The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills Page 10

  CHAPTER X

  SOLVING THE RIDDLE

  The new owner of the Padre's farm had quite recovered from the effectsof her disastrous journey. Youth and a sound constitution, and theoverwhelming ministrations of Mrs. Ransford had done all that wasneeded to restore her.

  She was sitting in an old, much-repaired rocking-chair, in what wasobviously the farm's "best" bedroom. Her trunks, faithfully recoveredfrom the wreck of the cart by the only too willing Buck, stood open onthe floor amidst a chaotic setting of their contents, while the oldfarm-wife herself stood over them, much in the attitude of a faithfuland determined watch-dog.

  The girl looked on indifferent to the confusion and to the damagebeing perpetrated before her very eyes. She was lost in thoughts ofher own which had nothing to do with such fripperies as lawns, andsilks, and _suedes_, or any other such feminine excitements. She wasstruggling with recollection, and endeavoring to conjure it. There wasa blank in her life, a blank of some hours, which, try as she would,she could not fill in. It was a blank, as far as she could make out,which terminated in her arrival at the farm _borne in the arms of somestrange man_.

  Well might such a thought shut out considerations like the almostcertain destruction of a mere wardrobe at the hands of her ignorantbut well-meaning helper. It would have been exciting, too, but for hermemory of the latter stages of her journey. They were still painful.There was still uncertainty as to what had happened to the teamsterand the horses.

  At last, however, she abandoned further attempt to solve the riddleunaided, and decided to question her housekeeper.

  "Was it the same man who brought those trunks--I mean the same manwho--brought me here?" she demanded sharply.

  "It surely was," replied Mrs. Ransford, desisting for a moment fromher efforts to bestow a pile of dainty shoes into a night-dress caseof elaborate drawn thread work. "An' a nice mess he's got things in.Jest look at 'em all tossed about, same as you might toss slap-jacks,as the sayin' is. It's a mercy of heaven, an' no thanks to him, you'vegot a rag fit to wear. It surely ain't fer me to say it, but it's reallucky I'm here to put things right for you. Drat them shoes! I don'tguess I'll ever git 'em all into this bag, miss--ma'm--I mean miss,mum."

  Something of the tragedy of her wardrobe became evident to the girland she went to the rescue.

  "I'm sorry, but they don't go in there," she said, feeling that anapology was due for her interference in such well-intended efforts."That's--you see, that's my sleeping-suit case," she added gently.

  "Sleepin'-soot?" A pair of round, wondering eyes stared out throughthe old woman's glasses.

  The girl pointed at the silk trousers and jacket lying just inside thenearest trunk, and the farm-wife picked them up gingerly, letting themunfold as she did so. Just for one moment she inspected them, thenshe hurriedly let them drop back into the trunk as though they weresome dangerous reptile, and, folding her arms, glared into the girl'ssmiling face in comical reproach.

  "You sure don't wear them pants, miss--at night? Not reely?" sheexclaimed in horrified tones.

  The girl's smile hardened.

  "Why, yes. Lots of girls wear sleeping-suits nowadays."

  "You don't say!"

  The old woman pursed up her lips in strong disapproval. Then, with adisdainful sniff, she went on--

  "Wot gals ain't comin' to I don't know, I'm sure. Wot with silk nexttheir skin an' them draughty stockin's, as you might say, things isgettin' to a pretty pass. Say, I wouldn't put myself into them pants,no, not if the President o' the United States was to stand over me an'wouldn't let me put on nuthin' else."

  The girl refrained from reply, but the obvious impossibility of thefeat appealed to her sense of humor. However, the solution of herriddle was of prevailing interest, so she returned again to herquestioning.

  "Did he say how he found me?" she demanded. "Did he tell you any--anyparticulars of what happened to the cart, and--and the teamster?"

  "No, ma'm--miss, beggin' your pardin,--that he didn't. I never seesech a fresh feller outside a noospaper office. An' him the owner ofthis farm that was, but isn't, as you might say. You take my word forit he'll come to a bad end, he sure will. Wot with them wicked eyes ofhis, an' that black, Dago-lookin' hair. I never did see a feller wholooked more like a scallawag than him. Makes me shiver to think ofhim a-carryin' you in his two arms. Wher' from sez I--_an' why_?"

  "Because I couldn't walk, I expect," the girl replied easily.

  The farm-wife shook a fat, warning finger at her.

  "Oh, ma'm--miss--that's wot he says! You jest wait till you've gotmore experience o' scallawags like him an' you'll sure know. Wot I sezis men's that full o' tricks wher' females is to be deceived it 'udtake 'em a summer vacation sortin' 'emselves out. Men is shockin'scallawags," she finished up, flinging the shoes pell-mell into theopen trunk.

  A further rescue of her property was necessary and the girl protested.

