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Barrier, a novel by Rex Beach |
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Chapter 12. A Tangled Skein |
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_ CHAPTER XII. A TANGLED SKEIN When Burrell entered he wasted no time in greetings. "I know why you sent for me, Poleon. I've heard the news, and I would have been up anyhow to congratulate her very soon. I call it pretty fine." "Yes, dere's been beeg strike all right, an' Necia is goin' be riche gal." "I'm as pleased as if the claim were mine, and you feel the same way, of course." The Frenchman nodded. "I love Necia very much, lak'--well, lak' I'm broder to her." The knowledge that she was listening made him very uncomfortable--in fact, this whole affair savored more of double-dealing and treachery than anything he had ever attempted, and it went sorely against his grain, but it had presented itself as the only way to help her, and he proceeded, groping haltingly for fit expression, "Dere's t'ing I want for talk 'bout wit' you, but I'm scare' you'll t'ink I'm butt in." "Nonsense," said Burrell. "I know you too well for that." "You know me for good man, eh? An' you know I ain' try for bre'k up oder fellers' biznesse, never! Wal, I'm come to you now lak' wan good man to 'noder biccause I'm got bad trouble on de min', an' you mus'n't get sore." "There's no danger, Poleon. Let's have it. If there is anything I can do, you may count on me." "Wal," he began, nervously, clearing his throat, "it's lak' dis. Dere's feller been talk some 'bout Necia, an' it ain' nice talk neider." "Who is he?" exclaimed the soldier, in a tone that made the girl's heart leap. "Wait! Lemme tol' you w'at he say, den we'll talk 'bout feex 'im plaintee. He say dere's joke down on Stark's saloon dat Necia Gale is mak' fool of herse'f on you, an' dat you ain' care for marry her." "Runnion!" cried Burrell, and started for the door. "I'll settle with him now for fair!" But Poleon blocked his way, and, observing him gravely, continued, in a tone that the other could not disregard nor mistake: "No, M'sieu', before you pass on dat place you'll tol' me if it's true." "True!" the Lieutenant retorted, angrily. "What business is it of yours? This concerns me." "An' me, too! I'm w'at you call gardeen for Necia till John Gale come back, an' I'm broder of her, too. You promis' jus' now you don' get mad, an' I don' say she's Runnion neider w'at spik dose t'ing; dere's more dan 'im been talkin'. Is it true?" His sternness offended Burrell, for the soldier was not the kind to discuss his affairs in this way, therefore he drew back scowling. "Poleon Doret," he said, "it's not one's enemies who do him injury, it's his damned fool friends. I have learned to regard you highly because you are a brave man and an honest one, but it seems that you are a sentimental idiot." "Dem is tough word," Doret replied. "But dere's reason w'y I can't tak' on no madnesse. You say I'm hones'. Wal, I'm hones' now, an' I come to you wit' fair words an' I show my han' to you--I don' hoi' out no cards, M'sieu'--but I don' t'ink it is you who have play square, altogeder. I'm Necia's frien', an' I'll fight for her jus' so queecker lak' you, but I mus' know dis t'ing for sure, so if you have de good heart an' de courage of good man you'll tell me de truth. Do you have the feelin' for marry on her?" The pause that followed was awkward for both of them, while the girl, who stood concealed near by, held her breath and buried her nails in her palms. Why did he hesitate? Would he never speak? It seemed not, for he swung between diverse emotions--anger that this outsider should question him on so intimate a matter, chagrin at the knowledge of having injured Necia, and rage, blind rage, at the thought of its becoming a bar-room topic. Gradually the conviction grew that it was not a question of idle curiosity with Doret, and the man's history recurred to him. No wonder he was interested in the girl, no wonder he wished to guard her; he had been a brother indeed, even as he said, and he could have no motive save an honorable one. It never occurred to the soldier that this Frenchman could harbor feelings akin to his own. The man was rough and foreign; his thoughts had been couched in harsher language, perhaps, than he intended; moreover, the fellow's high sense of honor was a byword--and of a sudden the desire to set himself right in this man's eyes dictated his answer. "I am amazed at myself for listening to you," he said, at last, "and quite shocked, in fact, at my answering your questions, but perhaps I'd better, after all. First, however, let me say that the little girl is just as pure now as she was before she knew me--" Poleon threw up his hand. "M'sieu', dat's more closer to de insult dan w'at you call me jus' now. You don' need for spoke it." "You're right! There's no need to tell you that. As for showing her certain attentions--well, I admit that I