FULL DRESS
In the heart of that valley two roads crossed. Many a year before a
man with some imagination and illimitable faith was moved by the
crossing of those roads to build a general merchandise store.
Time justified his faith, in a small way, and now McGuire's store was
famed for leagues and leagues about, for he dared to take chances with
all manner of novelties, and the curious, when their pocketbooks were
full, went to McGuire's to find inspiration.
Business was dull this night, however; there was not a single patron at
the bar, and the store itself was empty, so he went to put out the big
gasoline lamp which hung from the ceiling in the center of the room,
and was on the ladder, reaching high above his head, when a singular
chill caught him in the center of his plump back and radiated from that
spot in all directions, freezing his blood. He swallowed the lump in
his throat and with his arms still stretched toward the lamp he turned
his head and glanced behind.
Two men stood watching him from a position just inside the door. How
they had come there he could never guess, for the floor creaked at the
lightest step. Nevertheless, these fantoms had appeared silently, and
now they must be dealt with. He turned on the ladder to face them, and
still he kept the arms automatically above his head while he descended
to the floor.
However, on a closer examination, these two did not seem particularly
formidable. They were both quite young, one with dark-red hair and a
somewhat overbright eye; the other was hardly more than a boy, very
slender, delicately made, the sort of handsome young scoundrel whom
women cannot resist.
Having made these observations McGuire ventured to lower his arms by
jerks; nothing happened; he was safe. So he vented his feelings by
scowling on the strangers.
"Well," he snapped, "what's up? Too late for business. I'm closin'
up."
The two quite disregarded him. Their eyes were wandering calmly about
the place, and now they rested on the pride of McGuire's store. The
figure of a man in evening clothes, complete from shoes to gloves and
silk hat, stood beside a girl of wax loveliness. She wore a low-cut
gown of dark green, and over her shimmering, cold white shoulders was
draped a scarf of dull gold. Above, a sign said: "You only get married
once; why don't you do it up right?"
"That," said the taller stranger, "ought to do very nicely for us, eh?"
And the younger replied in a curiously light, pleasant voice: "Just
what we want. But how'll I get away with all that fluffy stuff, eh?"
The elder explained: "We're going to a bit of a dance and we'll take
those evening clothes."
The heart of McGuire beat faster and his little eyes took in the
strangers again from head to foot.
"They ain't for sale," he said. "They's just samples. But right over
here--"
"This isn't a question of selling," said the red-headed man. "We've
come to accept a little donation, McGuire."
The storekeeper grew purple and white in patches. Still there was no
show of violence, no display of guns; he moved his hand toward his own
weapon, and still the strangers merely smiled quietly on him. He
decided that he had misunderstood, and went on: "Over here I got a line
of goods that you'll like. Just step up and--"
The younger man, frowning now, replied: "We don't want to see any more
of your junk. The clothes on the models suit us all right. Slip 'em
off, McGuire."
"But--" began McGuire and then stopped.
His first suspicion returned with redoubled force; above all, that head
of dark red hair made him thoughtful. He finished hoarsely: "What the
hell's this?"
"Why," smiled the taller man, "you've never done much in the interests
of charity, and now's a good time for you to start. Hurry up, McGuire;
we're late already!"
There was a snarl from the storekeeper, and he went for his gun, but
something in the peculiarly steady eyes of the two made him stop with
his fingers frozen hard around the butt. A mighty sickness overwhelmed
McGuire, and before his eyes there swam a dark mist.
He whispered: "You're Red Pierre?"
"The clothes," repeated Pierre sternly, "on the jump, McGuire."
And with a jump McGuire obeyed. His hands trembled so that he could
hardly remove the scarf from the shoulders of the model, but afterward
fear made his fingers supple. He lifted up the green gown; white,
filmy clothes showed underneath.
There came a sharp cry from Jack: "Turn away, Pierre; turn quick and
don't dare to look. I'll take care of McGuire."
And Pierre le Rouge turned, grinning. When she told him that he could
look again, he found her with a bright spot of color in either cheek,
and her eyes avoided his. It thrilled Pierre, and yet it troubled him,
for she seemed changed, all at once, less of a comrade, and strangely
aloof. McGuire was doing up the clothes in two bundles.
Jacqueline took one of them and Pierre the other under his left arm;
with his right hand he drew out some yellow coins.
"I didn't buy these clothes because I didn't have the time to dicker
with you, McGuire. I've heard you talk prices before, you know. But
here's what the clothes are worth to us."
And into the quaking hands of McGuire he poured a chinking stream of
gold pieces.
Relief, amazement, and a very wholesome fear struggled in the face of
McGuire as he saw himself threefold overpaid. At that little yellow
heap he remained staring, unheeding the sound of the retreating
outlaws. At it he still stared with fascinated eyes while the door
banged and the clatter of galloping hoofs began.
"It ain't possible," he said at last, "thieves have begun to pay."
His eyes sought the ceiling.
"So that's Red Pierre?" said McGuire.
