The Twins of Suffering Creek Part 2

But she only saw him as he wished her to see him. He showed her the outward man. The inner man was something not yet for her to probe. He was one of Nature's anachronisms. She had covered a spirit which was of the hideous stock from which he sprang with a gilding of superlative manhood.

His name was James, a name which, in years long past, the Western world of America had learned to hate with a bitterness rarely equaled.

But all that was almost forgotten, and this man, by reason of his manner, which was genial, open-handed, even somewhat magnificent, rarely failed, at first, to obtain the good-will of those with whom he came into contact.

It was nearly nine months since he first appeared on Suffering Creek.

Apparently he had just drifted there in much the same way that most of the miners had drifted, possibly drawn thither out of curiosity at the reports of the gold strike. So un.o.btrusive had been his coming that even in that small community he at first pa.s.sed almost un.o.bserved. Yet he was full of interest in the place, and contrived to learn much of its affairs and prospects. Having acquired all the information he desired, he suddenly set out to make himself popular. And his popularity was brought about by a free-handed dispensation of a liberal supply of money. Furthermore, he became a prominent devotee at the poker table in Minky's store, and, by reason of the fact that he usually lost, as most men did who joined in a game in which Wild Bill was taking a hand, his popularity increased rapidly, and the simple-minded diggers dubbed him with the dazzling sobriquet of "Lord James."

It was during this time that he made the acquaintance of Jessie and her husband, and it was astonishing how swiftly his friendship for the unsuspicious little man ripened.

This first visit lasted just three weeks. Then, without warning, and in the same un.o.btrusive way as he had come, he vanished from the scene. For the moment Suffering Creek wondered; then, as is the way of such places, it ceased to wonder. It was too busy with its own affairs to concern itself to any great extent with the flotsam that drifted its way. Scipio wondered a little more than the rest, but his twins and his labors occupied him so closely that he, too, dismissed the matter from his mind. As for Jessie, she said not a word, and gave no sign except that her discontent with her lot became more p.r.o.nounced.

But Suffering Creek was not done with James yet. The next time he came was nearly a month later, just as the monthly gold stage was preparing for the road, carrying with it a shipment of gold-dust bound for Sp.a.w.n City, the nearest banking town, eighty miles distant.

He at once took up his old position in the place, stayed two weeks, staked out a claim for himself, and pursued his intimacy with Scipio and his wife with redoubled ardor.

Before those two weeks were over somehow his popularity began to wane.

This intimacy with Scipio began to carry an ill-flavor with the men of the place. Somehow it did not ring pleasantly. Besides, he showed a fresh side to his character. He drank heavily, and when under the influence of spirits abandoned his well-polished manners, and displayed a coa.r.s.eness, a savage truculence, such as he had been careful never to show before. Then, too, his claim remained unworked.

The change in public opinion was subtle, and no one spoke of it. But there was no regret when, finally, he vanished again from their midst in the same quiet manner in which he had gone before.

Then came the catastrophe. Two weeks later a gold stage set out on its monthly journey. Sixty miles out it was held up and plundered. Its two guards were shot dead, and the driver mortally wounded. But fortunately the latter lived long enough to tell his story. He had been attacked by a gang of eight well-armed hors.e.m.e.n. They were all masked, and got clear away with nearly thirty thousand dollars' worth of gold.

In the first rush of despairing rage Suffering Creek was unable to even surmise at the ident.i.ty of the authors of the outrage. Then Wild Bill, the gambler, demanded an accounting for every man of the camp on the day of the tragedy. In a very short time this was done, and the process turned attention upon Lord James. Where was he? The question remained unanswered. Suspicions grew into swift conviction. Men asked each other who he was, and whence he came. There was no answer to any of their inquiries at first. Then, suddenly, news came to hand that the gang, no longer troubling at concealment, was riding roughshod over the country. It was a return to the regime of the "bad man," and stock-raiding and "hold-ups," of greater or less degree, were being carried on in many directions with absolute impunity; and the man James was at the head of it.

