Next night it would be ploddin'along like a winded burro.Don't know what made me stick t'it.It was hot there,too!And cold!Always roastin'ur freezin'.It'd been different if I'd had any one t'help me stand it.But th'men were always findin'fault.They blamed me fur everythin'.I used t'lie awake at night an'hear 'em talkin'me over.It made me lonesome,Itell you!Thar wasn't no one!Mother used t'write.But I never told her th'truth.She ain't a suspicion of what I've been a-goin'through."Kate sat and looked at him in silence.
His face was seamed,though far from old.
His body was awkward,but impressed her with a sense of magnificent strength.
"I couldn't ask no woman t'share my hard times,"he resumed after a time."Ialways said when I got a woman,it was goin't'be t'make her happy.It wer'n't t'be t'ask her t'drudge."There was another silence.This man out of the solitude seemed to be elated past expression at his new companionship.He looked with appreciation at the little pointed toes of Kate's slippers,as they glanced from below the skirt of her dainty organdie.He noted the band of pearls on her finger.His eyes rested long on the daisies at her waist.
The wind tossed up little curls of her warm brown hair.Her eyes suffused with inter-est,her tender mouth seemed ready to lend itself to any emotion,and withal she was so small,so compact,so exquisite.The man wiped his forehead again,in mere exuberance.
"Here's my card,"he said,very solemnly,as he drew an engraved bit of pasteboard from its leather case.Kate bowed and took it.
"Mr.Peter Roeder,"she read.
"I've no card,"she said."My name is Shelly.I'm here for my health,as I told you."She rose at this point,and held out her hand."I must thank you once more for your kindness,"she said.
His eyes fastened on hers with an appeal for a less formal word.There was something almost terrible in their silent eloquence.
"I hope we may meet again,"she said.
Mr.Peter Roeder made a very low and awkward bow,and opened the door into the corridor for her.
That evening the major announced that he was obliged to go to Seattle.The journey was not an inviting one;Kate was well placed where she was,and he decided to leave her.
She was well enough now to take longer drives;and she found strange,lonely can-yons,wild and beautiful,where yellow waters burst through rocky barriers with roar and fury,--tortuous,terrible places,such as she had never dreamed of.Coming back from one of these drives,two days after her conversation on the piazza with Peter Roeder,she met him riding a massive roan.
He sat the animal with that air of perfect unconsciousness which is the attribute of the Western man,and his attire,even to his English stock,was faultless,--faultily faultless.
"I hope you won't object to havin'me ride beside you,"he said,wheeling his horse.To tell the truth,Kate did not object.She was a little dull,and had been conscious all the morning of that peculiar physical depression which marks the begin-ning of a fit of homesickness.
"The wind gits a fine sweep,"said Roeder,after having obtained the permis-sion he desired."Now in the gulch we either had a dead stagnation,or else the wind was tearin'up and down like a wild beast."Kate did not reply,and they went on together,facing the riotous wind.
"You can't guess how queer it seems t'be here,"he said,confidentially."It seems t'me as if I had come from some other planet.Thar don't rightly seem t'be no place fur me.I tell you what it's like.
It's as if I'd come down t'enlist in th'ranks,an'found 'em full,--every man marchin'along in his place,an'no place left fur me."Kate could not find a reply.
"I ain't a friend,--not a friend!I ain't complainin'.It ain't th'fault of any one --but myself.You don'know what a durned fool I've bin.Someway,up thar in th'gulch I got t'seemin'so sort of impor-tant t'myself,and my makin'my stake seemed such a big thing,that I thought Ihad only t'come down here t'Helena t'have folks want t'know me.I didn't particular want th'money because it wus money.But out here you work fur it,jest as you work fur other things in other places,--jest because every one is workin'fur it,and it's the man who gets th'most that beats.It ain't that they are any more greedy than men anywhere else.My pile's a pretty good-sized one.An'it's likely to be bigger;but no one else seems t'care.
Th'paper printed some pieces about it.
Some of th'men came round t'see me;
but I saw their game.I said I guessed I'd look further fur my acquaintances.Iain't spoken to a lady,--not a real lady,you know,--t'talk with,friendly like,but you,fur --years."His face flushed in that sudden way again.
They were passing some of those pretentious houses which rise in the midst of Helena's ragged streets with such an extra-neous air,and Kate leaned forward to look at them.The driver,seeing her interest,drew up the horses for a moment.
"Fine,fine!"ejaculated Roeder."But they ain't got no garden.A house don't seem anythin't'me without a garden.
Do you know what I think would be th'most beautiful thing in th'world?A baby in a rose-garden!Do you know,I ain't had a baby in my hands,excep'Ned Ramsey's little kid,once,for ten year!"Kate's face shone with sympathy.
"How dreadful!"she cried."I couldn't live without a baby about.""Like babies,do you?Well,well.
Boys?Like boys?"
"Not a bit better than girls,"said Kate,stoutly.
"I like boys,"responded Roeder,with conviction."My mother liked boys.She had three girls,but she liked me a damned sight the best."Kate laughed outright.
"Why do you swear?"she said."I never heard a man swear before,--at least,not one with whom I was talking.That's one of your gulch habits.You must get over it."Roeder's blond face turned scarlet.
"You must excuse me,"he pleaded.
