Chapter XXX
In the Hills
Lorry's return to the mountains was somewhat of a disappointment to his expectations. Dorothy had greeted him quite casually and naturally enough, in that she knew nothing of his recent venture. He was again introduced to Mrs. Weston and her daughter. For the first time Dorothy heard of the automobile accident and Lorry's share in the subsequent proceedings. She asked Lorry why he had not told her that he knew the Westons. He had no reply save "Oh, I don't know," which rather piqued Dorothy. He was usually definite and frank.
The Westons occupied Bronson's cabin with Dorothy. Bronson pitched a tent, moved his belongings into it, and declared himself, jokingly, free from Dorothy's immediate tyranny.
Dorothy, busy in the kitchen, asked her father to invite Lorry to dinner that evening. Through a sort of youthful perverseness not unmixed with bucolic pride, Lorry declined the invitation. He would be busy making ready for another trip in the hills. He had already planned his own evening meal. He appreciated the invitation, but they could get along without him. These excuses satisfied Bronson. Lorry's real reason for declining was that Dorothy had not invited him in person. He knew it, and felt ashamed of himself. What reason had he to expect her to invite him personally, except that she had almost invariably done so heretofore? And back of this was the subtle jealousy of caste. The Westons were "her kind of folks." He was not really one of them. Boyishly he fancied that he would do as a companion when there was no one else available. He was very much in love with Dorothy and did not realize it.
And Dorothy was disappointed in him. She had wanted the Westons to know what a really fine fellow he was.
Alice Weston at once recalled Lorry's attitude toward her on a former occasion when he had been tacitly invited to go with them to the Horseshoe Hills and he had stayed at the hotel. She told Dorothy that Mr. Adams was not to be taken too seriously. After all, he was nothing more than a boy, and perhaps he would feel better, having declined to risk possible embarrassment at their table.
Dorothy was inwardly furious on the instant, but she checked herself. What did Alice Weston know about Lorry? Well, Alice knew that he was a good-looking young savage who seemed quite satisfied with himself. She thought that possibly she could tame him if she cared to try. Dorothy, with feminine graciousness, dared Alice to invite Lorry to the dinner. Alice was to know nothing of his having declined an earlier invitation. Greatly to Dorothy's surprise, Alice Weston accepted the challenge.
She waited until just before the dinner hour. Lorry was mending a pack-saddle when she came to his cabin. He dropped his work and stood up.
"I have been thinking about that tramp you arrested," she began. "And I think you were right in what you did."
"Yes, ma'am," stammered Lorry.
Her manner had been especially gracious.
"And I didn't have a chance to say good-bye—that time"—and she smiled—"when you rode off waving your scarf—"
"It was a leg of lamb," corrected Lorry.
"Well, you waved it very gracefully. What big, strong arms! They don't look so big when your sleeves are down."
Lorry promptly rolled down his sleeves. He felt that he had to do something.
"And there is so much to talk about I hardly know where to begin. Oh, yes! Thank you so much for repairing our car."
"That was nothin'."
"It meant a great deal to us. Is that your horse—the one standing alone over there?"
"Yes, ma'am. That's Gray Leg."
"I remember him. I couldn't ever forget that morning—but I don't want to hinder your work. I see you are mending something."
"Just fittin' a new pad to this pack-saddle. I was figurin' to light out to-morrow."
"So soon? That's too bad. But, then, we can visit at dinner this evening. Dorothy said she expected you. I believe it is almost ready."
"I don't know, Miss Weston. It's like this—"
"And I know Mr. Bronson meant to ask you. He has been quite busy.
Perhaps he forgot."
"He—"
"So I am here as ambassador. Will I do?"
"Why, sure! But—"
"And mother would be so disappointed if you didn't come. So should I, especially as you are leaving to-morrow. What is it they say in Mexico, 'Adios'? I must run back."
She proffered her hand gracefully. Lorry shook hands with her. She gave his fingers a little, lingering squeeze that set his pulses racing. She was a mighty pretty girl.
"We shall expect you," she called, halfway to the cabin.
And she sure could change a fellow's mind for him without half trying. She hadn't given him a chance to refuse her invitation. She just knew that he was coming to supper. And so did he.
Alice Weston held Lorry's attention from the beginning, as she had intended. She was gowned in some pale-green material touched here and there with a film of lace. Lorry was fascinated by her full, rounded arms, her beautifully strong wrists, and by the way in which she had arranged her heavy, dark hair. In the daylight that afternoon he had noticed that her eyes were blue. He had thought them brown. But they were the color of wood violets untouched by the sun. While she lacked the positive outdoor coloring of Dorothy, her complexion was radiant with youth and health. Lorry felt subdued, disinclined to talk despite Dorothy's obvious attempts to be entertaining. He realized that Dorothy was being exceedingly nice to him, although he knew that she was a little high-strung and nervous that evening.
After dinner Bronson and Lorry smoked out on the veranda. When the others came out, Bronson suggested that they have some music. Lorry promptly invited them to his cabin.
