The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country

CHAPTER IX
A WOMAN’S CARE

“He’s right now, Eve, dear–right as right. He’ll sleep till morning, and then he’ll wake up, an’–an’ forget about being ill.”

It was not so much the words as the tone that brought comfort to Eve. She was leaning over her brother’s bed watching the beautiful face, so waxen now, and listening to his heavy breathing, which was steadily moderating to a normal ease. The boy was sleeping the result of a dose administered to him by Doc Crombie who had been urgently summoned immediately after winning his race with Nature in another part of the village. Elia had been prostrated with a nervous attack which ended in a terrible fit, and Eve, all unaware of what had gone before between her brother and Will, had been hard put to it, in her grief and anxiety.

When the boy first showed signs of illness she sent for Mrs. Gay to find the doctor, and the bright, busy little woman was still with her. Annie Gay was quite the antithesis of her husband. She was practical, energetic and, above all things, bright. She was quite young and pretty, and Eve and she were considerable friends. She answered the girl’s summons without a moment’s delay, and, to her utmost distress, when she arrived, she found Elia in a fierce paroxysm of convulsions.

“You think so, Annie?” Eve’s eyes lifted hungrily to her friend’s face. They were full of almost painful yearning. This boy’s welfare meant more to her than any one knew.

Annie took her arm, and gently drew her from the bedside, nodding her pretty head sagely.

“Sure.” Then she added with a great assumption of knowledge, “You see those weakly creatures like poor Elia have got a lot o’ life in them. You can’t kill ’em. Angel allus says that, an’ he’s sure to know. Elia’s body ain’t worth two cents as you might say, but he’s got–what’s the word–vi–vi–”

“Vitality,” suggested Eve.

“Yes, sure. That’s it. Now he’ll just sleep and sleep. And then he’ll be bully when he wakes. So come you and sit down while I make you a drop of hot coffee. Pore girl, you’re wore out. There’s no end to the troubles o’ this world for sure,” she added cheerfully, as she hustled off to the kitchen to get the promised coffee.

Eve sat down in her workroom. She was comforted in spite of herself. Annie Gay’s manner was of an order that few could resist; it was illogical, and, perhaps, foolishly optimistic, yet it had that blessed quality of carrying conviction to all who were fortunate enough to lean on her warm, strong heart. And on Eve she practiced her best efforts.

But Eve’s anxiety only lay dormant for the time. It was still there gnawing at her heart. She knew the danger of the fits Elia was subject to and a brooding thought clung to her that one day one of these would prove fatal. The least emotion, the least temper, fear, excitement, brought them on. This one–it was the worst she had known. Supposing he had died–she shuddered. Like a saving angel Annie reëntered with the coffee in time to interrupt her thoughts.

“Now, dear, you drink this at once,” she said. Then she went on, in response to a mute inquiry, “Oh, yes, there’s plenty here for me. And when I come back I’m going to make some more, and cook a nice light supper, while you watch the boy, and we can sit here together with his door open until morning.”

“But you’re not going to stop, Annie,” Eve protested. “I can’t have that. You must get your sleep. It’s very kind of you–”

“Now look right here, Eve,” the busy woman said decidedly, “you’ve got nothing to say about it, please. Do you think I could sleep in my bed with you fretting and worrying your poor, simple heart out? What if he woke up in the night an’–an’ had another? Who’s to go and fetch Doc? Now wot I says is duty’s duty, and Angel Gay can just snore his head off by himself for once, and I’m not sure but what I shall be glad to be shut of the noise.”

The genuine sympathy and kindliness were quite touching, and Eve responded to it as only a woman can.

“Annie,” she said, with a wistful smile, “you are the kindest, dearest thing–”

“Now don’t you call me a ‘thing,’ Eve Marsham,” the other broke in with a laugh, “or we’ll quarrel. I’m just a plain woman with sense enough to say nothing when Gay gets home with more whiskey aboard than is good for his vitals. And don’t you think I’m not putting a good value on myself when I say that. Not that Gay’s given to sousing a heap. No, he’s a good feller, sure, an’ wouldn’t swap him for–for your Will–on’y when he snores. So you see it’s a kindness to me letting me stop to-night.”

“You’re a dear,” Eve cried warmly,–“and I won’t say ‘thing.’ Where are you going now?”

“Why, I’m going to set Angel’s cheese an’ pickles, and put his coffee on the stove. If he’s to home when I get around, maybe I’ll sit with him ten minutes or so, an’ then I’ll come right along back.”

She had reached the door, which stood open, and now she paused, looking back.

“When are you gettin’ married, Eve?” she demanded abruptly.

“Two months to-day,” the other replied. She was surprised out of herself, and for a moment a warm glow swept over her as she realized that there was something still in the world which made for other than unhappiness.

“Two months,” said Annie, thoughtfully. “Two months, eh?” Then she suddenly became mysterious and smiled into the other’s face. “That’ll be nice time for Gay to think about something that ain’t–a coffin.”

She hurried out on her mission of duty and affection. Gay was her all, but she had room in her heart for a good deal more than the worthy butcher-undertaker’s great, fat image. She had no children of her own yet, but, as she often said, in her cheery, optimistic way, “time enough.”

