The Trail Horde Part 28

"I believe I was beginning to get the doldrums," she said.

"That wouldn't be startling, Miss Wharton. Life in a line camp does become monotonous. It is to be expected. It becomes tragic. Also, it has a humorous side--viewed from a distance--chiefly afterward. In the fall, men go into line camps fast friends. We always pair them that way.

Any other method would be fatal, for when the men come out in the spring they invariably are deadly enemies. You can imagine what would happen if we sent into a line cabin two men who did not think well of each other."

She shuddered and snuggled closer to him, letting her head fall to his shoulder. A pulse of pity stirred him, and he permitted her head to stay where she had laid it, while he gently smoothed her hair.

He would have done as much for any woman in her position; the emotion that filled him was entirely that of pity. She was vain and frivolous--employing every artifice, but she was a woman despite that, and ent.i.tled, in the present circ.u.mstances, to what comfort and sympathy he could give her.

However, to Della, the moment of victory was at hand. She _had_ been a trifle worried just an instant before; and the white world outside _had_ seemed to threaten to rush in and crush out her life--the life she loved so well--and she had been just a little afraid.

But she had not been too frightened to note Lawler's sympathy--the quick glow in his eyes, and the atmosphere of tenderness that suddenly seemed to envelop him. It was surrender, she thought, the breaking down of that quiet, steady reserve in him which had filled her with resentment.

She caught his free hand and held it tightly, while she turned her head so that she could look into his eyes.

"Lawler," she said then, in a low voice; "I lied to you."

"Lied?" He stiffened, dropped his hand from her head and looked straight at her.

She laughed, lightly. "Yes; I lied, Lawler. The day we met in Willets--you remember? Well, I loved you from that moment, Lawler. You looked so big and fine and strong. I just couldn't help it. I did overhear Gary Warden telling those two men to cut the fence; and I didn't want them to set all those cattle adrift. But I didn't intend to come here. I started out to find your ranch--the Circle L. I thought I would find you there, and I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to the Two Diamond right away--that you would have to keep me at your house until the storm was over. But I got lost, and when I saw the light in the window, here, I knew I had better go toward it. But I came because I wanted to be near you, Lawler. And now--" She laughed and tried to draw him toward her.

"Of course you are not in earnest, Miss Wharton," he said, slowly, his voice grave. "Such a confession----"

"It's the truth," she declared, shamelessly, holding tightly to him. "It is simple, isn't it? I love you--and I came to you. I came, because I had to--I wanted to. I had been thinking of you--dreaming of you. You were in my mind all the time.

"And you have been acting dreadfully distant. I had begun to believe that you didn't like me--that you wished I hadn't come----"

"That would be the truth, Miss Wharton," he interrupted. He grimly walked to the fireplace, standing with his back to it, looking at her.

He was wondering how he could tell her that she had disgraced her s.e.x; how he could, without being brutal, tell her how he abhorred women who pursued men.

Despite the impulse of charity that moved him, he could not veil the grim disgust that had seized him. It showed in the curve of his lips and in his eyes.

And Miss Wharton saw it. She had been watching him narrowly when he walked away from her; she was looking at him now, in resentful inquiry, her lips tight-pressed. She was puzzled, incredulous.

Then, with their glances locked, she laughed, jeeringly.

"I really don't know how to cla.s.sify you!" she said, scornfully. "Am I ugly?"

He smiled grimly. "Far from it," he answered, frankly. "I think," he added, his gaze still holding hers, "that mere physical beauty doesn't intrigue my interest. There must be something back of it."

"Character, I suppose," she mocked; "n.o.bility, virtue?"

"I think you have said it," he smiled. "At least I haven't the slightest desire to like you."

"School teachers are more in your line, I suppose," she jibed.

There was a wanton light in her eyes. The change that had come over her was startling; and Lawler found himself watching her, trying to a.s.sociate this new side of her character with that she had shown before she had betrayed her real character; she represented a type that had always been repulsive to him. And, until now, she had fooled him. He had wasted his politeness, his gentleness, his consideration, and his delicacy. He understood, now, why she had seemed to laugh at him when he had endeavored to provide a certain measure of privacy for her; he knew how she felt at this moment, when she must realize that she had betrayed herself.

Any further talk between them would be profitless, and so Lawler did not answer her question. He stood, looking at the north window, which was a little to one side of her; while she sat staring past him, her lips straight and hard.

At last she looked up. "What an odd courtship!"

His gaze dropped, met hers, and he smiled.

"Yes--odd," he returned, dryly.

"But I suppose," she said, in a tone equally dry; "that you will make up for it, after we are married. You will learn to like me."

"Yes; after we are married," he smiled, ironically.

"That will be as soon as we can get to town, I presume," she went on, watching him with brazen directness. "You see," she explained; "I have been here with you for about two weeks, you know, and my friends will ask embarra.s.sing questions. You are so _honorable_ that you cannot refuse to protect my reputation."

"I am sorry, of course, Miss Wharton. But you should have considered your reputation before you decided to come here."

"You mean that you won't marry me?" she demanded. She got up and walked toward him, halting within a pace of him and standing stiffly before him.

"You have perception, after all, it seems," he said, gravely. "But you don't understand human nature. No man--or woman--in this section will see anything wrong in your staying in this cabin with me during the storm. They will accept it as being the most natural thing in the world.

It was a simple act of humanness for me to take you in, and it entails no offer of marriage. Perhaps it has been done, and will be done again, where there is an inclination to marry. It has been done in books, and in certain sections of the world where narrow-minded people are the manufacturers of public sentiment. The mere fact that I happened to save your life does not obligate me to marry you, Miss Wharton. And I do not feel like playing the martyr."

For an instant it seemed that Della would become hysterical. But when she looked into Lawler's eyes and realized that mere acting would not deceive him, she sneered.

"I might have known _you_ wouldn't be man enough to protect me!"

Lawler smiled, but did not answer. And after an instant, during which Della surveyed him with scorn unspeakable, she strode stiffly to a chair in a far corner of the room and dropped into it.

Lawler had been little affected. He pitied her because of her perverted moral sense, which sought an honorable marriage from a wild, immoral impulse. He pitied her because she was what she was--a wanton who was determined by scheme and wile to gain her ends. And he shrewdly suspected that she was not so much concerned for her reputation as she was eager to achieve what she had determined upon. Defeat to her kind is intolerable.

"Gary Warden will never marry me if he discovers that I have been here,"

declared Della from the corner.

"You said you did not love Warden, Miss Wharton," Lawler reminded her.

"You wouldn't marry a man you merely liked, would you?"

"We have been engaged for a year. Certainly, I shall marry him. Why not?

But he won't have me, now!"

"Does Warden love you, Miss Wharton?"

"That doesn't concern you!" she snapped.

"No--not in the least. But if Warden loves you, and I went to him and explained that your being here was accidental----"

"Bah!" she sneered; "you're a fool, Lawler! Do you expect Gary Warden would swallow _that_! You don't know him!"

"Well," said Lawler, gently; "he need not know. If you are afraid to face public opinion, to show by your actions that you have nothing to be ashamed of, I'll take you to the Circle L, just as soon as we can get through. We'll time ourselves to get there at night. No one need know, and you can tell Warden that you were caught in the storm and drifted to the Circle L, where you stayed with my mother. I can come back here and no one will ever know the difference."

"I don't want to see your mother!" she sneered. "I'd be afraid she would be something like you! Ugh! I hate you!"

"There is only one other way," smiled Lawler. "I know Keller, the owner of the Willets Hotel, very intimately. I can take you there, at night--after the storm breaks. No one need know. You can say you were at the hotel all the time. And Keller will support your word."