The Sherrods Part 12

So when Harve Crose drove up one afternoon with a load of pumpkins for the stock, she declined to accept them. But she could not sit up of nights, tired and cold as she was, to drive away those who stole in surrept.i.tiously and befriended her. She could not so much as thank these indefatigable friends.

Her heart and courage sank to the bottom one morning when she arose to learn that during the night the wind had blown the straw-thatched roof from her cowshed and the two poor beasts were well-nigh dead from exposure. She sat down and cried, nor could Mrs. Crane comfort her.

To replace that roof was a task to try the strength and endurance of the hardiest man; for her it seemed beyond accomplishment.

Nevertheless, she set about it as soon as the cows were transferred to the crowded barn. The roof, intact, lay alongside the pen, the straw scattered to the winds. There was but one way to replace the timbers, and that was to take them apart and reconstruct the roof, piece by piece. She had battered several rough-hewn supports from their position and was surveying the task before her with a sullen expression in her eyes. The vigorous exercise had put a hot glow in her cheeks, and, as she stood there in the snow, her ax across her shoulder, as straight as an arrow, she was a charming picture. A biting atmosphere chilled the breath as it came from her red, full lips, wafting it away, white and frosty. The man who vaulted the fence behind her and came slowly across the barn lot felt his heart beat fiercely against the rough oilskin jacket. The girl did not see him until she turned at the sound of his hoa.r.s.e voice.

"That ain't no work fer you," he was saying.

She found herself looking into the hostile eyes of 'Gene Crawley.

There was real anger in the man's face; he looked contemptuously at the girl's slim figure, then at the wrecked house, then slowly down at his big, mittened hands. Justine gasped and moved back a step.

"I ain't agoin' to hurt you, Missus Sherrod," he said, quickly. "I'm goin' to help you, that's all."

"I do not require your a.s.sistance," she said, coldly. "Why do you come here, 'Gene, when you know I despise to look at you? Why do you persist in annoying me? Is it because my husband isn't here to protect me?"

"We won't argy about that ag'in," he answered, slowly. "You cain't put that roof on the shed an' I kin, so that's why I'm here. I was jes'

goin' past when I seen you out here slashin' away with that ax. Thinks I, I'll not 'low her to do that nasty job, an' so I jes' clumb over the fence an'--an'--well, ef helpin' you out of a hard job is annoyin' you, Justine, you'll have to put up with it, that's all; I'm goin' to put that roof on, whether you want me to er not. You're d.a.m.n--I'm sorry I said that--but you're mighty near froze. Go in by the fire an' I'll 'tend to this."

"I insist that you are not to touch a hand to this lumber. I cannot pay you for the work and I will not accept----"

"Don't say a word about pay. You k'n have me arrested ef you want to fer trespa.s.s, er you k'n go in an' git that shotgun of your'n an' blaze away at me, but I'm not goin' to let you kill yourself workin' out here on a job like this."

He drew off his oil jacket and threw it back in the snow. The ax dropped from her shoulder and was buried in the white drift. Without a word he strode to her side and fished the implement from the snow.

"I'd rather die than to have you do this for me, 'Gene Crawley," she hissed. "What do you think I'd be if I let you do it? What will the neighbors say if I let you lift a hand to help me? What----"

He interrupted with a smothered oath.

"They da.s.sent say anything, dang 'em," he grated. "This is my business, an' ef they stick their noses in it they'll git 'em pounded to h.e.l.l an' gone."

"Couldn't you have said all that without swearing?" she exclaimed, scornfully. His face actually burned with shame and his bold eyes wavered.

"I didn't mean to, Justine. I--I jes' fergot. I want to tell you I don't cuss like I used to. Only when I git right mad. 'Sides, ef you'd gone in the house when I told you to, you wouldn't 'a' heerd."

"Are you going to get off of my place?" she suddenly demanded.

"Not tell I've fixed this roof," he replied doggedly.

"I don't want it fixed," she said.

"What's the use sayin' that? You was trying to do it yourself when I come up here. Will you go in the house er will you stand out here an'

freeze?"

"Do you think you're doing me a favor in this? Do you think I will thank you after it is done?"

"I don't believe I expect to be thanked, an' I'm only doin' it because you hadn't ought to. I'd do it fer any woman."

He swung the ax against the restraining timbers and a dozen strokes freed the roof from its twisted fastenings. She stood off at one side and glared at him. She forgot everything except that her enemy--Jud's bitterest foe--was deliberately befriending her. A sudden thought came to her, and the sharp exclamation that fell from her lips caused him to pause and glance at her.

