The Last Straw Part 23

When she put her question she had been rigidly expectant but at his answer she relaxed and the fierceness that had been about her yielded to a curiosity.

"Go on in the rain? How's that?"--in a voice that was quite different, as though she had encountered something she did not understand.

He looked at her a lengthy interval before replying.

"Because I respect you very much. Do you understand that?"

She moved back to the fireplace, eyeing him questioningly, and he met that look with an easy smile.

"No, I don't understand that," she said.

"You should. I saw you beat a man the other day because he didn't respect you. No one but that type of man would refuse to respect you.

It's wise, perhaps, for you to take down that rifle when strangers come at night ... but it isn't always necessary. Some men might stay here with you alone, but I couldn't."

"You mean, that you'd ride on in the rain?"

"Surely."

"Well.... You ain't afraid of the gun, are you?"

He laughed outright.

"No, it's not that! It's because I'd ride any distance rather than do something that might bring you unhappiness. Don't you see?" He leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking up into her serious face. "Don't you see that if I stayed here with you, alone, and people heard about it, they might not respect you?"

"It's none of their business!"

"Neither was it any business of that man to insult you in town the other day. But he did."

"But it's rainin' and you're cold. I ain't afraid of you."

It was raining, but he was not cold. The fire was close and, besides, another warmth was seeping through his body as he looked earnestly into the face of that daughter of the mountains. The ready defiance was gone from it and the features, in repose, gave it an expression that was little less than wistful.

"And you are a young girl who deserves the admiration of every man that walks. If I stayed here with you, you would know it's all right, and so would I.... Others might not understand."

She sat down abruptly, leaned back, clasped one knee with her hands and smiled for the first time. It was a beautiful smile, in great contrast to her earlier sullen defiance.

"I like you," she said simply, and Hilton's face grew hot.

"If you like me, my night's ride hasn't gone to waste," he replied, and laughed.

She looked him over again, calculatingly, as closely as she had at first, but with a different interest. Her smile faded but the lips remained slightly parted, showing teeth of calcium whiteness.

"You're the first man that's ever talked that-a way to me. I've been travelin' ever since I can remember, first one place, then another.

I've always had to look out for men.... I've been able to, too, since I got big enough to be bothered.

"This is the first time any man's talked like you're talkin' to me."

"Bless you," he said very gently, "that's been tough luck. A girl like you are doesn't deserve that."

"Don't she? Well, it ain't what you deserve that counts, it's what you get."

"What's your name?"

"Bobby.... Bobby Cole."

"How old are you?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know ... just. About twenty. Alf knows; I ain't thought to ask him for quite a while."

"Who's Alf?"

"My father."

"... And your mother?"

"I never had none that I recall. She died early; that was back in Oklahoma, Alf says."

"No brothers or sisters?"

A shake of the head.

"And since then you've been alone with your father?"

She nodded. "For weeks an' months, without talkin' to another soul."

"Have you always lived so far away as that? Always in such remote places that you didn't even see people?"

"Huh! Usually I've seen 'em, 'most every day.... But there's a difference between seein' folks and talkin' to 'em."

He was puzzled and said so.

"Funny!" she repeated after him. "Maybe it's funny ... but I can't see it that-a way."

"But surely you've made friends! A girl like you couldn't help make friends."

"I've never had a friend in my life ... but Alf," she answered bitterly.

"Then it must have been because you didn't want to make friends with people."

"Didn't want to!" she echoed almost angrily. "What else does anybody want but friends ... an' things like that? Oh, I wanted to all right, but folks don't make friends with ... with trash like we are. We ain't got enough to have friends; ain't got enough even to have peace."

Hilton studied her face carefully. It was a queer blending of appealing want and virulence.

"They won't even let you have peace?" he asked deliberately to urge her in further revelation.

"Folks that have things don't want other folks to have 'em. In this country when poor folks try to get ahead all they get is trouble."