Part 28 (1/2)
”An eternity!” cried the Harvester with white lips. ”I cannot let you go. Suppose you fall ill and fail to write me, and I do not know where you are, and there is no one to care for you.”
”But can't you see that I don't know where I will be? If it will satisfy you, I will write you a line to-morrow night and tell you where I am, and you can come later.”
”Is that a promise?” asked the Harvester.
”It is,” said the Girl.
”Then I will take these things to your neighbour and wait until to-morrow night. You won't fail me?”
”I never in all my life saw a man so wild over designs,” said the Girl, as she started toward the house.
”Don't forget that the design I'm craziest about is the same as the red bird's,” the Harvester flung after her, but she hurried on and made no reply.
He folded the table and chair, rolled the rug, and shouldering them picked up the bucket and started down the river bank.
”David!”
Such a faint little call he never would have been sure he heard anything if Belshazzar had not stopped suddenly. The hair on the back of his neck arose and he turned with a growl in his throat. The Harvester dropped his load with a crash and ran in leaping bounds, but the dog was before him. Half way to the house, Ruth Jameson swayed in the grip of her uncle. One hand clutched his coat front in a spasmodic grasp, and with the other she covered her face.
The roar the Harvester sent up stayed the big, lifted fist, and the dog leaped for a throat hold, and compelled the man to defend himself. The Harvester never knew how he covered the s.p.a.ce until he stood between them, and saw the Girl draw back and s.n.a.t.c.h together the front of her dress.
”He took it from me!” she panted. ”Make him, oh make him give back my money!”
Then for a few seconds things happened too rapidly to record. Once the Harvester tossed a torn envelope exposing money to the Girl, and again a revolver, and then both men panting and dishevelled were on their feet.
”Count your money, Ruth?” said the Harvester in a voice of deadly quiet.
”It is all here,” said she.
”Her money?” cried Henry Jameson. ”My money! She has been stealing the price of my cattle from my pockets. I thought I was short several times lately.”
”You are lying,” said the Harvester deliberately. ”It is her money. I just paid it to her. You were trying to take it from her, not the other way.”
”Oh, she is in your pay?” leered the man.
”If you say an insulting word I think very probably I will finish you,”
said the Harvester. ”I can, with my naked hands, and all your neighbours will say it is a a good job. You have felt my grip! I warn you!”
”How does my niece come to be taking money from you!”
”You have forfeited all right to know. Ruth, you cannot remain here. You must come with me. I will take you to Onabasha and find you a room.”
A horrible laugh broke from the man.
”So that is the end of my saintly niece!” he said.
”Remember!” cried the Harvester advancing a step. ”Ruth, will you go to the rest I suggested for you?”
”I cannot.”