Part 5

“Budd Crow moved there to-day,” Cynthia said, as if desirous of changing the subject. “He rented twenty acres from my father. The 'White Caps' whipped him a week ago, for being lazy and not working for his family. His wife came over and told me all about it. She said it really had brought him to his senses, but that it had broken her heart. She cried while she was talking to me. Why does God afflict some women with men of that kind, and make others the wives of governors and presidents?”

“Ah, there you are beyond my philosophic depth, Cynthia. You mustn't bother your pretty head about those things. I sometimes rail against my fate for giving me the ambition of a king while I do not even know who--but I think you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I think I do,” said the girl, sympathetically, “and some day I believe all that will be cleared up. Some coarse natures wouldn't care a straw about it, but you _do_ care, and it is the things we want and can't get that count.”

“It is strange,” he said, thoughtfully, “but of late I always think of my mother as having been young and beautiful. I think of her, too, as a well-bred, educated woman with well-to-do relatives. I think all those things without any proof even as to what her maiden name was or where she came from. Are you still unhappy at home, Cynthia?”

“Nearly all the time,” the girl sighed. “As she grows older my mother gets more fault-finding and suspicious than ever. Then she has set her mind on my marrying Mr. Hillhouse. They seem to be working together to that end, and it is very tiresome to me.”

“Well, I'm glad you don't love him,” Floyd said. “I don't think he could make any one of your nature happy.”

The girl stared into his eyes. They had reached the gate of the farm-house and he opened it for her. “Now, good-night,” he said, pressing her hand. “Remember, if you ever hear a lonely whippoorwill calling, that he is longing for companionship.”

She leaned over the gate, drawing it towards her till the iron latch clicked in its catch. With a shudder she recalled the hot kiss he had pressed upon her lips, and wondered what he might later think about it.

“I'll never meet you there at night,” she said, firmly. “My mother doesn't treat me right, but I shall not act that way when she is asleep. You may come to see me here now and then, but it will go no further than that.”

“Well, I shall sit alone in the arbor,” he returned with a low laugh, “and I hope your hard heart will keep you awake. I wouldn't treat a hound-dog that way, little girl.”

“Well, I shall treat a strong man that way,” she said, and she went into the house.

She opened the front-door, which was never locked, and went into her room on the right of the little hall. The night was very still, and down the road she heard Floyd's whippoorwill call growing fainter and fainter as he strode away. She found a match and lighted the lamp on her bureau and looked at her reflection in the little oval-shaped mirror. Remembering his embrace, she shuddered and wiped her lips with her hand.

“He'll despise me,” she muttered. “He'll think I am weak, like those other girls, but I am not. I _am not_. I'll show him that he can't, and yet”--her head sank to her hands, which were folded on the top of the bureau--“I couldn't help it. My God! I couldn't help it. I must have actually wanted him to--no, I didn't. I didn't; he held me. I had no idea his arm was behind me till he--”

There was a soft step in the hall. The door of her room creaked like the low scream of a cat. A gaunt figure in white stood on the threshold. It was Mrs. Porter in her night-dress, her feet bare, her iron-gray hair hanging loose upon her shoulders.

“I couldn't go to sleep, Cynthia,” she said, “till I knew you were safe at home.”

“Well, I'm here all right, mother, so go back to bed and don't catch your death of cold.”

The old woman moved across the room to Cynthia's bed and sat down on it. “I heard you coming down the road and went to the front window. I had sent Brother Hillhouse for you, but it was Nelson Floyd who brought you home. Didn't Brother Hillhouse get there before you left?”

“Yes, but I had already promised Mr. Floyd.” The old woman met her daughter's glance steadily. “I suppose all I'll do or say won't do a bit o' good. Cynthia, you know what I'm afraid of.”

The girl stood straight, her face set and firm, her great, dreamy eyes flashing.

“Yes, and that's the insult of it. Mother, you almost make me think you are judging my nature by your own, when you were at my age. I tell you you will drive me too far. A girl at a certain time of her life wants a mother's love and sympathy; she doesn't want threats, fears, and disgraceful suspicions.”

Mrs. Porter covered her face with her bony hands and groaned aloud.

