Part 32 (1/2)
He drew back his shoulders then, and enlightened, ”Sometimes I gits thetaway. I fell ter thinkin' of them days when you an' me used ter gather them 'simmons tergether, little gal.”
”When we was kids,” she answered, nodding her head. ”We hed fun, didn't we?”
”G.o.d Almighty,” he exclaimed, impetuously and suddenly. ”How I loved ye!”
The girl drew away, and her answer was at once sympathetic and defensive. ”Thet war all a right long time back, Bas.”
The defeated lover came to his feet and stood looking at her with a face over which the pa.s.sion of his feeling came with a sweep and surge that he made no effort to control.
In that instant something had slipped in Bas Rowlett and the madman that was part of him became temporarily all of him.
”Hit hain't so long a time ago,” he vehemently declared, ”thet I've changed any in hits pa.s.sin'. So long es I lives, Dorothy, I'll love ye more an' more--till I dies.”
She drew back another step and shook her head reprovingly, and in the gravity of her eyes was the dawning of indignation, disappointment, and astonishment.
”Bas,” she said, earnestly, ”even ef Cal hadn't of come, I couldn't nuver hev wedded with ye. He did come, though, an'--in thet way of carin'--thar hain't no other man in the world fer me. I kain't never pay ye back fer all thet I'm beholden ter ye ... fer savin' him an' fotchin'
him in when thet craven shot him ... fer stayin' a friend when most men would hev got ter be enemies. I knows all them things--but don't seek ter spile none of 'em by talkin' love ter me.... Hit's too late.... I'm married.”
For an instant he stood as though long-arrested pa.s.sions were pounding against the dams that had held them; then his words came like the torrent that makes driftwood of its impediments.
”Ter h.e.l.l with this man Thornton! Ye didn't never hev no chanst ter know yore own mind.... Ye jest thinks ye loves him because ye pitied him. Hit won't last noways.”
”Bas,” she spoke his name with a sharp and stinging note of command, ”I'm willin' ter look over what ye've said so fur--because of what I owes ye--but don't say no more!”
In a frenzy of wild and sensuous abandon he laughed. Then leaping forward he seized her and crushed her to him with her arms pinioned in his and her body close against his own.
Her struggles were as futile as those of a bird held in a human hand--a hand that takes no thought of how severely it may bruise but only of making firm its imprisoning hold.
”I said 'ter h.e.l.l with him',” repeated the man in a low voice but one of white-hot pa.s.sion. ”I says. .h.i.t ergin! From ther time thet ye fust begun ter grow up I'd made up my mind thet ye belonged ter me--an' afore I quits ye're _goin'_ ter belong ter me. Ye talks erbout bein' wedded an'
I says ter h.e.l.l with thet, too! Mebby ye're his wife but ye're goin' ter be my woman!”
The senses of the girl swirled madly and chaotically during those moments when she strained against the rawhide strength of the arms that held her powerless, and they seemed to her hours.
The hot breath of the face which had suddenly grown unspeakably horrible to her burned her like a blast, and through her reeling faculties rose that same impression of nightmare that had come to Parish when he lay wounded on his bed: the need of altering at a flash her whole conception of this man's loyal steadfastness to a realization of unbelievable and b.e.s.t.i.a.l treachery.
The fact was patent enough now, and only the hideous possibilities of the next few minutes remained doubtful. His arms clamped her so tightly that she gasped stranglingly for breath, and the convulsive futility of her struggles grew fainter. Consciousness itself wavered.
Then Rowlett loosened one arm and bent her head upward until he could crush his lips against hers and hold them there while he surfeited his own with an endlessly long kiss.
When again her eyes met his, the girl was panting with the exhaustion of breath that sounded like a sob, and desperately she sought to fence for time.
”Let me go,” she panted. ”Let me go--thar's somebody comin'!”
That was a lie born of the moment's desperation and strategy but, somewhat to her surprise, it served its ephemeral purpose. Rowlett released his hold and wheeled to look at the road, and with a flas.h.i.+ng swiftness his victim leaped for the door and slammmed it behind her.
CHAPTER XXIII
An instant later, with a roar of fury, as he realized the trick that had been played upon him, Bas was beating his fists against the panels and hurling against them the weight of his powerful shoulders. But those hot moments of agitation and mental riot had left him breathless, too, and presently he drew away for a quieter survey of the situation. He strolled insolently over to the window which was still open and leaned with his elbows on the sill looking in. The room was empty, and he guessed that Dorothy had hurried out to bar the back door, forgetting, in her excitement, the nearer danger of the raised sash.