The Moccasin Ranch: A Story of Dakota Page 6

  VI

  DECEMBER

  Winter came late, but with a fury which appalled the strong hearts ofthe settlers. Most of them were from the wooded lands of the East, andthe sweep of the wind across this level sod had a terror which made themquake and cower. The month of December was incredibly severe.

  Day after day the thermometer fell so far below zero that no livingthing moved on the wide, white waste. The snows seemed never at rest.One storm followed another, till the drifting, icy sands were worn asfine as flour. The house was like a cave. Its windows, thick with frost,let in only a pallid light at midday. There was little for Blanche todo, and there was nothing for her to say to Willard, who came and wentaimlessly between the barn and house. His poor old team could no longerface the cold wind without danger of freezing, and so he walked to thestore for the mail and the groceries. They lived on boiled potatoes andbacon, suffering like prisoners--jailed innocently. He hovered about thestove, feeding it twisted bundles of hay till he grew yellow with thetanning effect of the smoke, while Blanche cowered in her chair,petulant and ungenerous.

  The winter deepened. There were many days when the sun shone, but thesnow slid across the plain with a menacing, hissing sound, and the skywas milky with flying frost, and the horizon looked cold and wild; butthese were merely the pauses between storms. The utter dryness of theflakes and the never-resting progress of the winds kept the driftsshifting, shifting.

  "This is what you've dragged me into!" Blanche burst out, one desolateday after a week's confinement to the house. "This is your finehome--this dug-out! This is the climate you bragged about. I can't stayhere any longer. Oh, my God, if I was only back home again!" She rose,and walked back and forth, her shawl trailing after her. "If I'd had anyword to say about it, we never'd 'a' been out in this God-forsakencountry."

  He bowed his head to her passion and sat in silence, while she raged on.

  "Do you know we haven't got ten pounds of flour in the house? Andanother blizzard likely? And no butter, either? What y' goin' to do? Letme starve?"

  "I _did_ intend to go over to Bussy's and get back the flour theyborrowed of us, but I'm a little afraid to go out to-day; it looks likeanother norther. The wind's rising, and old Tom--"

  "But that's just the reason why you've got to go. We can't run suchrisks. We've got to eat or die--you ought to know that."

  Burke rose, and began putting on his wraps. "I'll go over and see what Ican squeeze out of old lady Bussy."

  "Oh, this wind will drive me crazy!" she cried out. "Oh, I wish somebodywould come!" She dropped upon the bed, sobbing with a hystericalcatching of the breath. The wind was piping a high-keyed, mourning noteon the chimney-top, a sound that rang echoing down through every hiddenrecess of her brain, shaking her, weakening her, till at last she turnedupon her husband with wild eyes.

  "Take me with you! I can't stay here any longer--I shall go crazy!" Sheturned her head to listen. "Isn't some one coming? Look out and see! Ihear bells!"

  Burke tried to soothe her in his timid, clumsy fashion.

  "There, there, now--sit down. You ain't well, Blanche. I'll ask Mrs.Bussy to come--"

  She suddenly seemed to remember something. "Don't talk to her. Go toCraig's. Don't go to Bussy's--please don't! I hate her. I won't be inher debt."

  This pleading tone puzzled him, but he promised; and, hitching up histhin, old horses, drove around to the door of the shanty. Blanche cameout, dressed to go with him, but when she felt the edge of the wind sheshrank. Her lips turned blue and she cowered back against the side ofthe cabin, holding her shawl like a shield before her bosom. "I can't doit! It's too cold! I'd freeze to death. You'll have to go alone."

  Burke was relieved. "Yes, you'd better stay," he said, and drove off.

  Blanche crept back into the shanty and bent above the stove, shiveringviolently. She drew a long breath now and then like a grieving child.Life was over for her. She had reached the point where nothing mattered.She sat there until the sound of bells aroused her. "It's Jim!" shecalled, and rose to her feet, her face radiant with relief. Rivers camerushing up to the door in a two-horse sleigh and leaped out with a shoutof greeting, though he could not see her at the frosted window.