"Ain't you goin' in by the fire?" he demanded, panting from the exertion.

"'Gene Crawley, do you know who has been cutting wood up in the grove and bringing it to my door?" she demanded.

"Yes," he answered, looking away.

"You?"

"Yes."

"If I had known that, I'd have frozen to death before I used a stick,"

she cried, the tears rushing to her eyes.

"An' I fixed your fences an'--an'--an', I might as well tell you, I come around ever' night to see that your stock is all right," he went on.

"You! oh, if I had only known! You! You!" she exclaimed, glaring at him with such fury and hatred that his eyes dropped and a miserable laugh of humiliation struggled through his teeth. As if to ward off the fierce, direct stabs of those bitter eyes, he fell to wielding the ax with all his strength. The chips flew and far away through the crisp air rang the song of the steel. He did not look up until the roof lay detached and there was no more chopping to be done. His face was still burning hotly. It was the first real goodness of heart he had ever shown, and it had met repulse.

The anger melted when he saw her. She had not moved from the spot, but it was another creature altogether who stood there now. Justine's hands were pressed to her eyes and she was crying. Her whole body trembled and her thinly clad shoulders heaved convulsively.

Big 'Gene Crawley was helpless before this exhibition of feeling. He felt that he was to blame for her grief, and yet a longing to comfort her came over him. She looked forlorn, wretched, cold. He would have liked to pick up the shivering girl and carry her to the house. He tried to speak to her, but there was nothing to say. The fear that she would resent a friendly word from him checked the impulse.

Unable to control his own feelings and possessed of a wild desire to act in some way, he threw down the ax and performed one of those feats of prodigious strength for which he was noted. Stooping, he lifted the edge of the heavy roof until he could work his broad shoulders under the end. Then, with an effort, he slowly shifted his load to the side of the low shed. Rapidly he went about the little structure and replaced timbers that had been wrenched away, not once turning his face toward her. When all was in readiness for the final effort, he grasped the side of the roof that still touched the ground and prepared for the lift. The cords stood out in his neck, the veins were bursting in his temples, but steadily his heavy shoulders rose and with them the whole weight of the timbers. His great back and powerful legs pushed forward and the roof moved slowly back to its place.

Then he collapsed against the side of the shed. She had witnessed this frightful display of strength with marveling eyes. Once she was on the point of crying out to him to stop, certain that no human power could endure such a strain. When the task was done she gave way to unaccountable tears and fled to the house, leaving him leaning against his support, f.a.gged and trembling.

After a few moments his strength returned and he began to fill up the open places under the edge of the roof. At the end of an hour the shed was as good as new. Then, with a long look toward the unfriendly house in which she dwelt, he turned and started for the road, defeated but satisfied that he had been of service to her. At the sound of her voice he stopped near the fence. She had come from the house and was following him.

"'Gene, I can only thank you for what you have done. I did not want you to do it, but--but I know I couldn't have managed it myself," she said, hoa.r.s.ely.

"O, it wasn't much," he growled, looking away.

"'Gene, you must not come here again and you must not do these things for me. I don't want you to help me. I know what you said about me down at the toll-gate that night, and I know what people will say if you come here. Won't you please stay away, 'Gene?"

He looked steadily into her eyes for the first time and there was a touch of real n.o.bility in his face as he said slowly and with difficulty:

"I thought, maybe, Justine, ef I kinder slaved aroun' fer you they might see that I am good an' honest, an' that I didn't mean what I said that night. I wisht somebody'd cut my tongue out afore I said them things, er I wisht I'd been Doc Ramsey an' got knocked down fer standin' up fer you. I cain't see you workin' aroun' like this when I ain't got a thing to do, an' I--I--well, I jes' thought people'd see I was sorry fer what I said."

"But they'll say the very worst they can about it," she cried, piteously.

"Then I'll kill somebody!" he grated, and, clearing the fence, was off down the road.

CHAPTER XII.

THE GOOD OF EVIL.

When Justine wrote her next letter to Jud she purposely neglected to describe the encounter with 'Gene. For the first time she wilfully deceived him. In her letter she spoke lightly of the wind's work and casually mentioned the unimportant fact that one of the neighbors had generously helped her to make the repairs. She felt that Jud's hatred for Crawley would have inspired something rash in him. She was confident that he would throw aside his work, his chances,--everything,--and rush to her protection. And so she found consolation in deception.