  "Please don't bother any more with those clothes," she criedhurriedly. "I'll see to them myself." Then, as the woman proceeded tomop her perspiring brow with a pair of silk stockings, she sprang upand thrust a hand-towel toward her. "Use this; you'll find it moreabsorbent than--er--silk."

  The old woman thanked her profusely, and made the exchange. And whenthe operation was completed the relieved girl returned to her seat andwent on with her examination.

  "What did you say his name was?"

  "I didn't say. An' he didn't tell me, neither. Fellers like him ain'tnever ready with their names. Maybe he calls himself Moreton Kenyon.Y' see he was the same as handed the farm over, an' you tol' me, backther' in Leeson Butte, you'd bo't Moreton Kenyon's farm. 'MoretonKenyon!' Sort o' high-soundin' name for such a scallawag. I don'tnever trust high-soundin' names. They're most like whitewash. Youallus set that sort o' stuff on hog-pens an' sech, as you might say."

  "Perhaps he's not as bad as you suspect," the girl suggested kindly."Lots of good people start by making a bad impression."

  "I don't know what that means," cried the other promptly. "But I doknow what a scallawag is, an' that's him."

  It was useless to seek further information from such a source, so thegirl abandoned the attempt, and dismissed the pig-headed housekeeperto her work, work which she felt she was far better suited to thansuch a delicate operation as the straightening out a wardrobe.

  When Mrs. Ransford had taken her unwilling departure, not withoutseveral well-meaning protests, the girl bent her own energies torestoring order to her wardrobe. Nor was it an easy task. Themasculine manner of the bedroom left much to be desired in thoselittle depositories and cupboards, without which no woman can live incomfort. And during the process of disposing her belongings manymental notes were made for future alterations in the furnishings ofher new abode.

  It was not a bad room, however. The simplicity and cleanliness of itstruck wholesomely upon her. Yes, in spite of what her lieutenant hadsaid about him, Mr. Moreton Kenyon was certainly a man of somerefinement. She had never heard that such neatness and cleanliness wasthe habit amongst small bachelor farmers in the outlands of the West.And this was the man who had carried her--where from?

  Again she sat down in the rocker and gave herself up to the puzzlementof those hours of her unconsciousness. The last event that was clearin her mind was the struggle of the teamster to keep his horseshead-on for the bank of the flooded river. She remembered the surgingwaters, she remembered that the bottom of the cart was awash, and thatshe sat with her feet lifted and resting on the side of the vehicle.She remembered that the horses were swimming before the driver'sflogging whip and blasphemous shoutings. All this was plain enoughstill. Then came the man's order to herself. He warned her to getready to jump, and she had been quick to realize the necessity. Inspite of the horses' wildest struggles the cart was being washeddown-stream. Then had come his final shout. And she had jumped on theinstant.

  At this point of her recollections things became confused. She had ahazy memory of floundering in the water, also she remembered a heavy
blow on the shoulder. Then some one seemed to seize hold of her. Itmust have been the teamster, though she did not remember seeing him inthe water. How she got out was a mystery to her. Again it must havebeen the teamster. Then what of him? Mrs. Ransford had not spoken ofhim. Had he, too, escaped? or had he--she shuddered. For some momentsher thoughts depressed her. The thought of a brave man's lifesacrificed for her was too terrible.

  But after a while she continued in a lighter strain. It was at thispoint that the blank began. True, she seemed to have some dimrecollection of a rough hut. It seemed to be made of logs. Then, too,she had a dreamy sort of cognizance of a number of men's voicestalking. Then--no, there was nothing more after that. Nothing untilshe awoke and found herself in bed, with a strange doctor standingover her.

  It was all very puzzling, but--she turned toward the window as theafternoon sun fell athwart it and lit the plain interior of her newbedroom, searching the corners and the simple furnishings of thecarpetless room.

  From where she sat she could see the barns and corrals, and beyondthem the heavy-hued pine woods. Then, away out far, far in thedistance, the endless white snowcaps of the purpling hills. What ascene to her unaccustomed eyes. The breadth of it. The immensity.

  She drew a deep breath and sat up.

  She was dressed in a simple white shirt-waist and blue serge skirt,and her masses of red-gold hair were loosely coiled about herwell-shaped head. The eager light of interest in her violet eyes lither beautiful young face, lending it an animation which added awonderful vitality to her natural beauty. The firm, rich lips wereparted eagerly. The wide-open eyes, so deeply intelligent, shone witha lustre of delight there was no mistaking. Her rounded bosom rose andfell rapidly as the glad thought flew through her brain thatthis--this was her new home, where she was to forget the past and shutout all recollection of that evil shadow which had so long pursuedher.

  Yes, this was the beginning of her new life. Joan Stanmore was dead,and out of the ashes had arisen Joan Rest, ready to face the world ina spirit of well-doing bachelorhood. Here, here in the wild mountainworld, where men were few and apart from her old life, she could facethe future with perfect confidence.

