The Heritage of the Hills Part 31

"How do you do, Miss Selden!"

He saddled White Ann, and over the hills they rode together.

Commonplaces pa.s.sed between them until the wilderness enveloped them.

Then as they sat their horses and gazed down a precipitous slope to the river, she asked:

"Just why have you kept away from us all these weeks?"

He reddened. "I'll tell you frankly," he said: "I was a fool. I was moping because you had not ridden to see me. You had come so often before. And I woke up only today. Today for the first time I realized that, since Old Man Selden has opened his door to me, it is my place to go to you."

"Of course," she said demurely.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Some time ago," he told her, "I realized that you sought me out in the first place for a purpose."

He paused, and the look he cast at her was eager, though guarded carefully.

"Yes?" she questioned.

"Yes," he went on. "I realized that. And also that you _continued_ to come because that purpose was not yet fulfilled, and because conditions made it necessary for you to look me up."

"Yes, I understand--" as he had come to a stop, rather helplessly.

"Well, just that," he floundered. "And then Selden changed his tactics, and I could go to you. So you--you didn't come to me any more."

"Fairly well elucidated," she laughed, "if repet.i.tion makes for clearness. Well, you understand now--so let's forget it."

"I want you to understand that it wasn't because I didn't wish to come.

It was just thick-headedness."

"So you have said. Yes, I understand."

The gaze of her black eyes was far away--far away over the deep, rugged canon, over the hills that climbed shelf after shelf to the mystic snow-topped mountains, far away into a country that is not of the earth earthy. Under her drab flannel shirt her full bosom rose and fell with the regularity of her perfect breathing. Her man's hat lay over her saddle horn. Like some reigning G.o.ddess of the wilderness she sat and overlooked the domain that was hers unchallenged; and the profile of her brow, and the long, black, drooping lashes, tore at the heart-strings of the man until he suffered.

"I can't stand that!" he cried out in his soul; and a pressure of the reins brought Poche close to White Ann's side. "Jessamy!" said the man huskily. "Jessamy!"

He could say no more, for his voice failed him, and a haze swam before his eyes as when he had lost control of himself on the hillside.

"Jessamy!" he managed to cry again; and then, for lack of words, he spread his arms out toward her.

The black lashes flicked downward once, but she did not turn her face to him. The colour deepened in her throat and mounted to her cheeks, and her bosom rose and fell more rapidly.

Then slowly she turned her face to his, and her level gaze searched him, unafraid. But not for long this time. Down drooped the black lashes till they seemed to have been drawn with pen and India ink on her smooth brown cheeks; and they screened a light that caused his heart to bound with expectation that was half of hope.

Her red lips moved. "Wait!" she whispered.

His arms fell to his sides. "You--you won't hear me!"

"No--not now."

"You know what I'm trying so hard to say. It means so much to me. It's hard for a man to say the one word which he knows will make him or break him for all time to come. He'd rather--he'd rather just hope on blindly, I guess, than to speak when he can't guess how the woman feels.

Must--must I say it--right out, Jessamy?"

"No, my friend, don't say it."

"Is there anything that stands between us?"

"Yes. But don't ask what."

"Then you don't love me!"

Her red lips quivered. "I said for you to wait," she told him softly.

"Why should I wait? For what? I know myself. I'm grown. I know that I--"

"Don't!" she interrupted. "Wait!" And she leaned in the saddle and swung White Ann away from him.

"Let's ride back home," she said. "You'll stay to supper? The moon will be bright for your ride home later. I'll make you a cherry pie!"

CHAPTER XXI

"WHEN WE MEET AGAIN!"

It will be necessary to return to the day that Chuck Allegan and Obed Pence met on the ridge beyond the Old Ivison Place, and rode together to the hiding place of the Poison Oakers' moonshine still.

Obed Pence continued to lie p.r.o.ne in the mouth of the cave, while his close-set eyes angrily watched the progress of Old Man Selden and his son Bolar through the chaparral.

As the continued crawling of the coming pair brought them nearer to the retreat Obed Pence withdrew his lank figure into the shadowy cave; and he and his companion endeavoured to appear innocent and unconcerned.

Then when Old Man Selden and the boy reached the opening and stood erect, Obed appeared at the mouth again and greeted them with a matter-of-fact:

"h.e.l.lo, there!"

"Why, howdy, Obed," returned Adam Selden. "Didn't know ye was here.

Who's with ye?"

"I reckon you see our horses down in Clinker Canon," returned Obed in trouble-hunting tones. "And you know every horse between Red Mountain an' the Gap."

"Yea, me and Bolar thought we saw a couple o' animals through the trees.

But we hit the ground farther up the creekbed, and come in slonchways.

Thought maybe one o' the brutes was Chuck's."

Obed Pence snorted softly, but did not add more fuel to an argument along this line.