  A moment later he burst in, vigorous, smiling, defiant of the cold.

  "Hello! All alone? How are you?"

  A quick warmth ran through her chilled limbs, and she lifted her handsto him.

  "Oh, Jim, I'm so glad you came!"

  "Keep away--I'm all snow," he warningly called, as he threw off his capand buffalo coat. "Now come to me," he said, and took her in his arms."How are you, sweetheart? I can't kiss you--my mustache is all ice.Where's Burke?"

  "Gone to Craig's."

  He winked jovially while pulling the icicles from his long mustache.

  "I thought I saw him driving across the ridge. I was on my way to thestore, but when I saw his old rack-a-bone team I turned off to see you.How are you?" he asked, tenderly, and his voice swept away all herreserve.

  "Oh, Jim, I'm not well. You must take me away, _right off_. I can't stayhere another day--_not a day_."

  He looked at her keenly.

  "Why? What's the matter?"

  She evaded his eyes.

  "It's so lonesome here--" Then she dropped all evasion: "You knowwhy--Jim, take me away. I can't live without you _now_. I'm going to besick."

  He understood her very well. His eyes fell and his face knotted insudden gravity. "I was afraid of that--that's why I came. Yes, you mustget out of here at once."

  She understood him. "Oh, Jim, you won't leave me now, will you?"

  "No. I didn't say anything about leaving you." He put his arm aroundher. "I'm not that kind of a man. You and I were built for each other--Ifelt that on that first ride. I guess it's up to me to take you out ofthis." He broke off his emotional utterance and grew keen and alert.

  "I've been planning to go, and I'm almost ready--in fact, I could leavenow without much loss, but I didn't come prepared for anything sosudden. My office furniture don't amount to much, and this team isBailey's"--he mused a moment. "_Come!_" he said, with sudden resolution,"it's go now--we'll never have a better chance."

  She turned white with dread--now that she neared the actual deed.

  "Oh, Jim! I _wish_ there was some other way."

  He was a little rough. Her feminine hesitation he could not sympathizewith.

  "Well, there isn't. We've got to get right out of this. Hurry on yourthings. The wind is rising, and we must make Wheatland by five o'clock.I came out to hold down my claim, but it ain't worth it. I reckon I'vesqueezed all the juice out of this lemon. This climate is a littleboisterous for me."

  He brought in a blanket and warmed it at the fire while she wrappedherself in cloak and shawl.

  "I'd better write a little note to--him."

  "What for? I've got nothing against him, except that he saw you first.But I guess he's out of the running now. It's you and me from this dayon."

  "I hate to go without saying good-bye," she said, tremulously. "He'salways been good to me," she added, smitten with sudden realization ofher husband's kindness.

  He perceived that she was in earnest. "All right--only it does no good,and delays us. Every minute is valuable now. The outlook is owly."

  The plain was getting gray as they came out of the door, and the womanshrank and shivered with an instant chill, but Rivers tenderly tuckedthe robe about her and leaped into the sleigh.

  "Now boys, git!" he shouted to the humped and wind-ruffled team, andthey sprang away into the currents of powdered snow, which were runningalong the ground in streams as smooth as oil and almost as silent.

  The sleigh rose and fell over the ridges like a ship. Off in the westthe sun was shining through a peculiar smoky cloud, gray-white, vapory,with glittering edges where it lay against the cold, yellow sky. Everysign was ominous, and the long drive seemed a desperate venture to thewoman, but she trusted her lover as a child depends upon a father. Shenestled close down unde
r his left arm, clothed in its shaggybuffalo-skin coat, a splendid elation in her heart. She was at last withthe strong man to whom she belonged.

  This elation did not last long. Her sense of safety died slowly out,just as the blood chilled in her veins. She was not properly clothed,and her feet soon ached with cold, and she drew her breath through herteeth to prevent the utterance of moans of pain. She was never free nowfrom the feeling of guardianship which is the delight and the hauntinguneasiness of motherhood. "I must be warm," she thought, "for _its_sake."

