Arline set down the tray upon the dresser and faced Val grimly.
“I never asked you any questions, did I?” she demanded. “But you act for all the world as if—do you want me to give a guess about that tied-up neck, and that black'n'blue lump on your forehead? I never asked any questions—I didn't need to. Man Fleetwood's been maulin' you abound. I was kinda afraid he'd git to that point some day when he got mad enough; he's just the brand to beat up a woman. But if it took a beatin' to bring you to the quitting point, I'm glad he done it. Only,” she added darkly, “he better keep outa my reach; I'm jest in the humor to claw him up some if I should git close enough. And if I happened to forget I'm a lady, I'd sure bawl him out, and the bigger crowd heard me the better. Now, you eat this—and don't get the idee you can cover up any meanness of Man Fleetwood's; not from me, anyhow. I know men better'n you do; you couldn't tell me nothing about 'em that would su'prise me the least bit. I'm only thankful he didn't murder you in cold blood. Are you going to eat?”
“Not if you keep on reminding me of such h-horrid things,” wailed Val, and sobbed into her pillow. “It's bad enough to—to have him ch-choke me without having you t-talk about it all the time!”
“Now, honey, don't you waste no tears on a brute like him—he ain't w-worth it!” Arline was on her bony knees beside the bed, crying with sympathy and self-reproach.
So, in truly feminine fashion, the two wept their way back to the solid ground of everyday living. Before they reached that desirable state of composure, however, Val told her everything—within certain limits set not by caution, but rather by her woman's instinct. She did not, for instance, say much about Kent, though she regretted openly that Polycarp knew so much about it.
“Hope never needed no newspaper so long as Polycarp lives here,” Arline grumbled when Val was sitting up again and trying to eat Arline's toast, and jelly made of buffalo berries, and sipping the tea which had gone cold. “But if I can round him up in time, I'll try and git him to keep his mouth shet. I'll scare the liver outa him some way. But if he caught onto that calf deal—” She shook her head doubtfully. “The worst of it is, Fred's in town, and he's always pumpin' Polycarp dry, jest to find out all that's goin' on. You go to bed, and I'll see if I can find out whether they're together. If they are—but you needn't to worry none. I reckon I'm a match for the both of 'em. Why, I'd dope their coffee and send 'em both to sleep till Man got outa the country, if I had to!”
She stood with her hands upon her angular hips and glared at Val.
“I sure would do that, very thing—for you,” she reiterated solemnly, “I don't purtend I'd do it for Man—but I would for you. But it's likely Kent has fixed things up so they can't git nothing on Man if they try. He would if he said he would; that there's one feller that's on the square. You go to bed now, whilst I go on a still hunt of my own. I'll come and tell you if there's anything to tell.”
It was easy enough to make the promise, but keeping it was so difficult that she yielded to the temptation of going to bed and letting Val sleep in peace; which she could not have done if she had known that Polycarp Jenks and Fred De Garmo left town on horseback within an hour after Polycarp had entered it, and that they told no man their errand.
Over behind Brinberg's store, Polycarp had told Fred all he knew, all he suspected, and all he believed would come to pass. “Strictly on the quiet,” of course—he reminded Fred of that, over and over, because he had promised Mrs. Fleetwood that he would not mention it.