It was a rude awakening. All the old peace and security were gone. The camp was in a state of ferment. Every stranger that came to the place was eyed askance, and unless he could give a satisfactory account of himself he had a poor chance with the furious citizens. The future dispatch of gold became a problem that exercised every mind, and for two months none left the place. And this fact brought about a further anxiety. The gang of robbers was a large one. Was it possible they might attempt a raid on the place? And, if so, what were their chances of success?

Such was the position at Suffering Creek, and the nature of the threat which hung over it. One man's name was in everybody's mind. His personality and doings concerned them almost as nearly as their search for the elusive gold which was as the breath of life to them.

And yet Lord James was in no way deterred from visiting the neighborhood. He knew well enough the position he was in. He knew well enough all its possibilities. Yet he came again and again. His visits were paid in daylight, carefully calculated, even surrept.i.tiously made. He sought the place secretly, but he came, careless of all consequences to himself. His contempt for the men of Suffering Creek was profound and unaffected. He probably feared no man.

And the reason of his visits was not far to seek. There was something infinitely more alluring to him at the house on the dumps than the gold which held the miners--an inducement which he had neither wish nor intention to resist. He reveled in the joy and excitement of pursuing this wife of another man, and had the camp bristled with an army of fighting men, and had the chances been a thousand to one against him, with him the call of the blood would just as surely have been obeyed. This was the man, savage, crude, of indomitable courage and pa.s.sionate recklessness.

And Jessie was dazzled, even blinded. She was just a weak, erring woman, thrilling with strong youthful life, and his dominating nature played upon her vanity with an ease that was quite pitiful. She was only too ready to believe his denials of the accusations against him.

She was only too ready to--love. The humility, devotion, the goodness of Scipio meant nothing to her. They were barren virtues, too unexciting and uninteresting to make any appeal. Her pa.s.sionate heart demanded something more stimulating. And the stimulant she found in the savage wooing of his unscrupulous rival.

Now the man's eyes contemplated the girl's ripe beauty, while he struggled for that composure necessary to carry out all that was in his mind. He checked a further rising impulse, and his voice sounded almost harsh as he put a sharp question.

"Where's Zip?" he demanded.

The girl's eyelids slowly lifted. The warm glow of her eyes made them limpid and melting.

"Gone out to his claim," she said in a low voice.

The other nodded appreciatively.

"Good."

He turned to the window. Out across the refuse-heaps the rest of the camp was huddled together, a squalid collection of huts, uninspiring, unpicturesque. His glance satisfied him. There was not a living soul in view; not a sound except the prattle of the children who were still playing outside the hut. But the latter carried no meaning to him. In the heat of the moment even their mother was dead to the appeal of their piping voices.

"You're coming away now, Jess," the man went on, making a movement towards her.

But the girl drew back. The directness of his challenge was startling, and roused in her a belated defensiveness. Going away? It sounded suddenly terrible to her, and thrilled her with a rush of fear which set her shivering. And yet she knew that all along this--this was the end towards which she had been drifting. The rich color faded from her cheeks and her lips trembled.

"No, no," she whispered in a terrified tone. For the moment all that was best in her rose up and threatened to defeat his end.

But James saw his mistake. For a second a flash of anger lit his eyes, and hot resentment flew to his lips. But it found no expression.

Instead, the anger died out of his eyes, and was replaced by a fire of pa.s.sion such as had always won its way with this girl. He moved towards her again with something subtly seductive in his manner, and his arms closed about her unresisting form in a caress she was powerless to deny. Pa.s.sive yet palpitating she lay pressed in his arms, all her woman's softness, all her subtle perfume, maddening him to a frenzy.

"Won't you? I love you, Jessie, so that nothing else on earth counts.

I can't do without you--I can't--I can't!"

His hot lips crushed against hers, which yielded themselves all too willingly. Presently he raised his head, and his eyes held hers.

"Won't you come, Jess? There's nothing here for you. See, I can give you all you wish for: money, a fine home, as homes go hereabouts. My ranch is a dandy place, and," with a curious laugh, "stocked with some of the best cattle in the country. You'll have horses to ride, and dresses--See! You can have all you want. What is there here? Nothing.