“You are confessing,” she said, “that you are tied an' bound to him by the heart and that there isn't anything left for you but the crumbs he lets fall from his profligate table. You confess that you are lyin' at his feet, greedily lappin' up what he deigns to drop to you and the rest of those--”

“Stop!” Cynthia sprang to her mother and laid her small hand heavily on the thin shoulder. “Stop, you know you are telling a deliberate--” She paused, turned, and went slowly back to the bureau. “God forgive me! God help me remember my duty to her as my mother. She's old; she's out of her head.”

“There, you said something then!” The old woman had drawn herself erect and sat staring at her daughter, her hands on her sharp knees. “That reminds me of something else. You know my sister Martha got to worryin' when she was along about my age over her law-suit matters, and kept it up till her brain gave way. Folks always said she and I were alike. Dr. Strong has told me time after time to guard against worry or I'd go out and kill myself as she did. I haven't mentioned this before, but I do now. I can't keep down my fears and suspicions, while the very air is full of that man's conduct. He's a devil, I tell you--a devil in human shape. Your pretty face has caught his fancy, and your holding him off, so far, has made him determined to crush you like a plucked flower. Why don't he go to the Duncans and the Prices and lay his plans? Because those men shoot at the drop of a hat. He knows your pa is not of that stamp and that you haven't any men kin to defend our family honor. He hasn't any of his own; nobody knows who or what he is. My opinion is that he's a nobody and knows it, and out of pure spite is trying to pull everybody else down to his level.”

“Mother--” Cynthia's tone had softened. Her face was filling with sudden pity for the quivering creature on the bed. “Mother, will you not have faith in me? If I promise you honestly to take care of myself, and make him understand what and who I am, won't that satisfy you? Even men with bad reputations have a good side to their natures, and they often reach a point at which they reform. A man like that interests a woman. I don't dispute that, but there are strong women and weak women. Mother, I'm not a weak woman; as God is my judge, I'm able to take care of myself. It pains me to say this, for you ought to know it; you ought to _feel_ it. You ought to see it in my eye and hear it in my voice. Now go to bed, and sleep. I'm really afraid you may lose your mind since you told me about Aunt Martha.”

The face of the old woman changed. It lighted up with sudden hope.

“Somehow, I believe what you say,” she said, with a faint smile. “Anyway, I'll try not to worry any more.” She rose and went to the door. “Yes, I'll try not to worry any more,” she repeated. “It may all come out right.”

When she found herself alone Cynthia turned and looked at her reflection in the glass.

“He didn't once tell me plainly that he loved me,” she said. “He has never used that word. He has never said that he meant or wanted to mar--” She broke off, staring into the depths of her own great, troubled eyes--“and yet I let him hold me in his arms and kiss me--_me!_” A hot flush filled her neck and face and spread to the roots of her hair. Then suddenly she blew out the light and crept to her bed.

VII

ON the following Saturday morning there was, as usual, a considerable gathering of farmers at Springtown. A heavy fall of rain during the night had rendered the soil unfit for ploughing, and it was a sort of enforced holiday. Many of them stood around Mayhew & Floyd's store. Several women and children were seated between the two long counters, on boxes and the few available chairs. Nelson Floyd was at the high desk in the rear, occupied with business letters, when Pole Baker came in at the back-door and stood near the writer, furtively scanning the long room.

“Where's the old man?” he asked, when Floyd looked up and saw him.

“Not down yet. Dry up, Pole; I was making a calculation, and you knocked it hell west and crooked.”

“Well, I reckon that kin wait. I've got a note fer you.” Pole was taking it from his coat-pocket.

“Miss Cynthia?” Floyd asked, eagerly.

“Not by a long shot,” said Pole. “I reckon maybe you'll wish it was.” He threw the missive on the desk, and went on in quite a portentous tone. “I come by Jeff Wade's house, Nelson, on my way back from the mill. He was inside with his wife and childern, an' as I was passin' one of the little boys run out to the fence and called me in to whar he was. He's a devil of a fellow! He's expectin' his wife to be confined, an' I saw he was try'in' to keep her in the dark. What you reckon he said?”

“How do I know?” The young merchant, with a serious expression of face, had tom open the envelope, but had not yet unfolded the sheet of cheap, blue-lined writing-paper.

“Why, he jest set thar in his chair before the fire, an' as he handed the note up to me he sorter looked knowin' an' said, said he: 'Pole, I'm owin' Mayhew & Floyd a little balance on my account, an' they seem uneasy. I wish you'd take this letter to young Floyd. He's always stood to me, sorter, an' I believe he'll git old Mayhew to wait on me a little while.”