It was her attitude toward all things, and it carried her through life a heaven-sent blessing to all those who could number her amongst their friends. To Eve she had certainly been all this and more, for when a woman, alone in the world, is set the appalling task of facing the struggle for existence which is called Life, without the necessary moral and physical equipment for such a battle, the support of a strong heart generously given surely becomes the very acme of all charity.

After drinking her coffee, Eve went to the open door and stood looking out upon the village. It was a warm summer night, and the scent of the prairie was strong upon the air. As yet Barnriff was neither large enough, nor shut in enough by its own buildings to hold to itself that stale, stifling atmosphere which cities obtain. The air was the pure breath which swept over the vast green rollers of the grass world in the midst of which it stood.

The velvet heavens, clad in their perfect tinsel of a glorious night, spread a softness over the world upon which she gazed. An odd light or two twinkled from a tiny window here and there; and, then, like a vulgar centerpiece, the lights of the saloon stared out harshly. There was no moon, but the mellow sheen of the stars hid the roughness from the mind, and conveyed an added peace.

The girl breathed a deep sigh. It was an expression of relief, of something almost like content. And it told of what Annie Gay’s coming had meant to her. As though suddenly released from an insufferable burden her heart cheered, and hope told her that her brother would recover; and, in her relief, she gazed up at the starlit sky and thanked the great God who controlled those billions of sparkling worlds.

With each passing moment her mood lightened, and her thoughts inevitably turned upon those happier things which had been nearly obscured. She was thinking of Will, and wondering what he was doing. Was he in bed? Was he sleeping and dreaming of her? Or was he awake and thinking of their love, planning for their joint future? Her eyes drifted in the direction of his old hut, where she knew he was to pass the night. It was in darkness. Yes, he was a-bed, she told herself. Then she smiled. An idea had flashed through her mind. Should she walk over to the hut, and–and listen at the open window for the sound of his breathing?

Her smile brought with it a blush of modesty, and the idea passed. Then with its going her eyes turned away, and, suddenly, they became fixed upon the indistinct outline of the gate in the fencing of her vegetable patch. She could just make out the figure of a man standing on the far side of it. For the moment the joyous thought that it was Will came to her. Then she negatived the idea. The outline was too large. She thought for a moment, and then, in a low voice, called the man by name.

“Peter? That you?”

The gate opened, and the man’s heavy tread came up the narrow path.

“Yes,” he said, as he came. “I was just passing, and I thought I saw you in the doorway.” He had reached the house, and with Eve standing on the door-sill, his rugged face was on a level with hers. “You’re kind of late up, Eve,” he went on doubtfully. “That’s what made me stop. There’s nothing amiss with–Elia?” he asked, shrewdly.

It was by no means a haphazard question. He knew what the lad had been through that night. He knew, too, the boy’s peculiar nervous temperament and its possibilities.

“What makes you ask?” Eve retorted sharply. She knew something must have happened to the boy, and was wondering if Peter knew what it was. “Why should Elia be ill?”

Peter scratched his rough, gray head. His mild, blue eyes twinkled gently in the lamplight from within the house.

“Well, seeing you were up– But there, I’m glad it’s nothing. I’ll pass on.” Then he added: “You see, when a pretty girl gets standing in the doorway late at night–and such a lovely summer night–and she’s just–just engaged, I don’t guess she wants the company of six foot three of a misspent life. Good-night, Eve, my dear. My best congratulations.”

But the girl wanted him. Now he was here she wanted to talk to him particularly.

“Don’t go, Peter,” she said. “Something is the matter with Elia. He is ill–very ill. He’s had the worst fit I’ve ever known him to have, and–and I don’t know if he’s going to pull round when he wakes up. He was out late this evening, and I don’t know where he’s been, or–or what happened to him while he was out. Something must have happened to him. I mean something to upset him–either to anger him, or to terrify him. I wish I knew. It would help me perhaps when he wakes.”

Peter’s smile had gone. His eyes were full of sympathy. There was also a shadow of trouble in them, too. But Eve did not see it, or, if she did, her understanding was at fault. They stood there for some moments in silence, he so massive yet so gentle, she so slight and pretty, yet so filled with a concern which harassed her mind and heart. Peter was thinking very hard, and though he could have told her all she wanted to know, though his great heart ached for her at the knowledge which was his, he refrained from saying a word that could have betrayed the boy’s secret, and the hideous aspect he had witnessed of the man she was going to marry.

“You had the Doc to him?” he inquired.

“Yes, oh yes. Doc dosed him to make him sleep. Annie Gay’s been with me helping.”

“Ah, she’s a good woman.”

“Yes, she’s more than that. She’s as near an angel as human nature will let her be.” Then Eve abruptly changed her tone, and it became almost appealing. “Tell me, Peter, what do you think could have happened to Elia? I mean, to shock him so. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t think–nor can Annie. You know all the boys, you go amongst them, you may have heard?”

But Peter was ready, and answered her with such simple sincerity that she could not question him further.

