Читать книгу The Snow-Burner - Henry Oyen - Страница 9

Table of Contents

“Miss Pearson!” Toppy spoke as he crossed the threshold; then he stopped short.

The girl was sitting in a big chair before a desk in the farther corner of the room. She was dressed just as she had been on the drive; she had not removed cap, coat or gloves since arriving. Her hands lay palms up in her lap, her square little shoulders sagged, and her face was pale and troubled. A tiny crease of worry had come between her wonderful blue eyes, and her gaze wandered uncertainly, as if seeking help in the face of a problem that had proved too hard for her to handle alone. At the sight of Toppy, instead of giving way to a look of relief, her troubled expression deepened. She started. She seemed even to shrink from him. The words froze in Toppy’s mouth and he stood stock-still.

“Don’t!” he groaned boyishly. “Please don’t look at me like that, Miss Pearson! I—I’m not that sort. I want to help you—if you need it. I heard what Reivers just said. I——What do you take me for, anyhow? A mucker who would force himself upon a lady?”

The anguish in his tone and in his honest, good-natured countenance was too real to be mistaken. He had cried out from the depths of a clean heart which had been stirred strangely, and the woman in the girl responded with quick sympathy. She looked at him with a look that would have aroused the latent manhood in a cad—which Toppy was not—and Toppy, in his eagerness, found that he could look back.

“Why did you come out here?” she asked plaintively. “Why did you decide to follow me, after you had heard that I was coming here? I know you did that; you hadn’t intended coming here until you heard. What made you do it?”

“Because you came here,” said Toppy honestly.

“But why—why——”

Toppy had regained control of himself.

“Why do you think I did it, Miss Pearson?” he asked quietly.

“I—I don’t want to think—what I think,” she stammered.

“And that is that I’m a cad, the sort of a mucker who forces his attentions upon women who are alone.”

“Well—” she looked up with a challenge in her eyes—“you had been drinking, hadn’t you? Could you blame me if I did?”

“Not a bit,” said Toppy. “I’m the one whose to blame. I’m the goat. I don’t suppose I had a right to butt in. Of course I didn’t. I’m a big fool; always have been. I—I just couldn’t stand for seeing you start out for this Hell Camp alone; that’s all. It’s no reason, I know, but—there you are. I’d heard something of the place in the morning and I had a notion it was a pretty tough place. You—you didn’t look as if you were used to anything of the sort——Well,” he wound up desperately, “it didn’t look right, your going off alone among all these roughnecks; and—and that’s why I butted in.”

She made no reply, and Toppy continued:

“I didn’t have any right to do it, I know. I deserve to be suspected——”

“No!” she laughed. “Please, Mr. Treplin! That was horrid of me.”

“Why was it?” he demanded abruptly. “Especially after you knew—after this morning. But—here’s the situation: I thought you might need a side-kicker to see you through, and I appointed myself to the job. You won’t believe that, I suppose, but that’s because you don’t know how foolish I can be.”

He stopped clumsily, abashed by the wondering scrutiny to which she was subjecting him. She arose slowly from the chair and came toward him.

“I believe you, Mr. Treplin,” she said. “I believe you’re a decent sort of boy. I want to thank you; but why—why should you think this necessary?”

She looked at him, smiling a little, and Toppy, wincing from her “boy,” grew flustered.

“Well, you’re not sorry I came?” he stammered.

For reply she shook her head. Toppy took a long breath.

“Thanks!” he said with such genuine relief that she was forced to smile.

“But I’m a perfect stranger to you,” she said uncertainly. “I can’t understand why you should feel prompted to sacrifice yourself so to help me.”

“Sacrifice!” cried Toppy. “Why, I’m the one——” He stopped. He didn’t know just what he had intended to say. Something that he had no business saying, probably. “Anybody would have done it—anybody who wasn’t a mucker, I mean. You can’t have any use for me, of course, knowing what kind of a dub I’ve been, but if you’ll just look on me as somebody you can trust and fall back on in case of need, and who’ll do anything you want or need, I—I’ll be more than paid.”

“I do trust you, Mr. Treplin,” she said, and held out her hand. “But—do I look as if I needed a chaperon?”

Toppy trembled at the firm grip of the small, gloved fingers.

“I told you I’d heard what Reivers said,” he said hastily. “I didn’t mean to; I was just coming in to get some blankets. I don’t suppose you’re going to stay here now, are you?”

