Part 16 (1/2)
”But, why should you want to marry me?” she inquired, a puzzled little frown wrinkling her forehead. ”You hardly know me. You have not always lived in the hills. You have met many women.”
”A man meets many women. He marries but one. You ask me why I want to marry you. I cannot tell you why. Many times since we first met I have asked myself why. I, who have openly scoffed at the yoke, and boasted proudly of my freedom. I do not know why, unless it is that to me you are the embodiment of all womanhood--of all that is desirable and worth while, or maybe the reason is in the fact that while I am with you I am supremely happy, and while I am absent from you I am restless and unhappy--a prey to my fears. I suppose it all sums up in the reason--world-old, but ever new--because I love you.” The man was upon his feet, now, bending toward her with arms outstretched. For just an instant Patty hesitated, then shook her head.
”No!” she cried and struggling to her feet, faced him across the remains of the luncheon. ”No, it would not be playing the game. I have my work to do, and I'll do it alone. It would be like quitting--like calling for help before I am beaten. This is my work--not yours, this vindication of my father!”
”But think,” interrupted Bethune, ”you will not let such Quixotic ideals stand between us and happiness! You have your right to happiness, and so have I, and in the end 'twill be the same, your father's name will be cleared of any suspicion of unworthiness.”
”It is my work,” Patty repeated, stubbornly, ”and besides, I do not think I love you. I do not know----”
”Ah, but you will love me!” cried Bethune. ”Such love as mine will not be denied!” The black eyes glowed, and he took a step toward her, but the girl drew away.
”Not now--not yet! Stop!” At the command Bethune recoiled slightly, and the arms that had been about to encircle the girl, fell slowly to his sides. Patty had suddenly drawn herself erect and looked him eye for eye: and as she looked, from behind the soft glow of the velvet eyes, leaped a wolfish gleam--a glint of baffled rage, a flash of hate. In a moment it was gone and the man's lips smiled.
”Pardon,” he said, ”for the moment I forgot I have not the right.” The voice had lost its intense timbre, and sounded dull, as if held under control only by a mighty effort of will. And in that moment a strange fear of him took possession of the girl, so that her own voice surprised her with its calm.
”I must be going, now.”
Bethune bowed. ”I will saddle your horse, while you clear up the table.” He nodded toward the napkin spread upon the gra.s.s with the remains of the luncheon upon it. ”My way takes me within a short distance of your cabin; may I ride with you?” he asked a few moments later, as he led her horse, bridled and saddled, to his own.
”Why certainly. I should be glad to have you. And we can talk.”
”Of love?”
The girl laughed: ”No, not of love. Surely there are other things----”
”Yes, for instance, I may again warn you that you are in danger.”
”Danger?” she glanced up quickly.
”From Vil Holland.” They had mounted, and turned their horses toward a long divide.
”Oh, yes, from Vil Holland,” she repeated slowly, as she drew in beside him. ”I had almost forgotten Vil Holland.”
”I wish to G.o.d I could forget him,” retorted the man, viciously. ”But, as long as you remain unprotected in these hills I shall never for one moment forget him. Your secret is not safe. Your person is not safe.
He dogs your footsteps. He visits your cabin during your absence. He is bad--_bad!_ And here I must tell you of an incident--or rather explain an incident, the unfortunate conclusion of which you saw with your own eyes. Poor Clen! He is beside himself with mortification at the sorry spectacle he presented when you rode up and saw him crawl dripping from the creek.
”I was away to the northward, on important business, and knowing that it had become my custom to ride over occasionally to see how you fared, he decided to do the same during my absence. Arriving at the cabin, he was surprised to see Vil Holland's horse before the door. He rode boldly up, dismounted, and caught the scoundrel in the act of searching among your effects. The sight, together with the memory of the cut pack sack, enraged him to such an extent that, despite the fact that the other was armed, he attacked him with his fists. In the fighting that ensued, Holland, being much the younger and more agile, succeeded in pitching Clen over the edge of the bank into the creek.
Whereupon, he leaped into the saddle and vanished.
”When Clen finally succeeded in reaching the bank and drawing himself over the top, he was horrified to see you approaching. Above all things Clen is a gentleman, and rather than appear before you in his bedraggled condition, he fled. Upon my return he insisted that I see you and explain the awkward situation to you in person. I beg of you never to refer to the incident in Clen's presence, especially not in levity, for he has, more strongly than anyone I ever knew, the Englishman's horror of appearing ridiculous.”
Patty smiled: ”It was too funny for words. The way he gave one horrified glance in my direction and then scrambled into his saddle and dashed away, with the water flowing from him in rivulets. But of course, I shall never mention it to Lord Clendenning, and I wish you would thank him for his valiant champions.h.i.+p of my cause.”
Bethune shot her a swift sidewise glance. Was there just a trace of mockery in the tone? If so, her expression masked it perfectly.
They rode in silence for a time, following down the course of a broad valley, and presently came out onto the trail. A rider approached them at a walk, the low-hung white dust cloud in his wake marking the course of the long, hot trail. Bethune scrutinized the man intently.
”Jack Pierce,” he announced. ”He runs a little yak outfit, a few head of horses, and some cattle over on Big Porcupine.” A moment later Bethune drew up and greeted the rider with a great show of cordiality.
”h.e.l.lo, Pierce, old hand! How's everything over on Porcupine?”