CHAPTER XIV
A DETERMINED WOMAN
A long, ragged line of dirty, tired men, and sweat-caked, drooping-headed horses, the posse rode into Paradise Bend in the afternoon of the following day. The men were quiet. Silently they dispersed to the various corrals. Loudon, his right leg dangling free, had suffered increasingly during the long ride. By the time the Bend was reached the pain in his ankle was torturing. At the hotel corral Laguerre and Doubleday helped him to dismount.
"Yuh got to go to bed awhile, Tom," pronounced Doubleday. "Grab my shoulder."
"Where was you thinkin' o' takin' him?" demanded the exceedingly cross voice of Mrs. Burr.
"The hotel, ma'am," replied Doubleday, taking off his hat.
Mrs. Burr marched forward and halted in front of the trio. She stuck her arms akimbo and glared at Doubleday.
"The hotel!" she snapped. "The hotel! An' my house close by! What's the matter with you, John Doubleday? My land, it's a good thing I seen you three a-comin' in here. I just knowed yuh was aimin' to put him in the hotel. Yuh'll do nothin' o' the kind. Yuh hear me! I ain't goin' to have no friend o' mine with a game leg a-roostin' in this hotel. The beds are bad, an' the grub's worse. What's the matter, Tom? Shot?"
"It's only a sprain, ma'am," said Loudon. "An' I guess if yuh don't mind, I'll go to the hotel. I couldn't think o' troublin' yuh, ma'am. Thank yuh a lot, but I couldn't, honest."
"Oh, yuh couldn't, couldn't yuh? My land, ain't yuh uppity all of a sudden? Yuh don't know what yo're talkin' about. Men never do nohow an' a sick man don't, special. Yo're a-comin' to my house, an' I'm a-goin' to put yuh to bed an' cure that sprained ankle. Yuh can just bet I am. John Doubleday, you h'ist him aboard that pony right away quick an' fetch him round instanter. If he ain't outside my door in five minutes I'll come back an' know the reason why. Hurry now. I'm goin' ahead an' get some hot water ready."
Twenty minutes later Loudon was sitting in the Burr kitchen. He was smoking a cigarette and soaking his sprained ankle in a bucket of hot water. At the kitchen table stood Mrs. Burr shaking up a bottle of horse liniment.
"What's this John Doubleday tells me about yore ride no'th bein' a joke?" asked Mrs. Burr.
"I dunno no more'n Doubleday," replied Loudon. "It's all beyond me."
"It's shore a heap funny. No feather-dusters, no miner folks a-standin' 'em off, an' that gent who brought the news runnin' off thataway an' shootin' at yuh an' all. It must mean somethin', though. A feller wouldn't do all that just for a real joke. It's too much."
"I wish I knew what it meant, ma'am."
"Well, it's a queer world, full o' queer folks an' queerer doin's," observed the lady, holding the bottle against the light. "Anyhow, this here liniment will fix yuh up fine as frog's hair. Now yuh must just lift yore foot out an' I'll dry it. Shut up! Who's running this, I'd like to know? Land sakes, why shouldn't I dry yore ankle? Shut up, I tell yuh.
"My fathers, Tom, you men make me plumb tired! Idjits, the lot o' yuh. No more sense than so many fool hens. What yuh all need is wives to think for yuh, tell yuh what to do, an' all that. There now, it's dry. Where's that cloth? Hold the foot still while I wrap it 'round. Now this liniment's a-goin' to burn. But the burnin's healin'. The harder it burns the quicker yuh'll get well. Shore!
"As I was sayin', Tom, yuh'd ought to get married. Do yuh good. Make yuh steadier—give yuh a new interest in life, an' all that. Ever think of it, Tom?"
Mrs. Burr rose to her feet and beamed down upon Loudon. That young man was beginning to feel strangely weak. First Scotty, and now Mrs. Burr! What was the matter with everybody? Scotty, of course, was an eccentric. But for Mrs. Burr brazenly to hurl her daughter at his head was incomprehensible. Loudon, red to the ears, mustered a weak smile.