  She heard his voice above.

  "I never'll settle in a prairie country again--not but what I've donewell enough as a land-agent, but there's no big thing here foranybody--nothing for the land-agent now."

  "Oh, Jim, I'm so cold! I'm afraid I can't stand it!" she broke out,desperately.

  "There, there!" he said, as if she were a child. "Cuddle down on myknees. Be brave. You'll get warmer soon as we turn south."

  Nevertheless, he was alarmed as he looked about him. He gathered herclose in his arm, holding the robe about her, and urged on his braveteam. They were hardly five miles from the shanty, and yet the stormwas becoming frightful, even to his resolute and experienced brain. Thecircle of his vision had narrowed till it was impossible at times to seefifty rods away. The push of the wind grew each moment mightier. Amultitudinous, soft, rushing, whispering roar was rising round them,mixed with a hissing, rustling sound like the passing of invisible,winged hosts. He could feel his woman shake with cold, but she spoke nofurther word of complaint.

  He turned the horses suddenly to the left, speaking through his teeth.

  "We must make the store," he said. "We must have more wraps. We'll stopat the Ranch and get warm, and then go on. The wind may lull--anyway, itwill be at our backs."

  As the team turned to the south the air seemed a little less savage, butBlanche still writhed with pain. Her hands suffered most; her feet hadgrown numb.

  "We'll be there in a few minutes," Rivers cheerily repeated, but hebegan to understand her desperate condition.

  A quarter of an hour later his team drew up before the door of theranch-house. It seemed deliciously warm in the lee of the long walls.

  "Well, here we are. Now we'll go in and get warm."

  "What if Mr. Bailey is there?" she stammered, with stiff lips.

  "No matter, you must not freeze."

  He shouted, "Hello, Bailey!" There was no reply, and he leaped out."Come, you must go in." He took her in his arms and carried her into theroom, dim, yet gloriously warm by contrast with the outside air. "Feelsgood here, doesn't it? Now, while I roll up some blankets, you warm--Wemust be quick. I'll find you some overshoes."

  Blanche staggered on her numb feet, which felt like clods. She was weakwith cold, and everything grew dark before her.

  "Oh, Jim, I can't go on. I'll freeze. I'll die--I know I shall. My feetare frozen solid."

  He dragged a chair to the hearth of the stove, in which a coal fire lay.His action was bold and confident.

  "No, you won't. I'll have you all right in a jiffy. Trouble is, you'renot half dressed. You need woollen underclothing and a new fur cloak.We'll make it sealskin to pay for this."

  He unlaced her shoes and slipped them off, and, while she sobbed withagony, he rolled her stockings down and took her cold, white feet in hiswarm, swift hands. In a few minutes the wrinkles of pain on her facesmoothed out, and a flush came into her cheeks. The tears stood on hereyelashes. She was like a sorrowing child who forgets its grief in aquick return of happiness.

  Suddenly Rivers stopped and listened. His face grew set and dark withapprehension. "Here, put your veil back, quick! It's Bailey! Don'tanswer him, unless I tell you to."

  Outside a clear voice pierced through the wind. It was Bailey speakingto the horses.

  Rivers went on, angrily: "If you'd been half dressed, this wouldn't havehappened. There'll be hell to pay unless I can convince him--"

  A hand was laid on the knob and Bailey entered.

  "Hello, Jim! I didn't think you'd come out to-day." He eyed the muffledwoman sharply. "Who've you got with you--Mrs. Burke?"

  "It don't concern you," Rivers replied. He saw his mistake instantly,and changed his tone. "Yes, I'm taking her home. Come, Mrs. Burke, wemust be going."

  "Wait a minute, Jim," said Bailey. He studied them both carefully."Something's wrong here. I feel that. Where are you going, Jim?"

  Rivers' wrath flamed out. "None o' your business. Come, Blanche." Heturned to her. His tones betrayed him again.

  Bailey faced him, with his back to the door.

  "Wait a minute, Jim."