“Did he say that, Pole?” Floyd had opened the note, but was looking straight into Baker's eyes.

“Yes, he said them very words, Nelson, although he knowed I was on hand that day when he paid off his bill in full. I couldn't chip in thar before his wife, an' the Lord knows I couldn't tell him I had an idea what was in the note, so I rid on as fast as I could. I had a turn o' meal under me, an' I tuck it off an' hid it in the thicket t'other side o' Duncan's big spring. I wasn't goin' to carry a secret war-message a-straddle o' two bushels o' meal warm from the mill-rocks. An' I'd bet my hat that sheet o' paper hain't no flag o' truce.”

Floyd read the note. There was scarcely a change in the expression of his face or a flicker of his eyelashes as he folded it with steady fingers and held it in his hand.

“Yes, he says he has got the whole story, Pole,” Floyd said. “He gives me fair warning as a man of honor to arm myself. He will be here at twelve o'clock to the minute.”

“Great God!” Pole ejaculated. “You hain't one chance in a million to escape with yore life. You seed how he shot t'other day. He was excited then--he was as ca'm as a rock mountain when I seed him awhile ago, an' his ride to town will steady 'im more. He sorter drawed down his mouth at one corner an' cocked up his eye, same as to say, 'You understand; thar hain't no use in upsettin' women folks over a necessary matter o' this sort.' Looky' here, Nelson, old pard, some'n has got to be done, an' it's got to be done in a damn big hurry.”

“It will have to be done at twelve 'clock, anyway,” Floyd said, calmly, a grim smile almost rising to his face. “That's the hour he's appointed.”

“Do you mean to tell me you are a-goin' to set here like a knot on a log an' 'low that keen-eyed mountain sharp-shooter to step up in that door an' pin you to that stool?”

“No, I don't mean that, exactly, Pole,” Floyd smiled, coldly. “A man ought not to insult even his antagonist that way. You see, that would be making the offended party liable for wilful, coldblooded murder before the law. No, I've got my gun here in the drawer, and we'll make a pretence at fighting a duel, even if he downs me in the first round.”

“You are a fool, that's what you are!” Pole was angry, without knowing why. “Do you mean to tell me you are a-goin' to put yore life up like that to gratify a man o' Jeff Wade's stamp?”

“He's got his rights, Pole, and I intend to respect them,” Floyd responded with firmness. “I've hurt his family pride, and I'd deserve to be kicked off the face of the earth if I turned tail and ran. He seems to think I may light out; I judge that by his setting the time a couple of hours ahead, but I'll give him satisfaction. I'm built that way, Pole. There is no use arguing about it.”

The farmer stepped forward and laid a heavy-hand on Floyd's shoulder, and stared at him from beneath his lowering brows.

“You know, as well as I do, that you wasn't the only man that--that dabbled in that dirty business,” he said, sharply, “an' it's derned foolish fer you to--”

“I'm the only one he's charging with it,” broke in the merchant, “and that settles it. I'm not an overgrown baby, Pole. Right now you are trying to get me to act in a way that would make you heartily ashamed of me. You might as well dry up. I'm not going to run. I'm going to meet Jeff Wade, fair and square, as a man--as I'd want him to meet me under like circumstances.”

“My God! my God!” Pole said under his breath. “Hush! thar comes Mayhew. I reckon you don't want him to know about it.”

“No, he'd be in for swearing out a peace-warrant. For all you do, Pole, don't let him onto it. I've got to write a letter or two before Wade comes; don't let the old man interrupt me.”

“I'll feel like I'm dancin' on yore scaffold,” the farmer growled. “I want my mind free to--to study. Thar! he's stopped to speak to Joe Peters. Say, Nelson, I see Mel Jones down thar talkin' to a squad in front o' the door; they've got the'r heads packed together as close as sardines. I see through it now. My Lord, I see through _that_.”

“What is it you see through, Pole?” Floyd looked up from Wade's note, his brow furrowed.

“Why, Mel's Jeff Wade's fust cousin; he's onto what's up, an' he's confidin' it to a few; it will be all over this town in five minutes, an' the women an' childem will hide out to keep from bein' hit. Thar they come in at the front now, an' they are around the old man like red ants over the body of a black one. He'll be onto it in a minute. Thar, see? What did I tell you? He's comin' this way. You can tell by the old duck's waddle that he is excited.” Floyd muttered something that escaped Pole's ears, and began writing. Mayhew came on rapidly, tapping his heavy cane on the floor, his eyes glued on the placid profile of his young partner.