"I dunno, ma'am," he gulped, uncomfortably. "I—I hadn't thought of it, I guess."
"Well, yuh'd ought to think of it. An' if yuh know what's best for yuh, yuh will think of it—hard. I tell yuh flat, Tom, a single man ain't no-account. He don't gather no moss, but he does collect bad habits. Now a wife she stops all this rattlin' round a-diggin' up what St. Peter will ask yuh questions about. Yessir, a good wife keeps yuh up to the bit an' a-headin' the right way."
Nervously Loudon began to roll another cigarette. He hoped that Mrs. Burr had finished. His hope was vain.
"Well, now, Tom, ain't I right?" she demanded.
"Shore, ma'am, shore, plumb right," Loudon hastened to assure her.
"'Course I am. I knowed yuh'd see it that way. Why don't yuh do it?"
"Do it?"
"Yuh know perfectly well what I mean. Ask a girl to marry yuh."
"Any girl?"
"Not just any girl. If yuh was to ask me I could tell yuh who right quick. But I suppose that wouldn't do."
Loudon was devoutly thankful that the lady possessed some sense of propriety.
"We-e-ell, ma'am," he said, slowly, "no girl would have me."
"Did yuh ever ask one?" This with a shrewd cock of the eyebrow.
"I did once."
"An' she give yuh the mitten, huh? More fool she. Listen to me: when a hoss bucks yuh off, what do yuh do? Give up, or climb aboard again?"
"That's different."
"'Tain't a bit different. Girl or hoss, a man shouldn't ever give up. Y'asked a girl once, didn't yuh? Yuh said yuh did. Well, ask her again. Land sakes alive, give her a chance to change her mind!"
Good heavens! Did Mrs. Burr mean Kate Saltoun? Impossible. But was it impossible? Of late, the seemingly impossible had had an uncanny habit of coming to pass. Loudon shivered. He was quite positive that he did not love Kate. The longer he considered the matter the more fully convinced he became that he did not wish to marry any one. Which was natural. Bid a man fall in love with a girl and he will at once begin to find fault with her.
"She—she wouldn't have me," dissembled Loudon. "It's no use talkin', ma'am, I'm what the fellah in the book calls a shore-enough blighted being. It makes me feel terrible, ma'am, but yuh can't do nothin'. Nobody can. I just got to bear it, I guess."
He sighed enormously, but there was a twinkle in the gray eyes.
"Yo're laughin'!" exclaimed Mrs. Burr, severely. "I'd like to shake yuh, I would. It ain't for nothin' that man an' mule begin with the same letter. Stubborn! My land o' livin', a girl's feelin's ain't nothin' to yuh! What do you care, yuh great big good-for-nothin' lummox!"
"Now, ma'am," chided Loudon, grinning, "yo're gettin' real excited."
"Who wouldn't? Here I am——"
"Say," interrupted Loudon, "when it comes to that, here I am gettin' fifty-five dollars a month. However can I get married, even if anybody'd have me, with silk dresses at five dollars a yard?"
"Silk dresses! What d'yuh mean by that?"
"Why, ma'am, I wouldn't let my wife wear nothin' but silk dresses mornin', noon, an' night. Nothin' would be too good for my wife. So yuh see how it is. I dassent think o' marriage."
Words failed Mrs. Burr. It was probably the first time that they had failed her. She gasped, gasped again, then stamped to the stove and furiously rattled the frying-pan.
"Well," she suddenly remarked, "wherever can that girl o' mine be? Gallivantin' 'round with that O'Leary feller just when I want her to go to the store. Now look here, Tom, you set right still till I come back, do yuh hear? No projeckin' 'round on that ankle. I'll get Ben to put yuh to bed after supper."
"He needn't bother," said Loudon, hastily. "I can get into bed my own self. I ain't a invalid."