“I guess, Eve, if the boy has had any trouble, or shock, he’ll tell you of it when he wakes–if he wants you to know. I don’t reckon if I did know that I’d have a right to speak while he–he was asleep. I say–if I did know.”

“I see.” Then the girl smiled up into his face a little whimsically. “You men have a curious code of honor in your dealings with each other. Quite different to us women.”

Peter nodded.

“Yep,” he said, “we haven’t the same perspective.”

The eastern horizon was lighting with a golden shadow and the sky-line was faintly silhouetted against it. It was the soft, effulgent light which heralded the full, rising moon. Eve watched it in silence for some moments. Peter followed the direction of her eyes while he went on speaking.

“When are you getting married, Eve?”

The question came hesitatingly.

“Then you know. Of course you know. You always seem to know, and yet you don’t seem to nose about like Anthony Smallbones. I’m going to be married in two months.”

The man’s mild eyes were kept intently fixed on the lightening horizon.

“Two months,” he said, pondering. “And Elia? What of him?”

The girl started. She turned on him, and her pretty eyes were wide with astonishment.

“It will make no difference,” she said, with a sudden coldness she could not have accounted for. “What do you mean?”

Peter’s great shoulders shrugged.

“Why, nothing,” he said. “It kind of seemed a natural question.”

The tone brought immediate contrition to the girl’s warm heart. This man was always kind to her. It would have been difficult to remember a single week since she had lived in Barnriff which had not witnessed at least one small kindness from him. Her eyes wandered over her garden. He had not long finished digging it over for her.

“Of course it was a natural question,” she exclaimed, “only I–well, it doesn’t seem to me as if there could be any question about Elia. Wherever I am, he will be.”

“Just so, just so. He’ll still live with you–you and Will. Y’see, I was only thinking. If–if you wanted a home for him for a while, while you and Will were–honeymooning, now. Why, he’d be real welcome in my shack. He’d want for nothing, and I’d look after him same as–well, not perhaps as well as you could, but I’d do my best. Y’see, Eve, I like the boy. And, and his very weakness makes me want to help him. You know he’d get good food. I’m rather particular about my food, and I cook it myself. He’d have eggs for breakfast, and good bacon, not sow-belly. And there’s no hash in my shanty. The best meat Gay sells, and he could have all the canned truck he liked. Oh, I’d feed him well. And I’ve always got a few dollars for pocket money. Y’see, Eve, folks honeymooning don’t want a third party around, even if he’s a sick boy. I’d take it a real favor if you said ‘yes,’ I would, true. I can look after–”

The man felt one of her warm hands squeezing his arm with the tenderest pressure. There was a moisture in her eyes as she sought his, but she shook her head.

“Peter, Peter, I don’t know where you come from, I don’t know why you’re here, unless it is to help us all to be better folks. I know why you want to take Elia off my hands. I know, and the matter has troubled me some. Elia doesn’t like Will. I know that. But Elia is my care, he’s more–he’s my life. He will be with me as long as we both live, even–yes, even if I had to give Will up. I can’t tell you, Peter, what my poor weakly brother is to me. If anything happened to him I think it would break my heart. And it seems so strange to me that everybody, that is everybody but Jim Thorpe and you, dislikes him. Even Will does a little, I–I’m afraid.”

“Yes. You can’t say how it is,” Peter nodded. “But folks can’t be blamed for their likes and dislikes. Maybe Will will get over it. Y’see he’s just a wild sort of Irish boy. He’s just quicksilver. Yes, yes, he’ll maybe grow to be as fond of the lad as you, Eve. But any time you find you’d like me to have him for a bit–I mean–sort of–two’s company, you know–you’ll just be making me a happy man–eh?”

It was a cheery voice behind him that caused his exclamation. Annie Gay stepped briskly up the path.

“Why, it’s Peter!” she declared. “Now if it had been Will,” she added slyly. “But there, young engaged girls think they’re safe from scandalous tongues like mine. Going, Peter? I’ve just been down to the meat store and stolen an elegant bit of tripe. Now, if Eve’s only sensible and got some onions, why there’s a lunch fit for the President.”

“Oh yes, I’ve got onions,” Eve reassured her. Then she turned to the man. “Good-bye, Peter,” she said, as he edged away, “and thank you–”

But Peter would have no thanks.

“No thanks, Eve, I’d take it a favor.”

And he vanished in the darkness leaving Annie looking at Eve, who instantly began to explain as they went indoors.

“He thinks Elia will be in the way when Will and I are married,” she said. “He wants to look after him. Isn’t he kind?”

“Well?” Annie’s merry eyes were deadly serious.

“Of course I couldn’t think of it. I could never let him go. I–”

“Eve Marsham, you’re a–fool, and now I’ve said it. Do you know why Peter wants–?”

She broke off in confusion. But she had successfully aroused Eve’s curiosity.

“Well? Go on,” she demanded.

But Annie shook a decided head.

“It don’t matter. I was only thinking my own thoughts, and they began one way and finished another.”

“How did they finish?” Annie’s manner was quaintly amusing and Eve found herself smiling.

“I’d just called you a fool, an’–I’d forgot to include myself.”

Nor could she be induced to speak further on the matter.

CHAPTER X
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.”