Say, you don't even get enough to eat. Scipio hasn't got more backbone in him than to gather five cents when it's raining dollars." He kissed her upturned face again, and the warm responsive movement of her lips told him how easy his task really was.

But again she pressed him back, so that he held her only at arms'

length. Her swimming eyes gazed long and ardently into his.

"It isn't that, Jim," she said earnestly; "it isn't that. Those things don't count. It's--it's you. I--I don't want dresses. I don't want the money. I--I--want you."

Then she started, terrified again.

"But, Jim, why did you come up to this hut?" she cried. "Why didn't you wait for me down in the bush at the river, as usual? Oh, Jim, if anybody sees you they'll shoot you down like a dog--"

"Dog, eh?" cried the man, with a ringing laugh. "Let 'em try. But don't you worry, Jess. No one saw me. Anyway, I don't care a curse if they did."

"Oh, Jim!"

Then she nestled closer to him for a moment of pa.s.sionate silence, while he kissed her, prolonging the embrace with all the fire with which he was consumed. And after that she spoke again. But now it was the mother that would no longer be denied, even in the midst of her storm of emotion.

"But I--I can't leave them--the little ones. I can't, I can't!" she cried piteously. "Jim, I love you. G.o.d knows how badly I love you, but I--I love them, too. They are mine. They are part of me, and--and I can't do without them. No--no. I can't go--I won't go," she hurried on, without conviction. "I can't. I want my babies--my little boy and girl. You say you love me. I know you love me. Then take them with us, and--and I'll do as you wish. Oh, I'm wicked, I know. I'm wicked, and cruel, and vile to leave Scipio. And I don't want to, but--but--oh, Jim, say you'll take them, too. I can never be happy without them. You can never understand. You are a man, and so strong." He drew her to him again, and she nestled close in his arms. "You don't know what it is to hear a child's voice, and know that it is part of you, your life, one little tiny atom beginning all over again. No, no--I must have them."

She slowly drew herself away, watching his handsome face, half fearfully, half eagerly. She knew in her heart that she was waiting for his verdict, and, whatever it might be, she would have to abide by it. She knew she must do as he wished, and that very knowledge gladdened her, even in spite of her maternal dread of being parted from her babies.

She saw his expression change. She saw the look of perplexity in the sudden drawing together of his finely marked brows, she saw the half-angry impatience flash into his eyes, she saw this again replaced with a half-derisive smile. And each emotion she read in her own way, molding it to suit and fall in with her own desires, yet with a willing feeling that his decision should be paramount, that she was there to obey him.

He slowly shook his head, and a curious hardness set itself about his strong mouth.

"Not now," he said. "I would, but it can't be done. See here, Jess, I've got two horses hidden away down there in the bush beside the creek--one for you, and one for me. We can't fetch those kiddies along with us now. It wouldn't be safe, anyhow. We've got sixty-odd miles to ride through the foothills. But see, I'll fetch 'em one day, after, if you must have 'em. How's that?"

"But they'll never let you," cried Jessie. "The whole camp will be up in arms when they know I've gone. You don't know them, Jim. They're fond of Zip, and they'll stand by him."

James laughed contemptuously.

"Say, Jess," he cried, "you come right along with me now. And if you need those kiddies, not all Suffering Creek--no, nor h.e.l.l itself--shall stop me bringing 'em along to you." Then he chuckled in an unpleasant manner. "Say, it would tickle me to death to set these mutton-headed gophers jumping around. You'll get those kiddies if you need 'em, if I have to blow h.e.l.l into this mud-heap of a city."

Jessie's eyes glowed at the man's note of savage strength and confidence. She knew he could and would do as he said, and this very fact yielded her to him more surely than any other display could have done. It was this wonderful daring, this reckless, savage manhood that had originally won her. He was so different from all others, from her puny husband. He swept her along and dazzled her. Her own virility cried out for such a mate, and no moral scruples could hope to stay so strong a tide of nature.

"You'll do it?" she cried fervently. Then she nodded joyously. "Yes, yes, you'll do it. I know it. Oh, how good you are to me. I love you, Jim."