The White Desert Part 6

"Fred never knows how to take Ba'tiste. They're always quarreling this way. The only trouble is that Fred--" and she turned to face him piquantly--"always takes in the whole world when he gets mad. And that includes me. I think," and the little nose took a more upward turn than ever, "that Ba'tiste is entirely right, Fred. You talked to me as though I were a sack of potatoes. I won't go with you, and I won't see you until you can apologize."

"There's nothing to apologize for!"

Thayer jammed on his hat and stamped angrily out the door. Medaine watched him with laughing eyes.

"He'll write me a letter to-night," came quietly. Then, "Lost Wing!"

"Ugh!" It was a grunt from outside.

"I just wanted to be sure you were there. Call me when Mr. Thayer has pa.s.sed the ridge."

"Ugh!"

Medaine turned again to Ba'tiste, a childish appearance of confidence in her eyes, her hand lingering on the chair by the bed.

"Were you really fooling, Ba'tiste--or shall we continue?"

"Perhaps--" the twinkle still shone in the old man's eyes--"but not now. Perhaps--sometime. So mebbe sometime you--"

"Wah--hah--hai-i-e-e-e!" The Sioux had called from without. Medaine turned.

"When you need me, Ba'tiste," she answered, with a smile that took in also the eager face on the bed, "I'll be glad to help you. Good-by."

That too included Barry, and he answered it with alacrity. Then for a moment after she had gone, he lay scowling at Ba'tiste, who once more, in a weakened state of merriment, had reeled to the wall, followed as usual by his dog, and leaned there, hugging his sides. Barry growled:

"You're a fine doctor! Just when you had me cured, you quit! I'd forgotten I even had a broken arm."

"So?" Ba'tiste straightened. "You like her, eh? You like the pet.i.te Medaine?"

"How can I help it?"

"_Bon_! Good! I like you to like Medaine. You no like Thayer?"

"Less every minute."

"Bon! I no like heem. He try to take Pierre's place with Medaine.

And Pierre, he was strong and tall and straight. Pierre, he could smile--_bon_! Like you can smile. You look like my Pierre!" came frankly.

"Thanks, Ba'tiste." Barry said it in wholehearted manner. "You don't know how grateful I am for a little true friendliness."

"Grateful? Peuff! You? Bah, you shall go back, and they will ask who helped you when you were hurt, and you--you will not even remember what is the name."

"Hardly that." Barry pulled thoughtfully at the covers. "In the first place, I'm not going back, and in the second, I haven't enough true friends to forget so easily. I--I--" Then his jaw dropped and he lay staring ahead, out to the shadows beneath the pines and the stalwart cross which kept watch there. "I--"

"You act funny again. You act like you act when I talk about my Julienne. Why you do eet?"

Barry Houston did not answer at once. Old scenes were flooding through his brain, old agonies that reflected themselves upon his features, old sorrows, old horrors. His eyes grew cold and lifeless, his hands white and drawn, his features haggard. The chuckle left the lips of Ba'tiste Renaud. He moved swiftly, almost sinuously to the bed, and gripped the younger man by his uninjured arm. His eyes came close to Barry Houston, his voice was sharp, tense, commanding:

"You! Why you act like that when I talk about murder? Why you get pale, huh? Why you get pale?"

CHAPTER V

The gaze of Ba'tiste Renaud was strained as he asked the question, his manner tense, excited. Through sheer determination, Barry forced a smile and pulled himself back to at least a semblance of composure.

"Maybe you know the reason already--through Thayer. But if you don't--Ba'tiste, how much of it do you mean when you say you are a man's friend?"

"Ba'teese may joke," came quietly, "but Ba'teese no lie. You look like my Pierre--you help where it has been lonesome. You are my frien'."

"Then I know you are not going to ask me for something that hurts in telling. And at least, I can give you my word of honor that it isn't because of my conscience!"

Ba'tiste was silent after that, walking slowly about the room, s.h.a.ggy head bent, hands clasped behind his back, studious, as though striving to fathom what had been on the man's mind. As for Barry, he stared disconsolately at vacancy, living again a thing which he had striven to forget. It had been forced upon him, this partial admission of a cloud in the past; the geniality, the utter honesty, the friendliness of the old French-Canadian, the evident dislike for a man whom he, Barry, also thoroughly distrusted, had lowered the younger man's guard. The tragic story of Pierre and Julienne had furthered the merest chance acquaintance into what seemed the beginning, at least, of closest friendship. Houston had known Ba'tiste for only a matter of a few hours,--yet it seemed months since he first had looked upon the funny little blue cap and screaming red shirt of the Canadian; and it was evident that Renaud had felt the same reaction. Barry Houston, to this great, lonely man of the hills, looked like a son who was gone, a son who had grown tall and straight and good to look upon a son upon whom the old man had looked as a companion, and a chum for whom he had searched in every battle-scarred area of a war-stricken nation, only to find him,--too late. And with this viewpoint, there was no shamming about the old man's expressions of friendship. More, he took Barry's admission of a cloud in the past as a father would take it from a son; he paced the floor minute after minute, head bowed, gray eyes half closed, only to turn at last with an expression which told Barry Houston that a friend was his for weal or woe, for fair weather or foul, good or evil.

"Eet is enough!" came abruptly. "There is something you do not want to tell. I like you--I not ask. You look like my Pierre--who could do no wrong. So! _Bon_--good! Ba'teese is your frien'. You have trouble?

Ba'teese help."

"I've had plenty of that, in the last two years," came quietly. "I think I've got plenty ahead of me. What do you know about Thayer?"

"He no good."

"Why?"

"Ba'teese don' know. On'y he have narrow eyes too close together. He have a quirk to his mouth Ba'teese no like. He have habit nev' talkin'

about himself--he ask you question an' tell you nothing. He have hatchet-face; Ba'teese no like a man with a hatchet-face. Beside, he make love to Medaine!"

Barry laughed.

"Evidently that's a sore spot with you, Ba'tiste."

"No. Ba'teese no care. But if my Pierre had live, he would have make love to her. She would have marry him. And to have M'sieu Thayer take his place? No! Mebbe--" he said it hopefully, "mebbe you like Medaine, huh?"

"I do! She's pretty, Ba'tiste."

"Mebbe you make love?"

But the man on the bed shook his head.

"I can't make love to anybody, Ba'tiste. Not until I've--I've found something I'm looking for. I'm afraid that's a long way off. I haven't the privileges of most young fellows. I'm a little--what would you call it--hampered by circ.u.mstance. I've--besides, if I ever do marry, it won't be for love. There's a girl back East who says she cares for me, and who simply has taken it for granted that I think the same way about her. She stood by me--in some trouble. Out of every one, she didn't believe what they said about me. That means a lot.

Some way, she isn't my kind; she just doesn't awaken affection on my part, and I spend most of my time calling myself a cad over it. But she stood by me--and--I guess that's all that's necessary, after all.

When I've fulfilled my contract with myself--if I ever do--I'll do the square thing and ask her to marry me."

Ba'tiste scowled.

"You dam' fool," he said. "Buy 'em present. Thank 'em, _merci beaucoup_. But don' marry 'em unless 'you love 'em. Ba'teese, he know. Ba'teese, he been in too many home where there is no love."

"True. But you don't know the story behind it all, Ba'tiste. And I can't tell you except this: I got in some trouble. I'd rather not tell you what it was. It broke my father's heart--and his confidence in me.

He--he died shortly afterward."