That Girl Montana
"Well, she won't meet me as near half-way as I would like," he confessed;
"talks a lot of stuff about not being brought up right, and not suited to
our style of life at home, and all that. But she did seem rather partial
to me when she was ill and off guard. Don't you think so? That is all I
have to go on; but it encourages me to remember it."
Overton did not speak, and Lyster continued speculating on his chances,
when he noticed his companion's silence.
"Why don't you speak, Dan? I did hope you would help me rather than be
indifferent."
"Help you!" and Lyster was taken aback at the fierce straightening of the
brows and the strange tone in which the words were uttered. The older man
could not but see his surprised look, for he recovered himself, and
dropped his hand in the old familiar way on Lyster's shoulder.
"Not much chance of my helping you when she employs you as an agent when
she wants any service, rather than exchange words with me herself. Now,
that is the way it looks, Max."
"I know," agreed Lyster. "And to tell the truth, Dan, the only thing she
does that really vexes me is her queer attitude toward you of late. I
can't think she means to be ungrateful, but--"
"Don't bother about that. Everything has changed for her lately, and she
has her own troubles to think of. Don't you doubt her on my account. Just
remember that. And if--she says 'yes' to you, Max, be sure I would rather
see her go to you than any other man I know."
"That is all right," observed Lyster, laughingly; "but if you only had a
love affair or two of your own, you could perhaps get up more enthusiasm
over mine."
Then he sauntered off to report the financial interview to 'Tana, and
laughed as he went at the impatient look flung at him by Overton.
He found 'Tana visiting at the tent of the cousins, who were using all
arguments to persuade her to share their new abode. Each was horrified to
learn that she had dismissed the squaw at sleeping time, and had remained
in the cabin alone.
"Not quite alone," she corrected, "for Harris was just on the other side
of the door."
"Much protection he would be."
"Well, then, Dan Overton was with him. How is he for protection?"
"Thoroughly competent, no doubt," agreed Miss Lavina, with a rather
scandalized look. "But, my dear, the propriety?"
"Do you think Flap-Jacks would help any one out in propriety?" retorted
'Tana. "But we won't stumble over that question long, for I want to leave
the camp and go back to the Ferry."
"And then, 'Tana?"
"And then--I don't know, Mrs. Huzzard, to school, maybe--though I feel old
for that, older than either of you, I am sure--so old that I care nothing
for all the things I wanted less than a year ago. They are within my
reach now, yet I only want to rest--"
She did not finish the sentence.
Mrs. Huzzard, noticing the tired look in her eyes and the wistfulness of
her voice, reached out and patted her head affectionately.
"You want, first of all, to grow strong and hearty, like you used to
be--that is what you need first, then the rest will all come right in good
time. You'll want to see the theaters, and the pictures, and hear the fine
music you used to talk of. And you'll travel, and see all the fine places
you used to dream about. Then, maybe, you'll get ambitious, like you used
to be, about making pictures out of clay. For you can have fine teaching
now, you know, and you'll find, after a while, that the days will hardly
seem long enough for all the things you want to do. That is how it will be
when you get strong again."
'Tana tried to smile at the cheerful picture, but the smile was not a
merry one. Her attention was given to Lyster and Overton, whom she could
see from the tent door.
How tall and strong Dan looked! Was she to believe that story of him heard
last night? The very possibility of it made her cheeks burn at the thought
of how she had stood with his arm around her. And he had pitied her that
night. "Poor little girl!" he had said. Was his pity because he saw how
much he was to her, while he himself thought only of some one else? One
after another those thoughts had come to her through the sleepless night,
and when the day came she could not face him to speak to him of the
simplest thing. And of the money she must have, she could not ask him at
all. She wished she could have courage to go to him and tell him the
thing she had heard; but courage was not strong in her of late. The fear
that he might look indifferently on her and say, "Yes, it is true--what
then?"--the fear of that was so great that she had walked by the water's
edge, as the sun rose, and felt desperate enough to think of sleep under
the waves, as a temptation. For if it was true--
The two older women watched her, and decided that she was not yet strong
enough to think of long journeys. Her hands would tremble at times, and
tears, as of weakness, would come to her eyes, and she scarcely appeared
to hear them when they spoke.
She never walked through the woods as of old, though sometimes she would
stand and look up at the dark hills with a perfect hunger in her eyes. And
when the night breeze would creep down from the heights, and carry the
sweet wood scents of the forest to her, she would close her eyes and draw
in long breaths of utter content. The strong love for the wild places was
as second nature to her; yet when Max would ask her to go with him for
flowers or mosses, her answer was always "no."
But she would go to the boat sometimes, though no longer having strength
to use the paddle. It was a good place to think, if she could only keep
the others from going, too, so she slipped away from Max and the women and
went down. A chunky, good-looking fellow was mending one of the canoes,
and raised his head at her approach, nodding to her and evidently pleased
when she addressed him.
"Yes, it is a shaky old tub," he agreed, "but I told Overton I thought it
could be fixed to carry freight for another trip; so he put me at it."