"Yo're just what I say yuh are. If yuh make any fuss I'll put yuh to bed myself. So you watch out."
The masterful lady departed. Loudon, undisturbed by her threat, gazed after her with admiration.
"She's a whizzer," he said under his breath. "Got a heart like all outdoors. But that ankle ain't as bad as she makes out. Bet I can hop to the door an' back just as easy."
So, because he had been forbidden to budge, Loudon hoisted himself out of the chair, balanced on one leg, and hopped across the room. Holding himself upright by the door-jambs he peered out cautiously. He wished to assure himself that Mrs. Burr was well on her way to the store before proceeding farther on his travels around the kitchen.
Mrs. Burr was not in sight. Surely she could not have reached the corner so soon. Vaguely disturbed, Loudon kept one eye cocked down the street. His vigilance was rewarded by the emergence from the Mace doorway of both Mrs. Burr and Kate Saltoun. Mrs. Burr went on toward Main Street. Kate turned in his direction.
"Good Lord!" gurgled Loudon, despairingly. "She's a-comin' here!"
In a panic he turned, slipped, overbalanced, and his whole weight ground down hard on his sprained ankle. The most excruciating pain shot through his whole being. Then he toppled down in a dead faint.
When he recovered consciousness Kate's arm was around his shoulders, and Kate's voice was saying, "Drink this." Through a mist he saw Kate's face and her dark eyes with a pucker of worry between them.
"Drink this," repeated Kate, and Loudon drank from the glass she held to his lips.
The whisky cleared away the mist and injected new life into his veins. Ashamed of his weakness, he muttered hasty thanks, and essayed to rise.
"Don't move!" Kate commanded, sharply. "Hold still till I pull that chair over here."
"I can get up all right, Kate. I ain't hurt."
"No, of course not. You've just shown how much you aren't hurt. Do as I say."
Kate pulled the chair toward her and was helping Loudon into it when Mrs. Burr entered. That she had gone to the store was doubtful. At least, she was empty-handed.
"My land!" exclaimed Mrs. Burr, running to Kate's assistance. "What's the matter? Tom, did yuh get up after I told yuh not to?"
Loudon mumbled unintelligibly.
"I found him in a dead faint on the floor," was the illumining remark of Kate.
"Oh, yuh did, did yuh? I might 'a' knowed it! Can't do nothin' yo're told, can yuh, Tom? I'll bet yuh twisted that ankle again! My fathers, yuh make me tired! Bet yuh it's all swelled up now worse'n ever. Lemme look."
Expertly Mrs. Burr stripped the wrappings from Loudon's ankle.
"Thought so!" she grunted, and took the dishpan from its hook.
"Is it very bad?" queried Kate.
"Not near so bad as he's tryin' to make it with his hoppin' 'round. Land alive! He'll be lucky if it ain't lame the rest of his life. Now, Tom, I'm goin' to use hotter water'n I did before. Yuh deserve to have that foot good an' scalded, yuh do. I'll get the swellin' down, too, if I have to parboil yuh. Don't yuh make no mistake about that. Say, I don't see how steppin' on this here could 'a' made yuh faint, unless—— Say, Tom, when did yuh eat last?"
"Why, ma'am, I don't—well, I guess it was yesterday some time."
Kate uttered a soft exclamation.
"Yesterday some time!" cried Mrs. Burr, hurrying to the stove. "Yesterday mornin' too, I'll bet. I might 'a' knowed it. You fellers didn't take much grub with yuh when yuh went north. An' I never thought to ask when yuh et last. A sprained ankle, a fifty-mile ride, an' nothin' to eat on top of it. No wonder yuh fainted. Yuh poor feller. An' here I been a-callin' yuh all kinds o' names. We won't wait for Dorothy. I'll have somethin' to eat for yuh in a minute."
"No hurry, ma'am," remarked Loudon. "I ain't a bit hungry."
