward, but he was too
late.
There was a quick noise behind him; he heard the word "coward!" hissed
in his ear, and a white figure shot past him and dived out into the
darkness.
Mark gasped with relief; and quick to act, he turned, and helpless
though he was, clambered down around the side to reach the spot. He
heard sounds of a struggle out beyond him; he heard some whispered
words, and a moment later the figure of the rescuer arose out of the
water and confronted him, bearing the girl in his arms.
It was Bull Harris!
Mark started back instinctively; and Bull sneered as he saw it.
"Coward!" he repeated. "Coward! The corps shall know of this!"
Mark knew that expostulation and explanation were useless and
unnecessary. He said not a word, but saw the girl safely brought to
shore. And then, sad and heavy at heart, he turned and walked back
toward the camp.
Bull Harris stayed, to reap the fruit of his labors. He held the
half-fainting, half-hysterical girl in his arms and wiped her straying
hair from her face and sought to calm her. He seemed to like his task,
for when she was better he made no move to stop.
"Did he push you over?" inquired Bull, insinuatingly.
"No," cried the girl, with fierceness. "He did not. But I hate him!"
"You might say he did then!" the yearling whispered softly.
Mary Adams glanced at him with a sharp look.
"I might," she said, "if I chose. And I may. What's that to you?"
"To me!" cried Bull clinching the girl's hand in his until she cried
out. "To me! I hate him! I could kill him!"
"You were rude to me once," she muttered.
"Yes," exclaimed Bull. "I was. You liked him, and I hated you for it."
That was a lie, but the girl did not choose, for some reason, to say so.
"Come," she said, striving to arise. "Help me home."
"One moment!" cried Bull, holding her back. "Promise me one thing, one
thing before you go."
"What is it?"
"I know the whole story, Mary," he said. "I know how he has treated you,
how he has cast you off, made a puppet of you, and all for that Grace
Fuller! You say you hate him. So do I. Promise me, promise me to be
revenged if you have to die for it."
"I will!" cried she, furiously.
"Will you give me your hand on it?"
"I will."
Bull took her home that night, though he was in no hurry about it. He
came in after taps, for he thought it would do him good to hand in his
explanation that he had been saving a girl's life, and restoring her to
consciousness. A girl; perhaps a girl upon whom murder had been
attempted.
He evaded all details, however, and went to his tent chuckling
triumphantly at his evil work that night.
He had laid a foundation for trouble, but would success follow?
Only the future could tell.