"You are new in camp, aren't you?" she asked, not caring at all whether he
was or not. She was always friendly with the workmen, and this one smiled
and bowed.
"We are all that, I guess," he said. "But I came up the day Haydon and
Seldon came. I lived with Seldon down the country, and was staggered a
little, I tell you, when I found Overton was in charge, and had struck it
rich. But no man deserves good luck more."
"No," she agreed. "Then you knew him before?"
"Yes, indeed--over in Spokane. He don't seem quite the same fellow,
though. We thought he would just go to the dogs after he left there, for
he started to drink heavily. But he must have settled in his own mind that
it wasn't worth while; so here he is, straight as a string, and counting
his dollars by the thousands, and I'm glad to see it."
"Drink! He never drinks to excess, that we know of," she answered.
"Doesn't seem to care for that sort of thing."
"No, he didn't then, either," agreed this loquacious stranger, "but a
woman can drive as good men as him to drink; and that is about the way it
was. No one thought any worse of Overton, though--don't think that. The
worst any one could say was that he was too square--that's all."
Too square! She walked away from him a little way, all her mind aflame
with his suggestions. He had taken to drink and dissipation because of
some woman. Was it the woman whose name she had heard last night? The key
to the thing puzzling her had been dropped almost at her feet, yet she
feared to pick it up. No teaching she had ever received told her it was
unprincipled to steal through another the confidence he himself had not
chosen to give her. But some instinct of justice kept her from further
question.
She knew the type of fellow who was rigging up the canoe, a light-headed,
assuming specimen, who had not yet learned to keep a still tongue in his
head, but he did not impress her as being a deliberate liar. Then, all at
once, she realized who he must be, and turned back. There was no harm in
asking that, at any rate.
"You are the man whom Overton sent to put Harris to bed last night, are
you not?" she asked.
He nodded, cheerfully.
"And your name is Jake Emmons, of the Spokane country?"
"Thet's who," he assented; "that's where I came across Lottie Snyder,
Overton's wife, you know. I was running a little stage there for a
manager, and she--"
"I am not asking you about--about Mr. Overton's affairs," she said, and
she sat down, white and dizzy, on the overturned canoe. "And he might not
like it if he knew you were talking so free. Don't do it again."
"All right," he agreed. "I won't. No one here seems to know about the bad
break he made over there; but, Lord! there was excuse enough. She is one
of those women that look just like a little helpless baby; and that caught
Overton. Young, you know. But I won't whisper her name in camp again, for
it is hard on the old man. But, as you are partners, I guessed you must
know."
"Yes," she said, faintly; "but don't talk, don't--"
"Say! You are sick, ain't you?" he demanded, as her voice dropped to a
whisper. "Say! Look here, Miss Rivers! Great snakes! She's fainted!"
When she opened her eyes again, the rough roof of her cabin was above
her, instead of the blue sky. The women folks were using the camp
restorative--whisky--on her to such good purpose that her hands and face
and hair were redolent of it, and the amount she had been forced to
swallow was strangling her.
The face she saw first was that of Max--Max, distressed and anxious, and
even a little pale at sight of her death-like face.
She turned to him as to a haven of refuge from the storm of emotion under
which she had fallen prostrate.
It was all settled now--settled forever. She had heard the worst, and knew
she must go away--away from where she must see that one man, and be filled
with humiliation if ever she met his gaze. A man with a wife somewhere--a
man into whose arms she had crept!
"Are you in pain?" asked Miss Lavina, as 'Tana groaned and shut her eyes
tight, as if to bar out memory.
"No--nothing ails me. I was without a hat, and the sun on my head made me
sick, I suppose," she answered, and arose on her elbow. "But I am not
going to be a baby, to be watched and carried around any more. I am going
to get up."
Just outside her door Overton stood; and when he heard her voice again,
with its forced independent words, he walked away content that she was
again herself.
"I am going to get up," she continued. "I am going away from here
to-morrow or next day--and there are things to do. Help me, Max."
"Best thing you can do is to lie still an hour or two," advised Mrs.
Huzzard, but the girl shook her head.
"No, I'm going to get up," she said, with grim decision; and when Lyster
offered his hand to help her, she took it, and, standing erect, looked
around at the couch.
"That is the last time I'm going to be thrown on you for any such fool
cause," she said, whimsically. "Who toted me in here--you?"
"I? Not a bit of it," confessed Lyster. "Dan reached you before any of the
others knew you were ill. He carried you up here."
"He? Oh!" and she shivered a little. "I want to talk to Harris. Max, come
with me."
He went wonderingly, for he could see she was excited and nervous. Her
hand trembled as it touched his, but her mouth was set so firmly over the
little white teeth that he knew it was better to humor her than fret her
by persuading her to rest.
But once beside Harris, she sat a long time in silence, looking out from
the doorway across the level now active with the men of the works. Not
until the two cousins had walked across to their other shelter did she
speak, and then it was to Harris.
"Joe, I am sick," she confessed; "not sick with the fever, but heartsick