  "Get out o' my way."

  There was a silence, and in that silence the two men faced each other asif under some strange light. They seemed alien to each other, yetfamiliar, too. Bailey spoke first:

  "Jim, I know all about it. You're stealing another man's wife--and, byGod, I won't let you do it!" His voice shook so that he hardly utteredhis sentence intelligibly. The sweat of shame broke out on his face, buthe did not falter. "I've seen this coming on all summer. I ought to haveinterfered before--"

  Rivers laid a hand on him. "Stand out o' my way, or I'll kill you."

  The quiver went out of Bailey's voice. He took his partner's hand downfrom his shoulder, and when he dropped it there was a bracelet ofwhitened flesh where his fingers had circled it. "You'll stay righthere, Jim, till I say 'go.'"

  Rivers reached for a weapon. "Will I?" he asked. "I wonder if I will?"

  Blanche burst out: "Oh, Jim, don't! Please don't!"

  The men did not hear her. They saw no one, heard no one. They werefacing each other in utter disregard of time or place.

  Bailey's tone grew sad and tender, but he did not move: "All right, Jim.If you want to go to hell as the murderer of your best friend, as wellas for stealing another man's wife, do it. But you sha'n't go out ofthis door with that woman _while I live_. Now, that's final." His voicewas low, and his words came slowly, but not from weakness.

  For a moment hell looked from the other man's eyes. He was like a tigerintercepted in his leap upon his prey. The laugh had vanished from hishazel eyes--they were gray and cold and savage, but there was somethingequally forceful in Bailey's gaze.

  Rivers could not shoot. He was infuriate, but he was not insane. Heturned away, cursing his luck. His face, twitching and white, wasterrible to look upon, but the crisis was over.

  Bailey's eyes lightened. "Come, old man, you can't afford to do this. Goout and put up the team, and to-morrow we'll take Mrs. Burke home--I'llexplain that she came over after the mail and couldn't get back."

  Rivers turned on him again with a sneer. "You cussed fool, can't you seethat she _can't_ go back to Burke? I've made her mine--you understand?"

  Bailey's hands fell slack. He suddenly remembered something. He brushedhis hand over his brow as if to clear his vision:

  "Jim, Jim, I--good God!--how could you do such a thing?" He washelpless as a boy, in face of this hideous complication.

  Rivers pushed his advantage. He developed a species of swagger:

  "Never mind about that. It's done. Now what are you going to do? Can youfix up such a thing as that?" Bailey was still silent. "It simply meansthat I'm her husband from this time on. Sit down, Blanche--I'm going toput up the team, but to-morrow morning we go. We couldn't make it now,anyway," he added. "There's nothing for it but to stay here all night."

  Bailey stood aside to let him go out, then went to the stove andmechanically stirred it up and put some water heating. This finished, hesat down and leaned his head in his hands in confused thought.

  To his clear sense his partner's act seemed monstrous. He had beenbrought up to respect the marriage bond, and to protect and honorwomen. The illicit was impossible to his candid soul. All the men he hadassociated with had been respecters of marriage, though some of themwere obscene--thoughtlessly, he always believed--and now Jim, his chum,had come between a man and his wife! With Estelle in his mind as thetype of
purity, he could not understand how a wife could be thefaithless creature Blanche Burke seemed. Her weakness opened a new worldto him. He could not trust himself to speak to her.

  The bubbling of the kettle aroused him, and he rose and went aboutgetting supper. After a few moments he felt able to ask, with formalpoliteness:

  "Won't you lay off your things, Mrs. Burke?"

  She made no reply, but sat like an old gypsy, crouched low, withbrooding face. She, too, was wordless. She had made the curious mistakeof looking to Bailey for justification. She had felt that he wouldunderstand and pity her, and his accusing eyes hurt her sorely. "If Icould only speak? If I could only find words to tell him my thought, hewould at least not despise me," she thought. Her face turned toward himpiteously, but she dared not lift her eyes to his. He typified the worldto her, and, furthermore, he was kindly and just; and yet he was aboutto condemn her because she could not make him understand.