have, as you know, but, thank God, I can say I've been a gentleman and addressed her as I would the fairest lady I've known." "An' you mean for marry, eh?" probed the other. Now, no man could have answered such a direct question easily, and in this case it was especially hard for the Kentuckian, who was torn between his ungovernable desire and that decision which cold reason had thrust upon him. He wanted to say, "Yes, I'll marry her to-morrow," but something bade him pause before he sacrificed upon this altar of a youthful love his life, his hopes, his ambitions. Had he not wrestled with himself for months in thinking it all out, until his mind was weary and listless with the effort? For the great test that tries a man's soul and compels him to know himself had not yet come to Meade Burrell; wherefore, he hesitated long. "I did not say so," he declared, at last. "It's a thing I can't well discuss, because I doubt if you could understand what I would say. This life of yours is different from mine, and it would be useless for me to explain the reason why I cannot marry her. Leaving out all question of my sentiment, there are insurmountable obstacles to such a union; but as to this talk, I think that can be stopped without annoyance to her, and as for the rest, we must trust to time to bring about a proper adjustment--" A low, discordant sound of laughter arrested his words, and, turning, he beheld Necia standing revealed in the dimness. "What an amusing person you are!" she said. "I've had hard work holding in all this time while you were torturing your mind and twisting the honest English language out of shape and meaning. I knew I should have to laugh sooner or later." "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Is it a joke?" "Indeed it is," she declared, laughing afresh, "and the best I've ever enjoyed. Wasn't it funny, Poleon"--she turned gayly to the Frenchman, but he stood like one petrified--"to see him debating coolly whether he cared for me enough to face the world with me, and trying to explain to you that he was too good to marry a squaw? Oh, you were very gentlemanly about it, sir, and you wouldn't have hurt my feelings for the world!" "Necia!" "That's your Dixie chivalry, I suppose. Well, I've played with you long enough, Lieutenant Burrell, I'm tired of the game, and you interest me no longer." "You--you--say you've been playing with me!" stammered the man. The bottom of things seemed suddenly to slide from under him; he was like one sinking in some hideous quagmire. He felt as if he were choking. "Why, of course," she cried, scornfully, "just as you took me up for amusement. You were such a fine, well-dressed, immaculate mound of conceit that I couldn't resist the temptation, and you hid your condescension so poorly that I thought you ought to be taken down a peg. I knew I was a squaw, but I wanted to see if I were not like other women, after all, and if you were not like other men." She was talking rapidly now, almost shrilly, for she had never attempted to act before, while he stood dazed and speechless, fumbling at his throat while she railed at him. "You needn't waste time debating whether I'm good enough for you, because I'm not--decidedly, I'm not your kind, and you are a joke to me." He uttered an inarticulate cry, but she ran on unheeding, her eyes wide and glowing like coals, her lips chalk-white. "You see, it's time I stopped such foolishness, anyhow, for I'm to be married on Sunday." "You are going to be married?" he muttered, laboriously. "Yes, to Poleon. Why, that's been understood for years." He whirled upon the Canadian in a fury, and his words came hot and tumbling. "So you're in this, Doret. You're a part of this little farce. You trapped me here to make a fool of me, did you? Well, I can settle with you--" "D-don't blame him!" cried the girl, hysterically. "It is all my doing. He had no part in it." Burrell wheeled back to the Frenchman again. "Is this true?" "Yes," said Doret, in a restrained voice. "Dis ain' no work of mine." "You're a liar!" breathed the Kentuckian, now fairly wild with anger; but the other looked him squarely between the eyes and made no move. "M'sieu'," he cried, "I'm livin' t'orty year, an' never took no nam' lak' dat before, but dere's reason here w'y I can't mak' no answer." He inclined his head towards the girl, and before Burrell could break out again he checked him. "It's no good mak' fight wit' lesser dan two people. You've tol' me dat you are gentleman. Wal, I ain' nobody but trapper an' trader, but I don' spoil de name of no good girl, an' I don' quarrel in presence of lady, so mebbe, affer all, dere's mistak' somew'ere, an' I'm gentleman mese'f 'stead of you." "Why, you aren't really angry, Lieutenant?" mocked Necia. "It's only the joke of an ignorant half-breed girl whose sense of humor is all out of gear. You mustn't quarrel over a SQUAW!" She taunted him like a baited badger, for this thing was getting beyond her control