Part 54 (1/2)
She ran down the stairs, out to the corral and saddled her sorrel horse.
CHAPTER XXV
A MOUNTAIN PORTIA
It was a long ride from the HC to the round-up camp but the sorrel was not spared. The impulse that sent Jane Hunter through the last hours of darkness had only acc.u.mulated strength before the resistance which had held it back through those dragging days. She was on her way to her lover, to explain in a word the situation that had caused the breach between them; she had fought down the pride of which that resistance was made and now her every thought, her every want was to make Beck know that it was humiliation and injured pride rather than infidelity which had sent him away.
Thought that she had failed to stand self possessed before Bobby Cole--a burning, shaming thought yesterday--was relegated to an obscure place in her consciousness. She had fallen short of the poise her lover would have her retain, but that did not matter ... not now.
Without Beck's love there was nothing for her, she had come to believe and she experienced a strange, little-girl feeling, fleeing toward the protecting arms that could comfort and hold her safe from the blackness that was elsewhere.
She leaned low on the sorrel's neck and called to him and he ran through the dying night breathing excitedly as her impatience was communicated to him. Dawn yawned in the east and the mountains took shape. The road became discernable before her. She drew the excited horse down to a trot and forced herself to force him to conserve some of his splendid energy.... Then urged him forward, a moment later, at a stretching run....
The round-up camp was moving that day. The riders were up and the first had swung off for the work of the morning before she pulled her horse to a stop beside the chuck wagon.
”He ain't here, ma'am,” Oliver replied to her query for Beck.
”Not here?”--sharply, for she sensed from him that something was wrong.
”No. He left yesterday. He told me to head this ride. He--”
”And where did he go?” she broke in, voice not just steady.
”I don't know, ma'am.” The man studied her face intently, seeing the confusion there, adding it to the evidence he had collected to piece out a theory. ”I thought maybe he said something to you about quitting.”
”_Quitting!_ You don't mean that!”
”It looks like it, ma'am. I didn't know just how to take what he said.
It seems like somethin' 's got him worried. He wasn't like himself. You wouldn't know him.
”He said that future plans for this outfit didn't interest him. He said he was leavin' and it wasn't likely he'd be back but it wasn't so much what he said as it was th' way he said it that made me think he was goin' to drift. We all know he's got some pretty active enemies but it wasn't like Beck to run away from 'em. Still....
”He left me in charge an' said I was to take orders from you. He ain't showed up since and Lord knows where he'd go except out of the country.”
Out of the country! The words made her hear but vaguely the story of the ruined Tank and the questions about the work that Oliver put to her. Out of the country! He had gone, then, thinking that her love had not been a fast love, that she was wholly unworthy. He had taken his chance and had lost and that loss had taken from him even the desire to stay and face the men who would drive him out of the country because he had defended her!
Later Jane found herself riding homeward, the sorrel at a walk, her mind numb and heavy. Last night it had been a question of love against her pride; she had sacrificed the latter only to find that that sacrifice had been made too late.
She wanted, suddenly, to quit ... to quit trying ... thinking....
She canvased the situation: she was alone, without an understanding individual upon whom to lean. She was the target for great forces of evil which sought to undermine her very determination to exist in that country. A faint wave of resentment made itself felt at that. They would continue their war and upon a lone woman! She realized her position more keenly than she had before, when Beck had been s.h.i.+elding her. Now she stood unprotected. If she were to exist she _must stand alone!_
Her mind went back to that time when d.i.c.k Hilton had told her that she could not stand alone and her resentment became a degree more p.r.o.nounced.
The lethargy, the hopelessness clung but behind it was something else, a realization that she had not lost utterly. She had lost the love she had found, but had she failed to gain anything? Yesterday it seemed that the ripest fruits of experience were hers; she had position--menaced, but still hers--she had love. Months before she had abandoned the quest of love, seeking only to stand alone. She might go back to her outlook of those days, put aside the call of her heart and seek only for place; she could make that search intelligently now!
She sat at her desk, a spirit of resignation coming as a sort of comfort. If she had lost love, had she lost all that there was in life?