As for Pierre and Jacqueline, they were instantly safe in the black
heart of the mountains. Many a mile of hard riding lay before them,
however, and already the dance must be nearly ready to begin in the
Crittenden schoolhouse. There was no road, not even a trail that they
could follow. They had never even seen the Crittenden schoolhouse;
they knew its location only by vague descriptions.
But they had ridden a thousand times in places far more bewildering and
less known to them. Like all true denizens of the mountain-desert,
they had a sense of direction as uncanny as that of an Eskimo. Now
they struck off confidently through the dark and trailed up and down
through the mountains until they reached a hollow in the center of
which shone a group of dim lights. It was the schoolhouse near the
Barnes place, the scene of the dance.
So they turned back behind the hills and in the covert of a group of
cottonwoods they kindled two more little fires, shading them on three
sides with rocks and leaving them open for the sake of light on the
fourth.
They worked busily for a time, without a word spoken by either of them.
The only sound was the rustling of Jacqueline's stolen silks and the
purling of a small stream of water near them, some meager spring.
But presently: "P-P-Pierre, I'm f-freezing."
He himself was numbed by the chill air and paused in the task of
thrusting a leg into the trousers, which persisted in tangling and
twisting under his foot.
"So'm I. It's c-c-cold as the d-d-d-devil."
"And these--th-things--aren't any thicker than spider webs."
"Wait. I'll build you a great big fire."
And he scooped up a number of dead twigs.
"P-P-Pierre! D-d-d-don't you d-d-dare c-come in s-sight of m-me."
"D-d-damn it! I don't want to see you."
"P-Pierre! Aren't you ash-sh-sh-shamed to talk like that?"
"Jack, this damned collar won't button."
"K-k-eep t-t-t-trying."
"Come help me."
"Pierre! How can I come dressed like th-th-this?"
"I'm n-n-not going to the dance."
"P-P-P-Pierre!"
"I'm not."
"Then I am."
"W-w-w-without me?"
"Y-y-yes."
"Jack, you're a flirt."
"I hate you, Pierre!"
"Thank G-G-G-God! The collar's on."
"I can't tie this--th-th-thing."
"I'll come help you."
"N-n-n-no!"
"What is it?"
"The thing that g-g-goes around me."
"C-c-c-corset?"
A silence.
"Pierre!"
"W-well?"
"It's t-t-tied!"
"But this damned tie isn't!"
"I'll do it for you."
And then: "N-n-no. Go b-b-b-back!"
He fixed the eye-glass on his nose and laughed at the thought of
himself.
"Pierre."
"Well?"
"I've got the dress on."
"Then I can come?"
He was warm enough now, with the suit on and even the tie knotted,
after a fashion.
"No. I st-t-till feel just n-n-n-naked, Pierre."
"Is there something missing?"
"Yes. Around the shoulders."
"Take the scarf."
There was an interlude of more rustling, then:
"P-P-Pierre."
"Well?"
"I wish I had a m-m-m-mirror."
"Jack, are you vain?"
A cry of delight answered him. He threw caution to the winds and
advanced on her. He found her kneeling above a pool of water fed by
the soft sliding little stream from the spring. With one hand she held
a burning twig by way of a torch, and with the other she patted her
hair into shape and finally thrust the comb into the glittering, heavy
coils.
She started, as if she felt his presence without looking, and knelt
with body erect.
"P-P-Pierre!"
"Yes?"
"C-c-c-close your eyes."
He obeyed.
"Look!"
She stood with the torch high overhead, and he saw a beauty so glorious
that he closed his eyes involuntarily and still he saw the vision in
the dull-green gown, with the scarf of old gold about her shoulders and
the skin peering out here and there, dazzling white. And there were
two lights, the barbaric red of the jewels in her hair, and the black
shimmer of her eyes. He drew back a step more. It was a picture to be
looked at from a distance.
She ran to him with a cry of dismay:
"Pierre, what's wrong with me?"
His arms went round her of their own accord. It was the only place
they could go. And all this fragrant, marvelous beauty was held in the
circle of his will.
"It isn't that, but you're so wonderful, Jack, so glorious, that I
hardly know you. You're like a different person."
He felt the warm body trembling, and the thought that it was not
entirely from the cold set his heart beating like a trip-hammer. What
he felt was so strange to him that he stepped back in a vague alarm,
and then laughed. She stood with a half whimsical half expectant smile.
"Jack, how am I to risk you in the arms of all the strangers in that
dance?"
The light of Alexander when he dreamed of new worlds to conquer came
into those wide black eyes.
"It's late. Listen!"
She cupped a hand at her ear and leaned to listen. Up from the hollow
below them came a faint strain of music, a very light sound that was
drowned a moment later by the solemn rushing of the wind through the
great trees above them.
They looked up of one accord.
"Pierre, what was that?"
"Nothing; the wind in the branches, that's all."
"It was a hushing sound. It was like--it was like a warning, almost."
But he was already turning away, and she followed him hastily.