and the savage instincts of the wilderness were uppermost. "You are quite right," he replied. "I am very foolish, and the laugh is with you." His lips tried to frame a smile, but failed, and he added: "Your wit is not my kind, that is all. I beg you both to accept my congratulations on your nuptials. Undoubtedly, you will be happy together; two people with such similar ideas of humor must have much to enjoy in common." He bowed low and, turning, walked out. The moment he was gone she cried, breathlessly: "You must marry me, Poleon. You've got to do it now." "Do you mean dat for sure?" he said. "Can't you see there's nothing else for it, after this? I'll show him that he can't make me a toy to suit his convenience. I've told him I would marry you on Sunday, and I'll do it or die. Of course you don't love me, for you don't know what love is, I suppose; how--could you?" She broke down and began to catch her breath amid coughing sobs that shook her slender body, though they left her eyes dry and feverish. "I--I'm very unhappy, b-but I'll be a good--wife to you. Oh, Poleon, if you only knew--" He drew a long breath. When he spoke his voice had the timbre of some softly played instrument, and a tremor ran through his words. "No! I don' know w'at kin' of love is dis, for sure. De kin' of love I know is de kin' I sing 'bout in my songs; I s'pose it's different breed to yours, an' I'm begin to see it don' live nowhere but on dem songs of mine. Dere's long tarn' I waste here now--five year--but to-morrow I go again lookin' for my own countree." "Poleon!" she cried, looking up with startled eyes. "Not to-morrow, but Sunday--we will go together." He shook his head. "To-morrow, Necia! An' I go alone." "Then you won't--marry me?" she asked, in a hushed and frightened voice. "No! Dere's wan t'ing I can't do even for you, Necia, dere's wan t'ing I can't geeve, dat's all--jus' wan on all de worl'. I can't kill de li'l' god wit' de bow an' arrer. He's all dat mak' de sun shine, de birds sing, an' de leaves w'isper to me; he's de wan li'l' feller w'at mak' my life wort' livin' an' keep music in my soul. If I keel 'im dere ain' no more lef lak' it, an' I'm never goin' fin' my lan' of content, nor sing nor laugh no more. I'm t'inkin' I would rader sing songs to 'im all alone onderneat' de stars beside my campfire, an' talk wit' 'im in my bark canoe, dan go livin' wit' you in fine house an' let 'im get col' an' die." "But I told him I'd marry you--that I had always intended to. He'll believe I was lying," she moaned, in distress. "Dat's too bad--but dis t'ing ain' no doin's wit' me. Dere's wan t'ing in dis worl' mus' live forever, an' dat's love--if we kill 'im den it's purty poor place for stoppin' in. I'm cut off my han' for help you, Necia, but I can't be husban' to no woman in fun." "Your foolish head is full of romance," she burst out. "You think you're doing me a favor, but you're not. Why, there's Runnion--he wants me so much that he'd 'even marry me'!" Her wild laughter stabbed the man. "Was ever a girl in such a fix! I've been made love to ever since I was half a woman, but at thought of a priest men seem to turn pale and run like whipped dogs. I'm only good enough for a bad man and a gambler, I suppose." She sank to a seat, flung out her arms hopelessly, and, bowing her head, began to weep uncontrollably. "If--if--I only had a woman to talk to--but they are all men--all men." Poleon waited patiently until her paroxysm of sobbing had passed, then gently raised her and led her out through the back door into the summer day, which an hour ago had been so bright and promising and was now so gray and dismal. He followed her with his eyes until she disappeared inside the log-house. "An' dat's de end of it all," he mused. "Five year I've wait--an' jus' for dis." Meade Burrell never knew how he gained his quarters, but when he had done so he locked his door behind him, then loosed his hold on things material. He raged about the room like a wild animal, and vented his spite on every inanimate thing that lay within reach. His voice was strange in his own ears, as was the destructive frenzy that possessed him. In time he grew quieter, as the physical energy of this brutal impulse spent itself; but there came no surcease of his mental disquiet. As yet his mind grasped but dully the fact that she was to marry another, but gradually this thought in turn took possession of him. She would be a wife in two days. That great, roistering, brown man would fold her to himself--she would yield to him every inch of her palpitant, passionate body. The thought drove the lover frantic, and he felt that madness lay that way if he dwelt on such fancies for long. Of a sudden he realized all that she meant to him, and cursed himself anew. While he had the power to possess her he had dallied and hesitated, but now that he had no voice in it, now that she was irretrievably beyond his reach, he vowed to snatch her and hold her against