The Bail Jumper Part 14

They had not long to wait. In a moment another bolt lit up the prairie in all directions.

"It is a building-an old house, I think," she said. "I can walk that far. It will be better than the prairie."

With much effort they dragged their way toward the building. It proved to be a little log structure, built by a homesteader in the early days.

The windows were gone and the door was off its hinges, but inside was comparatively dry. In an inner pocket Gardiner found some matches that gave promise of a light. He struck one; it flared for an instant and was whipped out by the breeze. But it had revealed a part.i.tion running through the middle of the building. They groped their way around it and found a more protected corner. Here he struck another match. It burned steadily, disclosing a little, low room, papered with heavy building paper. Against the logs of the outer wall tar paper had been nailed, but years of damp and wind had loosened this pioneer protection, and the paper now hung in long shreds or curled in uncertain rolls about the bottom of the walls. The floor was decayed and broken through in several places, as though cattle had walked on the rotten boards, and from the sod roof the water trickled in little streamlets.

With a sigh of relief Miss Vane seated herself in a corner. "This is better than outside at least," she said.

"Yes, indeed," Gardiner agreed. "By means of this tar paper and some of these broken boards we will start a fire. We can surely find water enough to hold it in check."

In a few minutes he had a little fire burning. Part of a broken crock was found, and with this filled with water he stood guard over man's best servant.

As the fire flickered up its light fell on the face of the girl, pale and drawn with pain. The young man looked at her helplessly, and then ventured, "You are suffering, Miss Vane. I wonder if you would let me be surgeon?"

"Yes," she answered, simply.

He removed the shoe. The buckles were cutting into the flesh.

"No bones broken, I think," he said, after a brief survey, "but a bad sprain."

With the scissors which every store clerk carries he cut away the foot of the stocking. The ankle was badly swollen and discoloured.

Gardiner removed his coat and deftly cut the lining out of it. This he cut into strips, and, dipping the strips in water, bandaged the injured member. Presently the inflammation was somewhat relieved and the pain became more bearable.

"You are very good," the girl whispered. "I feel better now."

"I am glad of that," he answered. "The accident is most regrettable, and the fault is all mine."

"Not at all. It was an accident, and an accident is not a fault."

"Do you believe that these accidents are preordained-that they are part of some great scheme of management, that we but vaguely recognise?"

"I don't know. I suppose there is a purpose to all things-even to this sprained ankle." She smiled faintly. "If there is no purpose in little things there can be no purpose in life, as life is made up of little things."

He seized at her answer. "And what purpose, can you guess, lay behind this mishap?"

"A warning, no doubt, in future to be home before dark," she answered, with a return of her natural spirit. "And I shall have such splendid hair after this rain-water bath."

The little fire flickered and shifted with every gust of wind that stole into even this protected corner. The rain fell in torrents on the sod roof and washed down the log walls of the hut. The lightning was incessant, the thunder terrific, and as they spoke the trumpetings of heaven often choked the words in their mouths.

"No," said Gardiner at length, "there was a deeper purpose in your misfortune. It seems too bad to profit by it, but don't you know-can't you see, Miss Vane, that I have wanted so long an opportunity to talk with you alone?"

She drew up slightly in the corner where she sat, but did not speak.

"You must know that I have sought your company-your company, and none but yours-since the night I first saw you. My interest-my attention-must have told you long ago-that which I would speak to you in words to-night."

He was standing, gazing at her across the fire. For months he had rehea.r.s.ed his declaration, and he felt that he had made a good start.

She had not stopped him, and he was encouraged.

"I am very tired," she murmured.

"As you said a little while ago, surely there must be a purpose in all things," he continued. "Surely it was such a purpose that brought you to Plainville, and permitted me to know the charm of your personality-the sweet delight of your companionship. Miss Vane-Myrtle-I love you-have loved you since first my eyes fell on your fair face-shall love you always. May I hope?"

She looked up; in her eyes was a strange gleam that sent the young man's pulses throbbing. Had he known her better he would have read a different meaning in that deep light.

She waited until the echoes of a crack of thunder died away, and then asked, very quietly, "Is it quite fair to press your question after all that has happened to-day?"

For the moment he was taken back. "Of course, you know, I don't mean to take any advantage," he stammered. "Certainly you are suffering, and I must wait your answer until you can think it over calmly. Is it very painful?"

"Oh, the ankle? I wasn't thinking about it."

"What then?"

"What, you ask? Oh, cannot you see, either? Must I tell you in so many words?"

"Burton!" he exclaimed. "It is of him you are thinking?"

"How could I forget-so soon? You said he would fly-even now he is probably a fugitive from jus-from the law.... It is a fitting night for such a tragedy in his life. And still, black as it all looks, I cannot think but he is more sinned against than sinning."

"Your loyalty does you credit. Burton is fortunate in having such a friend." Under the soft voice there was just the suggestion of a sneer.

"Nevertheless," she said, ignoring his remark, "Burton will come back to trial, if indeed he ever leaves. His innocence will yet be established."

"Your faith is equal to your loyalty," he answered. "I wish I could have the same confidence. Indeed, I did believe in him until this latest development, but now-one must believe his eyes," he said, with a shrug of the shoulders. "I suppose I shall lose the amount of his bail, but I forfeit it gladly for the sake of his liberty. I count such losses nothing, if only I may hope to gain-what I have asked to-night."

"I cannot answer you now. You have been too good to me, and to my friend, to be denied without at least the courtesy of consideration."

"Your words carry little encouragement. Listen. While I do not press for an answer, surely I may state my case. I can offer you much that appeals to every woman. I am not rich, but I have a profitable business. No woman in Plainville will be better provided for. In a few years I hope to have saved enough to enter business in a larger centre, and introduce you to circles where your personality will command the admiration it deserves. As for this boy--"

She made a gesture of dissent. "Your argument makes no appeal to me, Mr.

Gardiner. A profitable business is a small thing to offer for a woman's affections. You undervalue the prize you seek. And if social status were a consideration to me--" She left the sentence unfinished, but Gardiner thought he understood.

"Forgive me if I have seemed to place too much stress on material things. I merely wish to satisfy you that my declaration-my love-is reasonable, and that I am in a position to carry it out to its logical conclusion. Now, tell me I may hope?"

"Hark! What was that?" she whispered, her face tense with excitement.

"Surely I heard a sound?"

"It is nothing. The thunder, or the wind, or the rain. On such a night the air is full of sound."

"But this was different; a real sound, a _human_ sound. I was sure I heard it."

"Your nerves are playing tricks on you to-night, Miss Vane. I a.s.sure you there was no sound but the elements. Compose yourself, and tell me I may hope."

"I can tell you nothing now."

"Then to-morrow?"

"No, not to-morrow."