Part 17 (1/2)
”She ain't more'n a baby,” said Buck Daniels, ”and you can leave it to time to make her forget.”
”But,” growled Lee Haines, ”Kate isn't a baby. Buck, it drives me d.a.m.n near crazy to see her fade this way.”
”Now you lay to this,” answered Buck. ”She'll pull through. She'll never forget, maybe, but she'll go on livin' for the sake of the kid.”
”You know a h.e.l.l of a lot about women, don't you?” said Haines.
”I know enough, son,” nodded Buck.
He had, in fact, reduced women to a few distinct categories, and he only waited to place a girl in her particular cla.s.s before he felt quite intimate acquaintance with her entire mind and soul.
”It'll kill her,” p.r.o.nounced Lee Haines. ”Why, she's like a flower, Buck, and sorrow will cut her off at the root. Think of a girl like that thrown away in these d.a.m.ned deserts! It makes me sick--sick! She ought to have nothing but velvet to touch--nothing but a millionaire for a husband, and never a worry in her life.” He grew excited. ”But here's the flower thrown away and the heel crus.h.i.+ng it without mercy.”
Buck Daniels regarded him with pity.
”I feel kind of sorry for you, Lee, when I hear you talk about girls. No wonder they make a fool of you. A flower crushed under the foot, eh? You just listen to me, my boy. You and me figure to be pretty hard, don't we? Well, soft pine stacked up agin' quartzite, is what we are compared to Kate.”
Lee Haines gaped at him, too astonished to be angry. He suggested softening of the brain to Buck, but the latter waved aside the implications.
”Now, supposin' Kate was one of these dark girls with eyes like black diamonds and a lot of snap and zip to her. If she was like that I s'pose you'd figure her to forget all about Dan inside of a month--and maybe marry you?”
”You be d.a.m.ned!”
”Maybe I am. Them hard, snappy lookin' girls are the ones that smash.
They're brittle, that's why; but you take a soft lookin' girl like Kate, maybe she ain't a diamond point to cut gla.s.s, but she's tempered steel that'll bend, and bend, and bend, and then when you wait for it to break it flips up and knocks you down. That's Kate.”
Lee Haines rolled a cigarette in silence. He was too disgusted to answer, until his first puff of smoke dissolved Buck in a cloud of thin blue.
”You ought to sing to a congregation instead of to cows, Buck. You have the tune, and you might get by in a church; but cows have sense.”
”Kate will buckle and bend and fade for a while,” went on Buck, wholly unperturbed, ”but just when you go out to pick daisies for her you'll come back and find her singing to the stove. Her strength is down deep, like some of these outlaw hosses that got a filmy, sleepy lookin' eye.
They save their h.e.l.l till you sink the spurs in 'em. You think she loves Dan, don't you?”
”I have a faint suspicion of it,” sneered Haines. ”I suppose I'm wrong?”
”You are.”
”Buck, I may have slipped a nickel into you, but you're playing the wrong tune. Knock off and talk sense, will you?”
”When you grow up, son, you'll understand some of the things I'm tryin'
to explain in words of one syllable.
”She don't love Dan. She thinks she does, but down deep they ain't a d.a.m.ned thing in the world she gives a rap about exceptin' Joan. Men?
What are they to her? Marriage? That's simply an accident that's needed so she can have a baby. Delicate, shrinkin' flower, is she? I tell you, my boy, if it was necessary for Joan she'd tear out your heart and mine and send Dan plumb to h.e.l.l. You fasten on to them words, because they're gospel.”
It was late afternoon while they talked, and they were swinging slowly down a gulch towards the home cabin. At that very time Kate, from the door of the house where she sat, saw a dark form slink from rock to rock at the rim of the little plateau, a motion so swift that it flicked through the corner of her eye, a thing to be sensed rather than seen.
She set up very stiff, her lips white as chalk, but nothing more stirred. A few minutes later, when her heart was beating almost at normal she heard Joan scream from behind the house, not in terror, or pain, as her keen mother-ear knew perfectly well, but with a wild delight. She whipped about the corner of the house and there she saw Joan with her pudgy arms around the neck of Black Bart.
”Bart! Dear old Bart! Has he come? Has he come?”