She began to draw off her gloves.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Mr. Reivers is a gentleman and can be depended upon to keep his word.”

Toppy winced once more. She had called him a “decent boy”; she spoke of Reivers as a “gentleman.”

“But—good gracious, Miss Pearson! Three hundred dollars——if that’s all——”

He stopped, for her little jaw had set with something like a click.

“Are you going to spoil things by offering to lend me that much money?” she asked. “Didn’t you hear that Mr. Reivers had offered to do it? And Mr. Reivers isn’t a complete stranger to me—as you are.”

She placed her gloves in a pocket and proceeded to unbutton her mackinaw.

“I don’t think you could mean anything wrong by it,” she continued. “But please don’t mention it again. You don’t wish to humiliate me, do you?”

“Miss Pearson!” stammered Toppy, miserable.

“Don’t, please don’t,” she said. “It’s all right.” Her natural high spirits were returning. “Everything’s all right. Mr. Reivers never breaks his word, and he’s promised—you heard him, you say? And you’ve promised to be my—what did you call it?—‘side-kicker,’ so everything’s fine. Except—” a look of disgust passed over her eyes—“your drinking. Oh,” she cried as she saw the shame flare into Toppy’s face, “I didn’t mean to hurt you—but how can nice boys like you throw themselves away?”

Nice boy! Toppy looked at his toes for a long time. So that was what she thought of him! Nice boy!

“Do you know much about Reivers?” he asked at last, as if he had forgotten her words. “Or don’t you want to tell me about him?” He had sensed that he was infinitely Reivers’ inferior in her estimation, and it hurt.

“Certainly I do,” she said. “Mr. Reivers was a foreman for the company that my father was estimator for. When father was hurt last Summer Mr. Reivers came to see him on company business. It’s father’s spine; he couldn’t move; Reivers had to come to him. He saw me, and two hours after our meeting he—he asked me to marry him. He asked me again a week later, and once after that. Then I told him that I never could care for him and he went away and promised he’d never trouble me again. You heard our conversation. I hadn’t seen or heard of him since, until he walked into this room. That’s all I know about him, except that people say he never breaks his word.”

Toppy winced as he caught the note of confidence in her voice and thought of the sudden deadly treachery of Reivers in dealing with Rosky. The girl with a lithe movement threw off her mackinaw.

“By Jove!” Toppy exploded in boyish admiration. “You’re the bravest little soul I ever saw in my life! Going against a game like this, just to help your father!”

“Well, why shouldn’t I?” she asked. “I’m the only one father has got. We’re all alone, father and I; and father is too proud to take help from any one else; and—and,” she concluded firmly, “so am I. As for being brave—have you anything against Mr. Reivers personally?”

Thoroughly routed, Toppy turned to the door. “Good night, Miss Pearson,” he said politely.

“Good night, Mr. Treplin. And thank you for—going out of your way.” But had she seen the flash in Toppy’s eye and the set of his jaw she might not have laughed so merrily as he flung out of the room.

In the store on the other side of the hallway Toppy was surprised to find Tilly, the squaw, waiting patiently behind a low counter on which lay a pair of blankets bearing a tag “XX.” As he entered, the woman pushed the blankets toward him and pointed to a card lying on the counter.

“Put um name here,” she said, indicating a dotted line on the card and offering Toppy a pencil tied on a string.

Toppy saw that the card was a receipt for the blankets. As he signed, he looked closely at the squaw. He was surprised to see that she was a young woman, and that her features and expression distinguished her from the other squaws he had seen by the intelligence they indicated. Tilly was no mere clod in a red skin. Somewhere back of her inscrutable Indian eyes was a keen, strong mind.

“How did you know what I wanted?” Toppy asked as he packed the blankets under his arm.

The squaw made no sign that she had heard. Picking up the card, she looked carefully at his signature and turned to hang the card on a hook.

“So you were listening when Reivers was talking to me, were you?” said Toppy. “Did you listen after he went out?”

“Mebbe,” grunted Tilly. “Mebbe so; mebbe no.” And with this she turned and waddled back into the living-quarters in the rear of the store.

Toppy looked after her dumbfounded.

“Huh!” he said to himself. “I’ll bet two to one that Reivers knows all about what we said before morning. I suppose that will mean something doing pretty quick. Well, the quicker the better.”