"Alice plays wonderfully," said Dorothy.
Bronson, talking with Mrs. Weston, enjoyed himself. He had been isolated so long that news from the "outside" interested him.
Lorry, gravely attentive to the playing, happened to glance up. Dorothy was gazing at him with a most peculiar expression. He flushed. He had not realized that he had been staring at Alice Weston; at her round, white throat and graceful arms. But just then she ceased playing.
"Have you any music that you would like?" she asked Lorry.
"There's some here. I don't know what it's like. Some songs and dances the boys fetched up for Bud."
"What fun!" said Alice. "And what an assortment! Shall we try this?"
And she began to play a flimsy tune printed on a flimsy sheet that doubled and slid to the keys. Lorry jumped up, spread it out, and stood holding a corner of it while she played. Close to her, he was sensible of a desire to caress her hair, to kiss her vivid lips as she glanced up at him and smiled. He had no idea then that she was deliberately enthralling him with every grace she possessed.
The fact that she rather liked him made her subtleties all the more potent. It flattered her to see the frank admiration in his gray eyes. She knew he was anything but "soft," which made the game all the more alluring. He was to leave soon—to-morrow. Meanwhile, she determined that he should remember her.
Late that evening Bronson and the others said good-night. Alice, not Dorothy, asked Lorry when he was to leave. His "some time to-morrow" sounded unnaturally indefinite.
He was standing in the doorway of his camp as the others entered Bronson's cabin. Alice Weston was the last to enter. For an instant she stood in the lamplight that floated through the doorway, looking back toward him. Impulsively he waved good-night. Her attitude had seemed to call for it. He saw her fingers flash to her lips. She tilted her chin and threw him a kiss.
"Dog-gone the luck!" he growled as he entered his cabin. And with the brief expletive he condemned his disloyalty to the sprightly, slender Dorothy; the Peter Pan of the Blue Mesa; the dream girl of that idle noon at the Big Spring. The other girl—well, she was just playing with him.
* * * * *
In view of Lorry's training and natural carefulness it was especially significant that he decided next day that he had forgotten to lay in enough supplies for his journey south. He would ride to Jason and pack in what he needed. He had a fair excuse. Bronson had recently borrowed some of his canned provisions. He was well on his way to Jason that morning before the others had arisen.
He was back at the camp shortly after nine that night. As he passed Bronson's cabin he saw a light in the window. Mrs. Weston was talking with Dorothy. Lorry had hoped to catch a glimpse of Alice Weston. He had been hoping all that day that he would see her again before he left. Perhaps she was asleep.
As he passed the corral a greeting came from the darkness:—
"Good-evening! I thought you had gone."
"I—I didn't see you," he stammered.
Alice Weston laughed softly. "Oh, I was just out here looking at the stars. It's cooler out here. Then you changed your mind about going?"
"Nope. I had to go to Jason for grub. I'm going to-morrow."
"Oh, I see! We thought you had gone."
"Got a headache?" queried Lorry.
Her voice had been so unnaturally low, almost sad.
"No. I just wanted to be alone."
Lorry fumbled in his pockets. "I got the mail," he stated.
"I'll give it to Mr. Bronson."
Lorry leaned down and gave her the packet of letters and papers.
"Good-bye. I won't see you in the mornin'"
"We'll miss you."
"Honest?"
"Of course!" And she gave him her hand.
He drew his foot from the stirrup. "Put your foot in there," he said, still holding her hand.
"But why?"
"'Cause I'm goin' to ride off with you, like in books." He laughed, but his laughter was tense and unnatural.
It was dark. The stars shone faintly. The air was soft with a subtle fragrance; the fragrance of sun-warmed pine that the night had stolen from the slumbering woodlands. She slipped her foot in the wide stirrup. Half laughing, she allowed him to draw her up. She felt the hard strength of his arm, and was thrilled. She had not meant to do anything like this.
"You been playin' with me," he told her, whispering, "and I take my pay."
She turned her face away, but he found her lips and crushed her to him.
"Oh!" she whispered as he kissed her again and again.
Slowly his arm relaxed. White-faced and trembling, she slid to the ground and stood looking up at him.
"I hate you!" she said.
"No, you don't," said Lorry quite cheerfully.
And he reached out his hand as though to take her hand again.
She stood still, making no effort to avoid him. Then—"No, please!" she begged.
Lorry sat for a moment looking down at her. There had been no make-believe on her part when he held her in his arms. He knew that. And now? She had said that she hated him. Perhaps she did for having made her do that which she had never dreamed of doing. But he told himself that he could stand a whole lot of that kind of hate. And did he really care for her? Could a girl give what she had given and forget on the morrow? He would never forget.
She had told herself that he should have reason to remember her.
After he had gone she stood gazing across the starlit mesa. She heard Lorry whistling cheerily as he unsaddled his pony. A falling star flamed and faded across the night.