The Long Shadow, page 13
CHAPTER XIII.
_Billy Meets the Pilgrim._
The weeks that followed did not pass as quickly as before for BillyBoyle, nor did raking the range with his riders bring quite as keena satisfaction with life. Always, when he rode apart in the soft hazeand watched the sky-line shimmer and dance toward him and then retreatlike a teasing maid, his thoughts wandered from the range and thecattle and the men who rode at his bidding and rested with one slimyoung woman who puzzled and tantalized him and caused him more mentaldiscomfort than he had ever known in his life before that night whenshe entered so unexpectedly the line-camp and his life. He scarcelyknew just how he did feel toward her; sometimes he hungered forher with every physical and mental fibre and was tempted to leaveeverything and go to her. Times there were when he resented deeplyher treatment of him and repeated to himself the resolution not to liedown and let her walk all over him just because he liked her.
When the round-up was over and the last of the beef on the wayto Chicago, and the fat Irish cook gathered up the reins of hisfour-horse team, mounted with a grunt to the high seat of the messwagon and pointed his leaders thankfully into the trail which led tothe Double-Crank, though the sky was a hard gray and the wind blewchill with the bite of winter and though tiny snowflakes driftedaimlessly to earth with a quite deceitful innocence, as if they knewnothing of more to come and were only idling through the air, theblood of Charming Billy rioted warmly through his veins and his voicehad a lilt which it had long lacked and he sang again the pitifullyfoolish thing with which he was wont to voice his joy in living.
"I have been to see my wife, She's the joy of my life, She's a young thing, and cannot leave her mother!"
"Thought Bill had got too proud t' sing that song uh hisn," the cookyelled facetiously to the riders who were nearest. "I was lookin' forhim to bust out in grand-opry, or something else that's a heap morestylish than his old come-all-ye."
Charming Billy turned and rested a hand briefly upon the cantle whilehe told the cook laughingly to go to the hot place, and then settledhimself to the pace that matched the leaping blood of him. That pacesoon discouraged the others and left them jogging leisurely a mileor two in the rear, and it also brought him the sooner to hisdestination.
"Wonder if she's mad yet," he asked himself, when he dismounted. Noone seemed to be about, but he reflected that it was just about noonand they would probably be at dinner--and, besides, the weather wasnot the sort to invite one outdoors unless driven by necessity.
The smell of roast meat, coffee and some sort of pie assailed hisnostrils pleasantly when he came to the house, and he went in eagerlyby the door which would bring him directly to the dining room. As hehad guessed, they were seated at the table. "Why, come in, William,"Dill greeted, a welcoming note in his voice. "We weren't looking foryou, but you are in good time. We've only just begun."
"How do you do, Mr. Boyle?" Miss Bridger added demurely.
"Hello, Bill! How're yuh coming?" cried another, and it was to himthat the eyes of Billy Boyle turned bewilderedly. That the Pilgrimshould be seated calmly at the Double-Crank table never once occurredto him. In his thoughts of Miss Bridger he had mentally eliminated thePilgrim; for had she not been particular to show the Pilgrim that hispresence was extremely undesirable, that night at the dance?
"Hello, folks!" he answered them all quietly, because there wasnothing else that he could do until he had time to think. Miss Bridgerhad risen and was smiling at him in friendly fashion, exactly asif she had never run away from him and stayed away all the eveningbecause she was angry.
"I'll fix you a place," she announced briskly. "Of course you'rehungry. And if you want to wash off the dust of travel, there's plentyof warm water out here in the kitchen. I'll get you some."
She may not have meant that for an invitation, but Billy followed herinto the kitchen and calmly shut the door behind him. She dipped warmwater out of the reservoir for him and hung a fresh towel on thenail above the washstand in the corner, and seemed about to leave himagain.
"Yuh mad yet?" asked Billy, because he wanted to keep her there.
"Mad? Why?" She opened her eyes at him. "Not as much as you look," sheretorted then. "You look as cross as if--"
"What's the Pilgrim doing here?" Billy demanded suddenly anduntactfully.
"Who? Mr. Walland?" She went into the pantry and came back with aplate for him. "Why, nothing; he's just visiting. It's Sunday, youknow."
"Oh--is it?" Billy bent over the basin, hiding his face from her. "Ididn't know; I'd kinda lost count uh the days." Whereupon he madea great splashing in his corner and let her go without morewords, feeling more than ever that he needed time to think. "Justvisiting--'cause it's _Sunday_, eh? The dickens it is!" Meditatingdeeply, he was very deliberate in combing his hair and settling hisblue tie and shaking the dust out of his white silk neckerchiefand retying it in a loose knot; so deliberate that Mama Joy wasconstrained to call out to him: "Your dinner is getting cold, Mr.Boyle," before he went in and took his seat where Miss Bridger hadplaced him--and he doubted much her innocence in the matter--elbow toelbow with the Pilgrim.
"How's shipping coming on, Billy?" inquired the Pilgrim easily,passing to him the platter of roast beef. "Most through, ain't yuh?"
"The outfit's on the way in," answered Billy, accepting noncommittallythe meat and the overture for peace. "They'll be here in less than anhour."
If the Pilgrim wanted peace, he was thinking rapidly, what grounds hadhe for ignoring the truce? He himself had been the aggressor and healso had been the victor. According to the honor of fighting men, heshould be generous. And when all was said and done--and the thoughtgalled Billy more than he could understand--the offense of the Pilgrimhad been extremely intangible; it had consisted almost wholly of looksand a tone or two, and he realized quite plainly that his own dislikeof the Pilgrim had probably colored his judgment. Anyway, he hadthrashed the Pilgrim and driven him away from camp and killed his dog.Wasn't that enough? And if the Pilgrim chose to forget the unpleasantcircumstances of their parting and be friends, what could he do butforget also? Especially since the girl did not appear to be holdingany grudge for what had passed between them in the line-camp. Billy,buttering a biscuit with much care, wished he knew just what _had_happened that night before he opened the door, and wondered if hedared ask her.
Under all his thoughts and through all he hated the Pilgrim, his boldblue eyes, his full, smiling lips and smooth cheeks, as he had neverhated him before; and he hated himself because, being unable toaccount even to himself for his feelings toward the Pilgrim, he wasobliged to hide his hate and be friends--or else act the fool. Andabove all the mental turmoil he was somehow talking and listening andlaughing now and then, as if there were two of him and each one wasoccupied with his own affairs. "I wisht to thunder there was _three_uh me," he thought fleetingly during a pause. "I'd set the third oneuh me to figuring out just where the girl stands in this game, andwhat she's thinking about right now. There's a kinda twinkling in hereyes, now and then when she looks over here, that sure don't line upwith her innocent talk. I wisht I could mind-read her--
"Yes, we didn't get through none too soon. Looks a lot like we'regoing to get our first slice uh winter. We've been playing big luckthat we didn't get it before now; and that last bunch uh beef wassure rollicky and hard to handle--we'd uh had a picnic with all thetrimmings if a blizzard had caught us with them on our hands. As itis, we're all dead on our feet. I expect to sleep about four dayswithout stopping for meals, if you ask _me_."
One cannot wonder that Charming Billy heard thankfully the clatter ofhis outfit arriving, or that he left half his piece of pie uneatenand hurried off, on the plea that he must show them what to do--whichwould have caused a snicker among the men if they had overheard him.He did not mind Dill following him out, nor did he greatly mind thePilgrim remaining in the house with Miss Bridger. The relief of beingeven temporarily free from the perplexities of the situation masteredall else and sent him whistling down the path to the stables.