the world. As he grew calmer his reason began to dissect the scene that had taken place in the store, and he wondered whether she had been lying to him, after all. No doubt she had been engaged to the Frenchman, and had always planned to wed Poleon, for that was not out of reason; she might even have set out mischievously to amuse herself with him, but at the recollection of those rapturous hours they had spent together, he declared aloud that she had loved him, and him only. Every instinct in him shouted that she loved him, in spite of her cruel protestations. All that afternoon he stayed locked in his room, and during those solitary hours he came to know his own soul. He saw what life meant: what part love plays in it, how dwarfed and withered all things are when pitted against it. A man came with his supper, but he called to him to be gone. The night settled slowly, and with the darkness came such a feeling of despair and lonesomeness that Burrell lighted every lamp and candle in the place to dispel, in some measure, the gloom that had fallen upon him. There are those who believe that in passing from daylight to darkness a subtle transition occurs akin to the change from positive to negative in an electrical current, and that this intangible, untraceable atmospheric influence exerts a definite, psychical effect upon men and their modes of thought. Be this as it may, it is certain that as the night grew darker the Lieutenant's mood changed. He lost his fierce anger at the girl, and reasoned that he owed it to her to set himself right in her eyes; that in all justice to her he ought to prove his own sincerity, and assure her that whatever her own state of mind had been, she wronged him when she said he had made sport of her for his own pleasure. She might then dismiss him and proceed with her marriage, but first she must know this much of the truth at least. So he argued, insensible to the sophistry of his reasoning, which was in reality impelled by the hunger to see her and hear her voice again. He snatched his hat and bolted out, almost running in his eagerness. An up-river steamboat was just landing as he neared the trading-post--a freighter, as he noted by her lights. In the glare at the river-bank he saw Poleon and the trader, who had evidently returned from Lee's Creek, and without accosting them he hurried on to the store. Peering in from the darkness, he saw Alluna; no doubt Necia was alone in the house behind. So he stumbled around to the back to find the window of her room aglow behind its curtain, and, receiving no answer to his knock, he entered, for it was customary at Gale's to waive ceremony. Inside the big room he paused, then stepped swiftly across and rapped at her door, falling back a pace as she came out. Instead of speaking at once, as he had planned, to prevent her escaping, he was struck speechless, for the vision that met his eyes was that which he had seen one blithe spring morning three months before; but to-night there was no shawl to conceal her sweetly rounded neck and shoulders, whose whiteness was startling against the black of the ball-room gown. The slim gold chain hung around her neck and her hair was piled high, as before. He noted every smallest detail as she stood there waiting for him to speak, forgetful of everything else. She had put on the gown again to see if, perchance, there might be some mark of her blood or breed that had escaped her previous scrutiny, and, as there was no one to observe her, she had attired herself slowly, absorbed in her whimsy. Her wistful beauty dazed the young man and robbed him of the words he had rehearsed; but as she made to flee from him, with a pitiful gesture, towards her room, the fear of losing her aroused him and spurred his wit. "Don't go away! I have something I must tell you. I've thought it over, and you've got to listen, Necia." "I am listening," she answered, very quietly. "Understand me, I'm not whining, and I'm willing to take my medicine. I couldn't talk or think very straight this afternoon, but you were wrong." "Yes, I know now, I was wrong. It was most unlady-like, wasn't it? But you see, I am only a little savage." "I don't mean that; I mean you were wrong when you said I had played with you. In the sight of God, I swear you were mistaken. You have made me love you, Necia. Can't you see?" She made no sign. "If you can't, I owe it to you and to myself to set you right. I am not ashamed to acknowledge my love, and even when you are married to Poleon I want you to know that I shall love you always." Even yet she made no sign. Was he not merely repeating the same empty words with which he had so often beguiled her? There was no word of marriage: he still considered her unworthy, beneath him. The pain of it caused the girl to wince suddenly, and her sensitive face flinched, seeing which he broke out: "You do love me, Necia--you do; I see it in your eyes!" And he started towards her with open arms, but she