“What's this I hear?” he panted. “Has Jeff Wade sent you word that he is comin' here to shoot you?”

Pole laughed out merrily, and, stepping forward, he slapped the old merchant familiarly on the arm. “It's a joke, Mr. Mayhew,” he said. “I put it up on Mel Jones as me'n him rid in town; he's always makin' fun o' women fer tattlin', an' said I to myse'f, said I, 'I'll see how deep that's rooted under yore hide, old chap,' an' so I made that up out o' whole cloth. I was jest tellin' Nelson, here, that I'd bet a hoss to a ginger-cake that Mel 'ud not be able to keep it, an' he hain't. Nelson, by George, the triflin' skunk let it out inside o' ten minutes, although he swore to me he'd keep his mouth shet. I'll make 'im set up the drinks on that.”

“Well, I don't like such jokes,” Mayhew fumed. “Jokes like that and what's at the bottom of them don't do a reputable house any good. And I don't want any more of them. Do you understand, sir?”

“Oh yes, I won't do it ag'in,” answered Pole, in an almost absent-minded tone. His eyes were now on Floyd, and, despite his assumed lightness of manner, the real condition of things was bearing heavily on him. Just then a rough-looking farmer, in a suit of home-made jeans, straw hat, and shoes worn through at the bottom, came back to them. He held in his hand the point of a plough, and looked nervously about him.

“Everybody's busy down in front,” he said, “an' I want to git a quarter's wuth o' coffee.” His glance, full of curiosity, was on Floyd's face. “I want to stay till Wade comes, _myself_, but my old woman's almost got a spasm. She says she seed, enough bloodshed an' carnage durin' the war to do her, an' then she always liked Mr. Floyd. She says she'd mighty nigh as soon see an own brother laid out as him. Mr. Floyd sorter done us a favor two year back when he stood fer us on our corn crop, an', as fer me, why, of course, I--”

“Look here, Bill Champ,” Pole burst out in a spontaneous laugh, “I thought you had more sense than to swallow a joke like that. Go tell yore old woman that I started that tale jest fer pure fun. Nelson here an' Wade is good friends.”

“Oh, well, ef that's it, I'm sold,” the farmer said, sheepishly. “But from the way Mel Jones an' some more talked down thar a body would think you fellers was back here takin' Mr. Floyd's measure fer his box. I'll go quiet my wife. She couldn't talk of a thing all the way here this mornin' but a new dress she was goin' to git, an' now she's fer hurryin' back without even pickin' out the cloth.”

“No, I don't like this sort o' thing,” old Mayhew growled as the customer moved away. “An' I want you to remember that, Baker.”

“Oh, you dry up, old man!” Pole retorted, with sudden impatience. “You'd live longer an' enjoy life better ef you'd joke more. Ef the marrow o' my bones was as sour as yore'n is I'd cut my throat or go into the vinegar business.”

At this juncture Captain Duncan came in the store and walked back to the trio.

“Good-morning,” he said, cheerily. “Say, Floyd, I've heard the news, and thought if you wanted to borrow a pair of real good, old-fashioned duelling pistols, why, I've got some my father owned. They were once used by General--”

“It's all a joke, captain,” Pole broke in, winking at the planter, and casting a look of warning at the now unobservant Mayhew.

“Oh, is _that_ it?” Duncan was quick of perception.

“To tell you the truth, I thought so, boys. Yes, yes--” He was studying Floyd's calm face admiringly. “Yes, it sounded to me like a prank somebody was playing. Well, I thought I'd go fishing this evening, and came in to get some hooks and lines. Fine weather, isn't it? but the river's muddy. I'll go down and pick out some tackle.”

He had just gone when an old woman, wearing a cheap breakfast shawl over her gray head, a dress of dingy solid-black calico, and a pair of old, heavy shoes, approached from the door in the rear.

“I got yore summons, Mr. Mayhew,” she said, in a thin, shaky voice. “Peter, my husband, was so down-hearted that he wouldn't come to town, an' so I had to do it. So you are goin' to foreclose on us? The mule an' cow is all on earth we've got to make the crop on, and when they are gone we will be plumb ruined.”

The face of the old merchant was like carved stone.

“You got the goods, didn't you, Mrs. Stark?” he asked, harshly.

