The man walked to and fro, disturbed and puzzled. He had stumbled on the worst idea in the world for his wife to feed her imagination upon, and yet he knew that she was aroused—he could not put her off with excuses. He had never told her of his old barbarian benefactor’s darker side, partly because he did not like to mention rude vices to her and partly because it seemed disloyal to his kindest friend. And he was not skilful in handling the truth. What he had to say, he was forced to blurt out plainly.
“Why, it wasn’t drawing-room life in a Colorado camp in those days, anyway, and the older crowd were a pretty rough lot, all of them. Oscar Svenson was better than most, generally. But he would have his times of being drunk and disorderly, and he was such a big fellow and so strong that when he got violent the camp generally knew it. I can remember once when I was a little fellow sitting in the corner of the saloon when he had one of his fits. He was a giant, a head taller than I am, with a great mane of hair all over his head, growing down the nape of his neck in a thick mat under his shirt.”
Mrs. Simmons started, and twisted her hands nervously. But she controlled herself.
“Go on!”
“When he was drunk, he didn’t shoot—that wasn’t his way. He would use his knife, or take up a man in his arms and crush him like a bear with his two hands. That day—but, pshaw! It’s all nonsense, my sitting here and telling you fool stories to make you creepy. The rain has stopped. I’ll tell Tom to harness up, and we’ll drive over to the Country Club to see if they’ve got the election returns yet. Come, dear! Try to be strong and patient.”
“No! I shall not go out to-night one single step. I can’t get that cry out of my head, and I should hear it worse if I were away from the house. Tell me about that terrible old man. Did he kill a man before your eyes?”
“I hate to have you think of him so. He gave me everything, even you.”
She smiled forlornly.
“He was different in nature from us tame folk in the States. He came from a people that drink deep and have fiery passions,—big-boned, strong-hearted people, as gentle as women and as savage as bulls. I’ve seen him—”
“What makes you stop so short, when you are just ready to tell something? I want to hear the worst thing you remember.”