shrank away from him. "No, no! Don't touch me!" she almost screamed. "My dear one," he breathed, "you must listen to me. You have nothing to fear, for I love you--love you--love you! You were made for me! You'll be my wife. Yes; you'll be married on Sunday, but to me, not to Poleon or any other man!" Did she hear aright? Was he, her soldier lover, asking her, the Indian girl--? "You do love me, don't you?" he pleaded. But still she could not speak, and he tried to read the answer in her swimming eyes. "You mean--you want to--marry me?" she murmured, at last, hesitating shyly at the word that had come to play so momentous a part in her little world. "Indeed I do!" he declared, with emphasis. "In spite of everything, anything. Nothing else matters." "Nothing?" "Nothing! I'll quit the army. I'll give up the Service, and my people, too. I'll put everything back of me, and we'll start out anew--just you and I." "Wait a moment," she said, retreating a little from his eager, out-stretched arms. "Why do you need to do all that?" "Never mind why; it's as good as done. You wouldn't understand--" "But I think I do understand now. Do I really mean all that to you?" "Yes, and more!" "Listen to me," said the girl, quietly. "I want you to talk slowly so I may not misunderstand. If you--marry me, must you forego all those great things you speak of--your profession, your family, your future?" "Don't let's talk about it, Necia; I've got you, and--" "Please answer me," she urged. "I thought I understood, but I'm afraid I don't. I thought it was my being a breed that stood in the way--" "There's nothing in the way--" "--that I wasn't good enough. I knew I could overcome that; I knew I could make myself grow to your level, but I didn't think my blood would fetter you and make this difference. I suppose I am putting it awkwardly, because I'm not sure that I quite understand it myself yet. Things seem different now, somehow, than they did before." "Nonsense!" exclaimed the soldier. "If they don't bother me, Necia, why should you worry?" "Would you really have to give up your family--your sister? Would those people you are so proud of and who are so proud of you--would they cut you off?" "There is no question of cutting off. I have no inheritance coming; I don't want any. I don't want anything except you, dear." "Won't you tell me?" she persisted. "You see, I am dull at these things." "Well, what if they do?" he conceded. "You more than make it up to me--you outweigh a thousand families." "And would your marriage to a--a--to me destroy your army career?" "Well, it will really be much easier for both of us if I resign from the Service," he finally admitted. "In fact, I've decided to do so at once." "No, no! You mustn't do that. To-night you think I am worth the price, but a day will come--" He leaned forward and caught her hands in his. "--Meade, I can't let you do it." "I'd like to see you help yourself," he said, banteringly. "I can and I will. You must not marry me, Meade--it's not right--it can't be." She suddenly realized what this renunciation would mean, and began to shiver. To think of losing him now, after he had come to her freely--it would be very hard! But to her, too, there had come the revelation that love means sacrifice, and she knew now that she loved her soldier too well to let her shadow darken his bright future, too well to ruin him. "It will be over before you know it," she heard him saying, in a lame attempt at levity. "Father Barnum is an expert, and the operation won't occupy him ten minutes." "Meade, you must listen to me now," she said, so earnestly that it sobered him. "Do you think a girl could be happy if she knew a good man had spoiled his life for her? I would rather die now than let you do such a thing. I couldn't bear to see myself a drag on you. Oh, I know it would be wonderful, this happiness of ours, for a time, and then--" She was finding it more and more difficult to continue. "A prisoner grows to hate the chains that bind him; when that day came for you, I should hate myself. No, no! Believe me, it can't be. You're not of my people, and I'm not of yours." At that moment they heard the voices of the trader and his squaw outside, approaching the house. The girl's breath caught in her throat, she flung herself recklessly upon her lover's breast and threw her arms around his neck in an agony of farewell. "Meade! Meade! my soldier!" she sobbed, "kiss me good-bye for the last time!" "No," he said roughly. But she dragged his face down to her burning lips. "Now you must go," she said, tearing herself away, "and, for my sake, don't see me again." "I will! I will! I'll ask your father for you to-night." "No, no! Don't; please don't! Wait till--till to-morrow--till I say the word! Promise me! On your love, promise!" Her eyes held such a painful entreaty that he nodded acquiescence as the door opened and her father and Alluna entered. _ |
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