  Trained to laugh when she should weep, how could she plead overmasteringdesire, the pressure of loneliness and poverty, and, last of all, thepower of a man who stood, in her fancy, among the most brilliant of herworld. She felt herself in the grasp of forces as vast, as impersonal,and as illimitable as the wind and the sky, but, reduced to words, herpoor plea for mercy would have been, "I could not help it."

  Her maternity, which should have been her glory and her pride, was atthis hour an insupportable shame. She had experienced her moments ofemotional exaltation wherein she was lifted above self-abasement, butnow she crouched in the lowest depths of self-suspicion. The risingstorm seemed the approach of the remorseless judgment-day, the howl ofthe wind, the voice of devils, exulting in her fall.

  She did not trouble herself about her husband. At times she flamed outin anger against his weakness, his business failures, his boyishgullibility. Sometimes she pitied him, sometimes she hated him.

  She watched Bailey furtively. The firm lines of his face, his sturdyfigure, and his frank, brusque manner were as familiar to her as theface of Rivers, and almost as dear--but she could not speak!

  At last she gave up all thought of speaking, and drew her shawl abouther with an air of final reserve. She resembled an old crone as shecrouched there.

  Rivers returned soon and took off his overcoat without looking atBailey, who bustled about getting the supper, his resolute cheerfulnessonce more aglow.

  Rivers sat down beside Blanche. "It would be death to attempt Wheatlandto-night," he said. "I could make it all right, but it would be the endof you."

  Bailey could not hear the words she spoke in reply. "Supper's ready,"said he. "We all have to eat, no matter what comes."

  Something in his voice and manner affected Blanche deeply. She buriedher face in her hands and wept while Rivers sat helplessly looking ather. She could not rise and walk before him yet. The shame of her sinweighed her down.

  Bailey poured some tea and gave it to Rivers.

  "Take this to her while I toast her some bread."

  She drank the tea but refused food, and Rivers sat down again stillwearing an air of defiance, though Bailey did not appear to notice it.He ate a hearty supper, making a commonplace remark now and again.

  Once he said, "We're in for a hard winter."

  "It's hell on the squatters," Rivers replied, for want of other words."I don't know what they'll do. No money and no work for most of them.They'll have to burn hay. If it hadn't been for the price on buffalobones, I guess some of them would starve."

  Rising from the table, Bailey moved about doing up the work. He was verythoughtful, and the constraint increased in tension.

  The storm steadily increased. Its lashings of sleet grew each hour morefurious. The cabin did not reel, for it sat close in a socket ofsods--it endured in the rush of snow like a rock set in the swash ofsavage seas. The icy dust came in around the stovepipe and fell in afine shower down upon Bailey's hands, fell with a faintly stingingtouch, and the circle of warmth about the fire grew less wide each hour."If the horses don't all freeze we'll be in luck," said he.

  The stove roared as a chained leopard might do in answer to a lionoutside. Slender mice came from their dark corners and skittered acrossthe floor before the silent men, their sleek sides palpitating withtimorous excitement.

  Bailey hovered over the stove, trying to figure up some accounts. Riverssat beside Blanche. With watchful care he kept her shawl upon hershoulders and her feet wrapped in a blanket. He spoke to her now andthen in a voice inaudible to Bailey, who studied them with an occasionalkeen glance.

  "Well, now," he said, at last, "no use sitting here like images; wemight as well turn in. Jim, you take the bunk over there; and, Mrs.Burke, you occupy the bed. I'll make up a shake-down here by the stoveand keep the fire going."

  Rivers sullenly acquiesced, and Blanche lay down without removing heroutside garments, in the same bed in which she had slept that firstnight in this wild land--that beautiful, buoyant spring night. How faraway it all was now!

  Rivers heaped blankets upon her and tenderly tucked her in, whisperedgood-night, and without a word to Bailey rolled himself in a fur robe andstretched himself on his creaking, narrow couch.

