Part 12 (1/2)

”Jimmy sleeping?” he asked.

”I don't know where Jimmy is,” Mary answered coldly.

”Since when?” asked Dannie, gulping coffee, and taking hasty bites, for he had begun his breakfast supposing that Jimmy would come presently.

”He left as soon as you went home last night,” she said, ”and he has not come back yet.”

Dannie did not know what to say. Loyal to the bone to Jimmy, loving each hair on the head of Mary Malone, and she worn and neglected; the problem was heartbreaking in any solution he attempted, and he felt none too well himself. He arose hastily, muttering something about getting the work done. He brought in wood and water, and asked if there was anything more he could do.

”Sure!” said Mary, in a calm, even voice. ”Go to the barn, and shovel manure for Jimmy Malone, and do all the work he s.h.i.+rks, before you do anything for yoursilf.”

Dannie always had admitted that he did not understand women, but he understood a plain danger signal, and he almost ran from the cabin. In the fear that Mary might think he had heeded her hasty words, he went to his own barn first, just to show her that he did not do Jimmy's work. The flies and mosquitoes were so bad he kept his horses stabled through the day, and turned them to pasture at night. So their stalls were to be cleaned, and he set to work. When he had finished his own barn, as he had nothing else to do, he went on to Jimmy's. He had finished the stalls, and was sweeping when he heard a sound at the back door, and turning saw Jimmy clinging to the casing, unable to stand longer. Dannie sprang to him, and helped him inside. Jimmy sank to the floor. Dannie caught up several empty grain sacks, folded them, and pushed them under Jimmy's head for a pillow.

”Dannish, didsh shay y'r nash'nal flowerish wash s.h.i.+sle?” asked Jimmy.

”Yes,” said Dannie, lifting the heavy auburn head to smooth the folds from the sacks.

”Whysh like me?”

”I dinna,” answered Dannie wearily.

”Awful jagsh on,” murmured Jimmy, sighed heavily, and was off. His clothing was torn and dust-covered, his face was purple and bloated, and his hair was dusty and disordered. He was a repulsive sight. As Dannie straightened Jimmy's limbs he thought he heard a step. He lifted his head and leaned forward to listen.

”Dannie Micnoun?” called the same even, cold voice he had heard at breakfast. ”Have you left me, too?”

Dannie sprang for a manger. He caught a great armload of hay, and threw it over Jimmy. He gave one hurried toss to scatter it, for Mary was in the barn. As he turned to interpose his body between her and the manger, which partially screened Jimmy, his heart sickened. He was too late. She had seen. Frightened to the soul, he stared at her. She came a step closer, and with her foot gave a hand of Jimmy's that lay exposed a contemptuous shove.

”You didn't get him complately covered,” she said. ”How long have you had him here?”

Dannie was frightened into speech. ”Na a minute, Mary; he juist came in when I heard ye. I was trying to spare ye.”

”Him, you mane,” she said, in that same strange voice. ”I suppose you give him money, and he has a bottle, and he's been here all night.”

”Mary,” said Dannie, ”that's na true. I have furnished him money. He'd mortgage the farm, or do something worse if I didna; but I dinna WHERE he has been all nicht, and in trying to cover him, my only thought was to save ye pain.”

”And whin you let him spind money you know you'll never get back, and loaf while you do his work, and when you lie mountain high, times without number, who is it for?”

Then fifteen years' restraint slid from Dannie like a cloak, and in the torture of his soul his slow tongue outran all its previous history.

”Ye!” he shouted. ”It's fra Jimmy, too, but ye first. Always ye first!”

Mary began to tremble. Her white cheeks burned red. Her figure straightened, and her hands clenched.

”On the cross! Will you swear it?” she cried.

”On the sacred body of Jesus Himself, if I could face Him,” answered Dannie. ”Anything! Everything is fra ye first, Mary!”

”Then why?” she panted between gasps for breath. ”Tell me why? If you have cared for me enough to stay here all these years and see that I had the bist tratemint you could get for me, why didn't you care for me enough more to save me this? Oh, Dannie, tell me why?”

And then she shook with strangled sobs until she scarce could stand alone. Dannie Macnoun cleared the s.p.a.ce between them and took her in his arms. Her trembling hands clung to him, her head dropped on his breast, and the perfume of her hair in his nostrils drove him mad. Then the tense bulk of her body struck against him, and horror filled his soul. One second he held her, the next, Jimmy smothering under the hay, threw up an arm, and called like a petulant child, ”Dannie! Make shun quit s.h.i.+nish my fashe!”

And Dannie awoke to the realization that Mary was another man's, and that man, one who trusted him completely. The problem was so much too big for poor Dannie that reason kindly slipped a cog. He broke from the grasp of the woman, fled through the back door, and took to the woods.