Molly’s voice was full of her panic.
“My dear, don’t say that,” Blanche expostulated, her eyes full of laughter. “Why, do you know, I’ve had to fight them both to keep them out of your sick-room? I almost had to threaten Larry I wouldn’t marry him before I could get him to do the thing I said. And Jim—why, you see, it was Jim who carried you right here to this valley. And it was hard stopping him. Jim’s like some big kid to me, and is just the most foolish best fellow in the world. He’d never forgive me if he couldn’t come along and see for himself you haven’t died and been buried in the dead of night.”
Blanche saw the trouble fade out of Molly’s eyes.
“Why has—Jim—got white hair?” she asked abruptly. “I sort of knew he was only a young man that time I saw him away back.”
Blanche looked out down the valley, where the cattle were roaming the pastures, and the workers were busy in the crops. The scene was one of calm industry, lit by a sun that was powerless to rob the mountain air of its freshness. There was no sign of the men-folk she had spoken of, and so she turned, and, drawing up a chair, sat herself close beside her patient.
“There’s a story to that,” she said seriously. “Shall I tell it you? His white hair is partly the meaning of this place—this ranch. Partly. The rest is to do with the quixotic heart of a brother I’d follow to the ends of the earth if he needed me.”
Molly’s eyes lit. And she leaned back in her chair, waiting for the story, the promise of which intrigued her.
Blanche began her story in a low, even voice. And as the story proceeded there was no shadow of lightness that could lessen the impression which its teller desired to make. She was talking of Jim, whose personality was something sacred to her. She wanted to reveal him to this girl in the light in which her own eyes beheld him. Jim had told her he wanted to marry Molly. So she left out no detail of the narrative that could display her brother as she saw him.
When she told of Jim’s defence of his brother against the Police, and the penalty he suffered for his unquestioning loyalty, the girl’s cheeks flushed deeply, and the shining light of her eyes was something which filled the older woman with delight.
“It’s a shame!” Molly cried, with swift, passionate indignation. “Oh, it was cruel! Think! But he got him away. Eddie had done no wrong. No. He did right. And then—and then—they punished—Jim?”