  So, in the darkness, while the storm intensified with shrieking, wildvoices, with whistling roar and fluttering tumult, Bailey gave his wholethought to the elemental war within. His mind went out first to Burke,who seemed some way to be the wronged man and chief sufferer, cut offfrom help, alone in the cold and snow. By contrast, Rivers seemedlustful and savage and treacherous.

  Such a drama had never before come into Bailey's life. He had read ofsomewhat similar cases in the papers, and had passed harsh judgment onthe man and woman. He had called the woman wanton and the man a villain,but here the verdict was less easy to render. He liked Mrs. Burke, andhe loved his friend. He had looked into their faces many times duringthe last six months without detecting any signs of degradation; on thecontrary, Blanche had apparently grown in womanly qualities; and as forJim, he had never been more manly, more generous and kind. If their actswere crimes, why could they remain so clear of eye?

  Without reaching a conclusion, he put the question from him and willedhimself to sleep.

  When he awoke it was morning, but there was no change in the wind,except in an increase of its ferocity. The roar was still steady,high-keyed, relentless. A myriad new voices seemed to have joined thescreaming tumult. The cold was still intense.

  He looked at his watch and found it marking the hour of sunrise, butthere was no light. The world was only a gray waste. He renewed thefire, and began preparations for breakfast, his sturdy heart undismayedby the demons without. Rivers, awakened by the clatter of dishes, roseand scraped a peep-hole in a window-pane. Nothing could be seen but achaos of snow.

  "No moving out of here to-day," he muttered, with a sullen curse.

  Bailey assumed a cheerful tone.

  "No; we're in for another day of it."

  Inwardly he was appalled at the thought of what the long hours mightbring to him. To spend twenty-four hours more in this terribleconstraint would be ghastly. He set about the attempt to break it up.He whistled and sang at his work, calling out to his partner as if therewere no evil passions between them.

  "This is the fourth blizzard this month. Good thing they didn't comelast winter. This land wouldn't have been settled at all. What do yousuppose these poor squatters will do?"

  Rivers did not respond.

  Blanche tried to rise, but turned white and dizzy, and fell back uponthe bed, seized with a sudden weakness. Rivers brought her some tea andsat by her side, while Bailey again toasted some bread for her. Shelooked very weak and ill.

  Bailey went out to feed the horses, glad of the chance to escape hisproblem for a moment. Finding Rivers still sullen upon his return, hegot out some old magazines and read them aloud. Rivers swore under hisbreath, but Blanche listened to the reading with relief. The storiesdealt mostly with young people who wished to marry, but were preventedby somebody who wished them to "wed according t
o their station." Theywere innocent creatures who had not known any other attachment, andtheir bliss was always complete and unalloyed at the end.

  Bailey read the tender passages in the same prosaic tone with which hedescribed the shipwreck, and his elocution would have been funny to anyother group of persons; as it was, neither of his hearers smiled.

  Blanche's heart was filled with rebellion. Why could she not have knownJim in the days when she, too, was young and innocent like the heroinesof these stories?

  At noon, when Rivers went out to feed the team, Bailey went over towardthe wretched woman. His face was kind but firm:

  "Mrs. Burke, I hope you've decided not to do this thing."

  She looked at him with shrinking eyes.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean you can't afford to go away with Jim this way."

  "What else can I do? I can't live without him, and I can't go back."

  "Well, then, go away alone. Go back to your folks."

  "Oh, I can't do that! Can't you see," she said, finding words witheffort--"can't you see, I _must_ go? Jim is my real husband. I must betrue to him now. My folks can't help me--nobody can help me but Jim--Ifhe stands by me, I can live." She stopped, feeling sure she hadexplained nothing. It was so hard to find words.

  "There must be some way out of it," he replied, and his hesitationhelped her. She saw that he was thinking upon the problem, and found itnot at all a clear case against her.

  After Rivers came back they resumed their seats about the fire, talkingabout the storm--at least, Bailey talked, and Rivers had the grace tolisten. He really seemed less sullen and more thoughtful.

