The Busted Ex-Texan and Other Stories Part 5

Thus I spake. Word for word as he told me I spake.

I gave her the watch, and I said no word further.

I had done as I pledged, I had said as he charged me, So I stopped and stood waiting for word of dismissal.

But she said not a word, nor made she a sign.

The watch she took from me, touched the spring and it opened, And there, 'twixt the gla.s.s and the gold, withered and faded, Lay a leaf of Red Rose. One leaf, and--no more.

For a moment she stood; stood, and gazed at the leaf, Her face grew as white as her gown, and she trembled And shook like a white swan in dying, then she cried, "My G.o.d, I have killed him, my lover!"

And down on the floor, on the skins at her feet She dropped as one stricken by bullet or lightning.

It was only last month that we two, in trailing, Trailed a hundred good miles across to the rapids.

For we wanted to see before going northward If evil had come to the grave of our comrade.

But the grave lay untouched, by beast or by human.

The gra.s.s on the mound was well rooted and growthful.

At the foot of the grave the rose-tree I planted Was as high as my head. And the leaves of the roses Lay as thick as red snow-flakes on the mound that was under.

And we knew that on breast, as he slept, was her picture.

So we felt, as we gazed, it was well with Jack Whitcomb.

But often at night, when alone in my cabin, I hear the low murmur of far northern rapids.

And often I see the great house and its splendor, And wonder if death has helped the proud woman To lay off her grief and escape from her sorrow.

And blazed a line through the dark Valley of Shadow, And brought her in peace to the edge of the clearing, Where I know she would see Jack Whitcomb stand, waiting.

So I say it again, and I say it with knowledge, That the woods have their sorrows as well as the cities.

And he knows but little of this great northern forest Who thinks there's naught in it save trees, lakes, and mountains.