“Oh yes, we hain't disputin' the account,” she answered, plaintively.

“And you agreed faithfully if you didn't pay this spring that the mule and cow would be our property?”

“Oh yes, of course. As I say, Mr. Mayhew, I'm not blamin' you-uns. Thar hain't a thing for me an' Peter to do but thrust ourselves on my daughter and son-in-law over in Fannin', but I'd rather die than go. We won't be welcome; they are loaded down with childern too young to work. So it's settled, Mr. Mayhew--I mean, ef we drive over the mule an' cow, thar won't be no lawsuit?”

“No, there won't be any suit. I'd let this pass and give you more time, Mrs. Stark, but a thing like that can't be kept quiet through the country, an' there are fifty customers of ours over your way who'd be runnin' here with some cock-and-bull story, and we'd be left high and dry, with goods to pay for in market and nothing to show for it. We make our rules, Mrs. Stark, and they are clearly understood at the time the papers are signed.”

“Never you mind, Mrs. Stark, I'll fix that all right.” It was Nelson Floyd who was speaking, and with a face full of pity and tenderness he had stepped forward and was offering to shake hands.

The little woman, her lips twitching and drawn, gave him her hand, her eyes wide open in groping wonder.

“I don't understand, Nelson--Mr. Floyd--you mean--”

“I mean that I'll have your entire account charged to me and you can take your time about paying it--next fall, or the next, or any time it suits you. I'll not press you fer it, if you never pay it. I passed your place the other day and your crop looks very promising. You are sure to get out of debt this coming fall.”

“Oh, Nelson--I--I don't know what to do about it. You see Mr. Mayhew says--”

“But I say it's all right,” Floyd broke in, as he laid his hand softly on her shoulder. “Go down in front and buy what you need to run on. I'll assume the risk, if there is any.”

Mayhew turned suddenly; his face wore a fierce frown and his thick lip shook.

“Do you mean to say, Nelson, that you are going to step in and--”

“Step in nothing!” Floyd said, calmly. “I hope I won't have to remind you, sir, of our clearly written agreement of partnership, in which it is plainly stated that I may use my judgment in regard to customers whenever I wish.”

“You'll ruin us--you'll break us all to smash, if you do this sort of thing,” Mayhew panted. “It will upset our whole system.”

“I don't agree with you, sir,” Floyd answered, tartly, “but we won't argue about it. If you don't intend to abide by our agreement, then say so and we will part company.”

Mayhew stared in alarm for a moment, then he said:

“There's no use talking about parting. I only want to kind of hold you in check. You get your sympathies stirred up and make plunges sometimes when you ought to act with a clear, impartial head. You say the crop looks well; then it's all right. Go ahead, Mrs. Stark. Anything Nelson does is agreeable to me.”

“Well, it's mighty good of you both,” the old woman said, wiping tears of joy from her eyes. “But I won't buy anything to-day. I'll ride out to the farm as quick as I can and tell Peter the good news. He's mighty nigh out of his senses about it.”

Mayhew followed her down into the store. It was as if he were ashamed to meet the quizzical look which Pole Baker had fixed upon him. He had no sooner turned his back than Pole faced Floyd, his heavy brows drawn together, his every feature working under stress of deep emotion.

“They say the Almighty is a just and a good God,” Pole said. “But I'll deny it all the rest o' my life ef He lets Jeff Wade shoot down sech a specimen o' manhood as you are fer jest that one slip, after--after, I say, after fillin' you with the fire of youth an' puttin' right in yore track a gal like that Minnie Wade, with a pair o' dare-devil eyes an' a shape that ud make a Presbyterian preacher--”

“Dry up, Pole!” Floyd cried, suddenly. “Don't forget yourself in your worry about me. A man is always more to blame than a woman, and it's only the cowards that shirk the consequences.”

“Well, you have it yore way, an' I'll have it mine,” Pole snorted. “What both of us think hain't got a damn thing to do with the time o' day. How does she stand by your ticker?”

Floyd looked at his watch. “It's a quarter-past eleven,” he said.

“The hell it is!” Pole went to the back-door and looked out at the dreary stable-yard and barn. He stood there for several minutes in deep thought, then he seemed to make up his mind on something that was troubling him, for he suddenly thrust his hand into his hip-pocket, turned his back on Floyd, drew out a revolver, and rapidly twirled the cylinder with his heavy thumb.