  Outside the warring winds howled on. The eye could not penetrate theveils of snow which streamed through the air on level lines. Thepowdered ice rose from the ground in waves which buffeted one anotherand fell in spray, only to rise again in ceaseless, tumultuous action.There was no sky and no earth. Everything slid, sifted, drifted, ormadly swirled.

  The three prisoners fell at last into silence. They sat in the dim,yellow-gray dusk and stared gloomily at the stove, growing each momentmore repellent to one another. They met one another's eyes at intervalswith surprise and horror. The world without seemed utterly lost. Wailingvoices sobbed in the pipe and at the windows. Sudden agonized shriekscame out of the blur of sound. The hours drew out to enormous length,though the day was short. The windows were furred deep with frost. Atfour o'clock it was dark, and, as he placed the lamp on the table,Bailey said,

  "Well, Jim, we're in for another night of it."

  Rivers leaped up as if he had been struck.

  "Yes, curse it. It looks as if it would never let up again." He raged upand down the room with the spirit of blasphemy burning in his eyes. "Iwish I'd never seen the accursed country."

  "Will you go feed the team, or shall I?" Bailey quietly interrupted.

  "I'll go." And he went out into the storm with savage resolution, whileBailey prepared supper.

  "The storm is sure to end to-night," he said, as they were preparing forsleep. As before, Blanche lay down upon the bed, Rivers took the bunk,and Bailey camped upon the floor, content to see his partner wellbestowed.

  Blanche, unable to sleep, lay for a long time listening to the storm,thinking disconnectedly on the past and the morrow. The strain upon herwas twisting her toward insanity. The never-resting wind appalled her.It was like the iron resolution of the two men. She saw no end to thiselemental strife. It was the cyclone of July frozen into snow, only morerelentless, more persistent--a tornado of frost. It filled her with suchawe as she had never felt before. It seemed as if she _must notsleep_--that she must keep awake for the sake of the little heart ofwhich she had been made the guardian.

  As she lay thus a sudden mysterious exaltation came upon her, and shegrew warm and happy. She cared no longer for any man's opinion of her.She was a mother, and God said to her, "Be peaceful and hopeful." Lightfell around her, and the pleasant odors of flowers. She looked throughsunny vistas of oaks and apple-trees. Bees hummed in the clover, andshe began to sing with them, and her low, humming song melted into theroar of the storm. She saw birds flying like butterflies over fields ofdaisies, and her song grew louder. It became sweet and maternal--full oflullaby cadences. As she lay thus, lovely and careless and sinless as aprattling babe, her eyes fixed upon the gleam of lights in the dark, ashaking hand was laid on her shoulder, and Rivers spoke in anxiousvoice:

  "What is it, Blanche?--are you sick?"

  She looked at him drowsily, and at last slowly said: "No, Jim--I amhappy. See my baby there, in the sunshine! Isn't she lovely?"

  The man grew rigid with fear, and the hair of his head moved. He thoughther delirious--dying, perhaps, of cold. He gathered her hands in hisand fell upon his knees.

  "What is it, dear? What do you mean?"

  "Nothing, nothing," she murmured.

  "You're sure you're not worse? Can't I help you?"

  She did not reply, and he knelt there holding her hands until she sankinto unmistakably quiet sleep.

  He feared the unspeakable. He imagined her taken in prematurechildbirth, brought on by exposure and excitement, and, for the firsttime, he took upon himself the burden of his guilt. The thought ofdanger to her had not hitherto troubled him. For the poor, weak fool ofa husband he cared nothing; but this woman was his, and the child tocome was his. Birth--of which many men make a jest--suddenly took onmajesty and terror, and the little life seemed about to enter a worldof storm which filled him with a sense of duty new to him.

  He bent down and laid his cheek against his woman's hands, and histhroat choked with a passionate resolution. He put his merry, carelessyoung manhood behind him at that moment and assumed the responsibilitiesof a husband.

  "May God strike me dead if I don't make you happy!" he whispered.