Part 15 (1/2)
And he remembered how she had urged him to buy a ranch and live at least part of the time in the West. And when he had got in touch with Colston through a real estate broker, he remembered how enthusiastic she had been over the prospect. How they had planned and planned, until she had imparted to him a goodly share of her enthusiasm. Was her love all for the West? Could it be that the Texan--? Surely, her previous experience had hardly been one that should have engendered any great love for the cattle country. He thought with a shudder of Purdy, of the flight in the night, and the subsequent trip through the bad lands. The one pleasant memory in the whole adventure had been the Texan--Tex, the devil-may-care, the irresponsible, the whimsical. And yet, withal, the capable, the masterful. He recollected vividly that there had been days of indecision--days when her love had wavered between himself and this man of the broad open s.p.a.ces. Long before this adventure of the wilds Endicott had known her,--had loved her--and she had never taken him seriously.
With the suddenness of a blow, came the thought that when she did choose him--when finally she yielded to his pleading and consented to become his wife, it was because he had unexpectedly shown some of the attributes that were the inborn heritage of the Texan. Could it be that his great love for her had found no answering chord in her heart? If she had loved the Texan, why had she married him? Could it be that she did not even now take him seriously? Was her love so shallow a thing that it must be fanned into a flame by the winds of high adventure? He knew that the commonplaces of society bored her to extinction. Had the humdrum existence of civilization palled on her until her heart in very desperation had turned to her knight of the boundless plains. Had she deliberately planned this journey in order to be once more with the Texan? Had their meeting--their flight, even, been prearranged? Endicott groaned aloud, and the next moment a hand was placed on his shoulder. He leaped to his feet and peered into the face that stood vaguely outlined in the darkness.
”_Oui_, A'm t'ink you don' 'member Ol' Bat.”
”Bat! Bat!” cried the man, ”remember you! I guess I do remember you!” He seized a leathery hand in his own. ”I'd rather see you, now, than any man in the world. What do you make of it, Bat? Tell me--what has happened?”
”_Oui_, A'm t'ink dat 'bout tam' A'm com' 'long. A'm t'ink you feel pret' bad, _non_? A'm com' 'long w'en de men com' back for no kin ketch Tex.”
”You heard what they said?”
”_Oui_, A'm hear dat.”
”Do you think they're alive?”
”_Oui, bien!_ A'm stan' clos' I kin git beside de hoss, an' A'm hear dat man say de boat floatin' off, an' he ain' gon' spit 'bout dat. You com'
'long Ol' Bat--we fin' um.”
Endicott thrust his face close and stared straight into the half-breed's eyes: ”Have you been with Tex all the time--this past year?”
”_Oui_, him wagon boss on Y Bar, an' me, A'm cook.”
”Would you have known it if he had been writing letters? Has he ever talked about--about--my wife?”
”_Non_, he ain' git lettaire. He don' talk 'bout dat 'oman. He lov' her too mooch----”
”_What!_” Endicott grasped the half-breed's arm and shook him roughly.
”_Oui_, he lov' dat 'oman so bad he ain' talk 'bout dat.”
”You mean, you think they've planned it all out to run away together?”
Bat regarded the other gravely: ”W'at you t'ink?” he asked, abruptly.
Endicott found it strangely hard to answer the direct question: ”I--I don't know what to think.”
”W'at you t'ink?” insisted the half-breed.
”What can I think?” cried the man in desperation. ”She planned to be here today--and she met him here--and they are gone! What do you think?”
The half-breed answered slowly and very directly: ”Me, A'm t'ink, you pret' mooch, w'at you call, de G.o.dam fool. You lov' dat 'oman. You be'n marry wan year--an' you ain' know dat 'oman. You de gran' pilgrim. Me, A'm know dat 'oman. Ol' Bat, she tell Tex way back on Antelope b.u.t.te, dat tam, dat ain' hees 'oman--dat de pilgrim 'oman. Dat 'oman, he lov'
you--Ol' Bat, know dat. Tex, she ain' belief dat,” he paused and shrugged, expressively. ”W'at de h.e.l.l! She mar' de pilgrim, lak A'm say.
An' Tex she feel ver' bad. She ain' drink no booze for wan' year--becos'
she t'ink, w'en she feel lak dat, de booze she git heem--an' she would.
A'm know 'bout dat, too. A'm know Tex. A'm know he gon' git drunk today, sure as h.e.l.l. So A'm com' long tonight an' git heem hom'. He lov' dat oman too mooch. Dat hurt heem lak h.e.l.l een here.” The old half-breed paused to tap his breast, and proceeded. ”He ain' wan' see dat 'oman no more. She com' 'long, w'at you call, de haccident. Me, A'm ain' know how dat com' dey gon'--but no mattaire. Dat all right. Dat good 'oman an'
Tex, he good man, too. He ain' harm dat 'oman--he got de good heart. A'm ain' say dat Tex she ain' got not'in' to do wit' 'omans. But she know de good 'oman--an' she lov' dat good 'oman--an' dat 'oman she safe wit'
Tex lak she wit' de own modder. You come 'long now wit' Ol' Bat, an' git de hoss, we gon' fin'. Mebbe-so tomor', mebbe-so nex' week--dat mak' no differ'. You fin' out dat all right.” Old Bat ceased abruptly and started off and as Endicott followed him blindly through the dark, his eyes burned hot, and scalding tears coursed down his cheeks and dropped unheeded to the ground.
CHAPTER XIII