"Kate," said Mrs. Burr, paying him no attention, "cut some bread, will yuh, an' start feedin' him. The butter's yonder."
Fifteen minutes later Loudon was sitting at the table devouring steak and potatoes. He was hungry. With great satisfaction Mrs. Burr watched him tuck away the food.
"There," she announced, filling his coffee cup for the second time, "I guess that'll hold yuh for awhile. I'll just set the coffeepot back on the stove an' Kate can give yuh some more when yuh want it. I'm goin' down street a minute."
When Mrs. Burr had gone Kate sat down opposite Loudon and locked her fingers under her chin. Loudon steadfastly kept his eyes glued to his plate. Confound the girl! Why must she pursue him in this brazen fashion? Couldn't she realize—but apparently she realized nothing save the importance of her own desires. Man-like, Loudon hardened his heart. Curiously enough, the strictly impersonal tone of Kate's opening remark gave him a distinct feeling of annoyance.
"Isn't Mrs. Burr great?" said Kate.
"Shore," mumbled Loudon.
"And Dorothy, too. I like her an awful lot. She came over to Lil's this morning, and we sewed and gossiped, and had a perfectly lovely time. She—Dorothy, I mean—showed me a new stitch—but, of course, you aren't interested in embroidery. Tell me, how do you like the new job?"
"All right."
"I'm glad. Is Mr. Mackenzie a good boss?"
"Fine. Couldn't beat him—that is—er—yore dad always treated me white."
"I know," nodded Kate, her black eyes twinkling. "Don't apologize. I quarrel with Dad myself sometimes. Tom," she added, her expression sobering, "have you had any news from Farewell lately?"
"Ain't heard a word since I left. Why?"
"I received a letter from Dad to-day. He says there's a warrant for rustling out for you."
"That's good hearin'," said Loudon, cheerfully. "I'm one popular jigger in the Lazy River country. They just can't get along without me, can they?"
"Apparently not. Dad told me to tell you. Listen, it isn't generally known in Farewell or anywhere else in Fort Creek County, for that matter, that a warrant is out for you. It was issued by Judge Allison in Marysville. Block's keeping it as dark as possible."
"Goin' to spring it on me when I ain't lookin', I suppose. He won't try fetchin' any warrant up here, that's a cinch."
"Hardly. I always hated that man."
"I never liked him a whole lot, neither. Say, how did yore dad hear about that warrant?"
"He didn't say, but I imagine somebody in Marysville wrote him. He has friends there, you know."
"I didn't know, but I'm shore glad he has. Next time yuh write yuh might thank yore dad for me."
"I will, of course. I'm awfully glad you're safe up here, Tom. All the straight people in the Lazy River country know you didn't have any hand in the branding of those Crossed Dumbbell cattle, but that doesn't help much when Block and his friends are in the majority."
"Yo're right, it don't; but I got to go to Farewell anyway in about five weeks."
"What?" Kate's eyes widened with something very like fear.
"Shore," nodded Loudon. "I got a little business to attend to that can't be put off."
"Put it off," begged Kate, stretching out a pleading hand. "Put it off, Tom. You mustn't—you can't go back to Farewell now. Some day everything will be all right again, and then you can go back. But not now, Tom. Your life is much more important than any silly business. Please wait."
"Can't be did," said Loudon with finality. "I just got to go, an' that's all there is to it."
"But, Tom," cried Kate, "don't you understand? They'll—they'll h-hang you."
"They'll have to catch me first. 'Tain't legal otherwise."
"Oh, how can you make fun? I could cry. I could, indeed. I will, too, in a minute—only, you are fooling, aren't you? You don't really intend to go back."
"I never fool. Dunno how. I'm goin' back, an' if Farewell gets gay, why, I'll just naturally rope that village o' tinhorns an' scatter it over a full section o' land. That'll cure 'em o' gettin' out warrants for peaceable folks, won't it now?"