A TALE OF A CARELESS MAN
Jacqueline ran to the door and threw it open.
"Ride down the valley!" she cried. "That's right. He's coming up, and
he'll meet you on the way. He'll be glad--to see you!"
She saw the rider swing sharply about, and the clatter of the galloping
hoofs died out up the valley; then she closed the door, dropped the
latch, and, running to the middle of the room, threw up her arms and
cried out, a wild, shrill yell of triumph like the call of the old
Indian brave when he rises with the scalp of his murdered enemy
dripping in his hand.
The extended arms she caught back to her breast, and stood there with
head tilted back, crushing her delight closer to her heart.
And she whispered: "Pierre! Mine, mine! Pierre!"
Next she went to the steel mirror on the wall and looked long at the
flushed, triumphant image. At length she started, like one awakening
from a happy dream, and hurriedly coiled the thick, soft tresses about
her head. Never before had she lingered so over a toilet, patting each
lock into place, twisting her head from side to side like a peacock
admiring its image.
Now she looked about hungrily for a touch of color and uttered a little
moan of vexation when she saw nothing, till her eyes, piercing through
the gloom of a dim corner, saw a spray of autumn leaves, long left
there and still stained with beauty. She fastened them at the breast
of her shirt, and so arrayed began to cook.
Never was there a merrier cook, not even some jolly French chef with a
heart made warm with good red wine, for she sang as she worked, and
whenever she had to cross the room it was with a dancing step. Spring
was in her blood, warm spring that loosens the muscles about the heart
and makes the eyes of girls dim and sets men smiling for no cause
except that they are living, and rejoicing with the whole awakening
world.
So it was with Jacqueline. Ever and anon as she leaned over the pans
and stirred the fire she raised her head and remained a moment
motionless, waiting for a sound, yearning to hear, and each time she
had to look down again with a sigh.
As it was, he took her by surprise, for he entered with the soft foot
of the hunted and remained an instant searching the room with a careful
glance. Not that he suspected, not that he had not relaxed his guard
and his vigilance the moment he caught sight of the flicker of light
through the mass of great boulders, but the lifelong habit of
watchfulness remained with him.
Even when he spoke face to face with a man, he never seemed to be
giving more than half his attention, for might not some one else
approach if he lost himself in order to listen to any one voice? He
had covered half the length of the room with that soundless step before
she heard, and rose with a glad cry: "Pierre!"
Meeting that calm blue eye, she checked herself mightily.
"A hard ride?" she asked.
"Nothing much."
He took the rock nearest the fire and then raised a glance of inquiry.
"I got cold," she said, "and rolled it over."
He considered her and then the rock, not with suspicion, but as if he
held the matter in abeyance for further consideration; a hunted man and
a hunter must keep an eye for little things, must carry an armed hand
and an armed heart even among friends. As for Jacqueline, her color
had risen, and she leaned hurriedly over a pan in which meat was frying.
"Any results?" she asked.
"Some."
She waited, knowing that the story would come at length.
He added after a moment: "Strange how careless some people get to be."
"Yes?" she queried.
"Yes."
Another pause, during which he casually drummed his fingers on his
knee. She saw that he must receive more encouragement before he would
tell, and she gave it, smiling to herself. Women are old in certain
ways of understanding in which men remain children forever.
"I suppose we're still broke, Pierre?"
"Broke? Well, not entirely. I got some results."
"Good."
"As a matter of fact, it was a pretty fair haul. Watch that meat,
Jack; I think it's burning."
It was hardly beginning to cook, but she turned it obediently and hid
another slow smile. Rising, she passed behind his chair, and pretended
to busy herself with something near the wall. This was the environment
and attitude which would make him talk most freely, she knew.
"Speaking of careless men," said Pierre, "I could tell you a yarn,
Jack."
She stood close behind him and made about his unconscious head a
gesture of caress, the overflow of an infinite tenderness.
"I'd sure like to hear it, Pierre."
"Well, it was like this: I knew a fellow who started on the range with
a small stock of cattle. He wasn't a very good worker, and he didn't
understand cattle any too well, so he didn't prosper for quite a while.
Then his affairs took a sudden turn for the better; his herd began to
increase. Nobody understood the reason, though a good many suspected,
but one man fell onto the reason: our friend was simply running in a
few doggies on the side, and he'd arranged a very ingenious way of
changing the brands."
"Pierre--"
"Well?"
"What does 'ingenious' mean?"
"Why, I should say it means 'skilful, clever,' and it carries with it
the connotation of 'novel.'"
"It carries the con-conno--what's that word, Pierre?"
"I'm going to get some books for you, Jack, and we'll do a bit of
reading on the side, shall we?"
"I'd love that!"
He turned and looked up to her sharply.
He said: "Sometimes, Jack, you talk just like a girl."
"Do I? That's queer, isn't it? But go on with the story."
"He changed the brands very skilfully, and no one got the dope on him
except this one man I mentioned; and that man kept his face shut. He
waited.
"So it went on for a good many years. The herd of our friend grew very
rapidly. He sold just enough cattle to keep himself and his wife
alive; he was bent on making one big haul, you see. So when his
doggies got to the right age and condition for the market, he'd trade
them off, one fat doggie for two or three skinny yearlings. But
finally he had a really big herd together, and shipped it off to the
market on a year when the price was sky-high."
"Like this year?"
"Don't interrupt me, Jack!"
From the shadow behind him she smiled again.
"They went at a corking price, and our friend cleared up a good many
thousand--I won't say just how much. He sank part of it in a ruby
brooch for his wife, and shoved the rest into a satchel.
"You see how careful he'd been all those years while he was piling up
his fortune? Well, he began to get careless the moment he cashed in,
which was rather odd. He depended on his fighting power to keep that
money safe, but he forgot that while he'd been making a business of
rustling doggies and watching cattle markets, other men had been making
a business of shooting fast and straight.
"Among others there was the silent man who'd watched and waited for so
long. But this silent man hove alongside while our rich friend was
bound home in a buckboard.
"'Good evening!' he called.
"The rich chap turned and heard; it all seemed all right, but he'd done
a good deal of shady business in his day, and that made him suspicious
of the silent man now. So he reached for his gun and got it out just
in time to be shot cleanly through the hand.
"The silent man tied up that hand and sympathized with the rich chap;
then he took that satchel and divided the paper money into two bundles.
One was twice the size of the other, and the silent man took the
smaller one. There was only twelve thousand dollars in it. Also, he
took the ruby brooch for a friend--and as a sort of keepsake, you know.
And he delivered a short lecture to the rich man on the subject of
carelessness and rode away. The rich man picked up his gun with his
left hand and opened fire, but he'd never learned to shoot very well
with that hand, so the silent man came through safe."
"That's a bully story," said Jack. "Who was the silent man?"
"I think you've seen him a few times, at that."
She concealed another smile, and said in the most businesslike manner:
"Chow-time, Pierre," and set out the pans on the table.
"By the way," he said easily, "I've got a little present for you, Jack."
And he took out a gold pin flaming with three great rubies.