  She breathed a deep sigh of contentment and lolled back in the rocker,dropping her eyes from the snow-crowned hills to the precious littlefarm that was all hers. Then, in an instant, she sat up again as thetall figure of a young man appeared round the corner of the barn.

  For some moments she followed his movements wonderingly. He walkedstraight over to the hay corral with long, easy strides. There wasnone of the slouch of a man idling about him. His whole attitude wasfull of distinct purpose. She saw him enter the corral and mount thehalf-cut haystack, and proceed to cut deeper into it. A moment laterhe pitched the loose hay to the ground, and himself slid down on toit. Then, stooping, he gathered it in his arms and left the corral.

  Now she saw his face for the first time. It was dark. Nor could she becertain that his coloring was due to sunburn. His eyes were dark, too,and his hair. He was a good-looking man, she decided, and quite young.But how tall. And what shoulders. She wondered who he was, and what hewas doing on her farm.

  Then, of a sudden, she remembered she had spoken of a hired man toMrs. Ransford. Had she----?

  Her reflections were cut short by the sudden appearance of thefarm-wife from the house. The old woman trotted hastily across theyard toward the barn, her fat sides shaking as she waddled, and hershort, stout arms violently gesticulating. Joan needed nothing morethan the good woman's back view to tell her that the dame was veryangry, and that it was the stranger who had inspired her wrath. Shewaited, smiling, for the _denouement_.

  It came quickly. It came with the reappearance of the stranger roundthe corner of the barn. What a splendid specimen of a man, shethought, as she watched the expression of unruffled calm on his strongfeatures. His shirt sleeves were rolled well up above his elbows, andeven at that distance she could see the deep furrows in his armswhere the rope-like muscles stood out beneath the thin, almostdelicate skin.

  But her attention was quickly diverted by the clacking of thefarm-wife's tongue. She could hear it where she sat with the windowtight shut. And though she could not hear the words it was plainenough from the violence of her gesticulations that she was rating thepatient man soundly. So patent was it, so dreadful, that even in herkeenest interest Joan found herself wondering if Mr. Ransford weredead, and hoping that, if he were, his decease had occurred in earlyyouth.

  Nor had the man made any attempt at response. She was sure of it,because she had watched his firm lips, and they had not moved. Perhapshe had found retort impossible. It was quite possible, for the otherhad not paused a moment in her tirade. What a flow. It was colossal,stupendous. Joan felt sorry for the man.

  What a patience he had. Nor had his expression once altered. He merelydisplayed the thoughtful attention that one might bestow, listening toa brilliant conversationalist or an interesting story. It was tooridiculous, and Joan began to laugh.

  Then the end came abruptly and without warning. Mrs. Ransford justswung about and trotted furiously back to the house. Her face wasflaming, and her fat arms, flourishing like unlimber flails, werepointing every verbal threat she hurled over her shoulder at the spotwhere the man had stood. Yes, he had vanished again round the cornerof the barn, and the poor woman's best efforts were quite lost uponthe warm summer air.

  But her purpose was obvious, and Joan prepared herself for awhirlwind visitation. Nor had she long to wait. There was a shufflingof feet out in the passage, and, the next moment, the door of her roomwas unceremoniously flung open and the indignant woman staggered in.

  "Well, of all the impidence, of all the sass, of all the ignorant bumsthat ever I----!" She exploded, and stood panting under the strain ofher furious emotions.

  But Joan felt she really must assert herself. This sort of reign ofterror must not go on.

  "Don't fluster yourself, Mrs. Ransford," she said calmly. "I'll see tothe matter myself."

  But she might as well have attempted to stem the tide of the riverthat had wrecked her journey as stay the irate woman's tongue.

  "But it's him!" she cried. "Him, that low-down scallawag that carriedyou in his arms an' walked right into this yere bedroom an' laid youon your own virgin bed without no by your leave nor nuthin'. Him, assaw your trunks drownded an' you all mussed up with water, withoutraisin' a hand to help, 'less it was to push you further under----"

  But Joan was equal to no more. She pushed the well-meaning creature onone side and hurried out of the house, while the echoes of the other'sscathing indictment died down behind her.

  Joan did not hesitate. It was not her way to hesitate about anythingwhen her mind was made up. And just now she was determined to find outthe real story of what had happened to her. She was interested. Thisman had carried her. He had brought her trunks up. And--yes, she likedthe look of him.

  But she felt it necessary to approach the matter with becomingdignity. She was not given much to standing on her dignity, but shefelt that in her association with the men of these parts she mustharden herself to it. All friendships with men were banned. This shewas quite decided upon. And she sighed as she passed round the angleof the barn.

  Her sigh died at its birth, however, and she was brought to a shortand terrified halt. Two prongs of a hayfork gleamed viciously withinthree inches of her horrified eyes, and, behind them, with eyes noless horrified, stood the dark-haired stranger.