The Last Straw Part 21

"d.i.c.k, are you mad?" she challenged, trying to summon her a.s.surance through the fright which he had given her. "It's not what you think....

It's none of your affair--

"d.i.c.k!"

He grasped her wrists roughly.

"Am I mad?" he repeated, looking down at her, his jaw clenched. "Yes, I'm mad. Mad from want of you ... your eyes, your lips, your hair, your very breath drives me mad and when I hear you tell me that you've found the flesh that calls to your flesh among these men it drives me wild! I can offer you more than any of them can a thousand times over....

"Great G.o.d, I love you!"

But his snarl was not the snarl of devotion, of affection. It was the l.u.s.t cry of the destroyer, he who would possess hungrily, unthinkingly, without sympathy or understanding ... even without respect.

He drew her to him roughly and she struggled, too frightened to cry out, face white and lips closed. He imprisoned both her hands in his one and with the other arm about her body crushed it against his, her breast to his breast, her limbs to his limbs. He lowered his lips toward her face and she bent backward, crying out lowly, but the touch of her lithe torso, tense in the struggle to be free, made his strength greater, swept away the last barrier of caution and his body was aflame with desire.

"d.i.c.k ... stop...." she panted and managed to free one hand.

She struck him on the mouth and struck again, blindly. He gave her efforts no notice but, releasing her hands, crushed her to him with both arms and she could feel the quick come and go of his breath through her hair as he buried his face in it.

And at that she became possessed of fresh strength. She turned and half slipped, half fought her way through his clutch, running down the room to the fireplace where she stood with the davenport between them breathing irregularly, a hand clenched at her breast.

"You ... you beast!" she said, slowly, unsteadily as he came toward her again.

"Yes, beast!" he echoed. "We're all beasts, every one of us who sees and feels and I've seen you and I've felt you and the beast is hungry!"

"And you call that love!" She spoke rapidly, breathlessly. "An hour ago if anyone would have said that d.i.c.k Hilton, sober, would have displayed this, this _thing_ which is his true self, I'd have come to your defense! But now ... you ... you!"

Her face was flaming, her voice shook with outraged pride.

"Stop!" she cried, drawing herself up, no longer afraid. She emerged from fear commanding, impressive, and Hilton hesitated, putting one hand to a chair back and eyeing her calculatingly as though scheming.

The vein on his forehead still stood out like an uneven seam.

"For shame!" she cried again. "Shame on you, d.i.c.k Hilton, and shame on me for having tolerated, for having believed in you ... little as I did! Oh, I loathe it all, you and myself--that was--because if it had not been for that other self which tolerated you, which gave you the opening, this ... this insult would never have been. You, who failing to buy a woman's love, would take it by strength! You would do this, and talk of your desire as love. You, who scoff at men whose respect for women is as real as the lives they lead. You ... you beast!"

She hissed the word.

"Yes, beast!" he repeated again. "Like all these other beasts, these others who are blinding you as you say I have blinded you, who have--"

"Stop it!" she demanded again. "There is nothing more to be said ...

ever. We understand one another now and there is but one thing left for you to do."

"And that?"

"Go."

He laughed bitterly and ran a hand over his sleek hair.

"If I go, you go with me," he said evenly.

"Leave this house," the girl commanded, but instead of obeying he moved toward her again menacingly, a disgusting smile on his lips.

He pa.s.sed the end of the davenport and she, in turn, retreated to the far side.

"When I go, two of--"

"I take it that you heard what was said to you, sir."

At the sound of the intruding voice Hilton wheeled sharply. He faced Tom Beck, who stood in the doorway, framed against the black night, arms limp and rather awkwardly hanging at his sides, eyes dangerously luminous; still, playing across them was that half amused look, as though this were not in reality so serious a matter.

For an interval there was no sound except Hilton's breathing: a sort of hoa.r.s.e gasp. The two men eyed each other and Jane, supporting her suddenly weakened limbs by a hand on the table, looked from one to the other.

"What the devil are you doing here?" d.i.c.k asked heavily.

"Just standin' quiet, waiting to open the gate for you when you ride out."

The Easterner braced his shoulders backward and sniffed.

"And if I don't choose to ride out? What will you do then?"

Beck looked at Jane slowly and his eyes danced.

"It ain't necessary to talk about things that won't happen. You're going to go."

"Who the h.e.l.l are you to be so certain?"

"My name's Beck, sir. I'm just workin' here."

"And playing the role of a protector?"

"Well, nothing much ever comes up that I don't _try_ to do."

Hilton made as if to speak again but checked himself, walked down the room in long strides, seized his coat, thrust his arms into the sleeves viciously and stood b.u.t.toning the garment. Beck looked away into the night as though nothing within interested him and Jane stood clutching the locket at her throat, caressing it with her slim, nervous fingers.

"Under the circ.u.mstances, making my farewells must be to the point,"

Hilton said. He spoke sharply, belligerently. "I have just this to say: I am not through."

"Oh, go!" moaned Jane, dropping into a chair and covering her face with her hands.

She heard the men leave the veranda, heard a gruff, low word from Hilton and knew that he went on alone. After the outer gate had closed she heard Tom walk slowly up the path toward the bunk house. He had left her without comment, without any attempt at an expression of concern or sympathy. She knew it was no oversight, but only a delicacy which would not have been shown by many men.

Her loathing was gone, her anger dead; the near past was a numb memory and she looked up and about the room as though it were a strange place.

There, within those walls, she had experienced the rebirth, she had felt ambition to stand alone come into full being, she had shaken off the fetters with which the past had sought to hamper her....

And now she was free, wholly free. The tentacle that had been reached out to draw her back had been cast away. Tonight's renunciation had burned the last bridge to that which had been; d.i.c.k Hilton, she believed, would never again be an active influence in her life.

She could not--perhaps fortunately--foretell how mistaken this belief actually would prove to be. She did not know the intensity of a man's jealousy, particularly when Fate has tricked him of his most valued prize. Nor could she foresee those events which would impell her to send for Hilton, to call him back, and the wells of misery which that action would tap!

To-night he was gone, and she was even strong enough to rise above loathing and pity him for the failure he was. Just one fact of him remained. Again she heard his ominous prediction, p.r.o.nounced on his first visit there: You cannot stand alone! You will fail! You will come back to me!

She knew, now, that she would never return to him, but there were other possibilities as disastrous. Could she meet this new life and beat it and make in it a place for herself? Was her faith in herself strong enough to outride the defeat which very possibly confronted her?