The Twins of Suffering Creek Part 3

Again she was in his arms. Again his kisses fell hot and fast upon her glowing face. Nature was rus.h.i.+ng a strong flood tide. It was a moment that could have no repet.i.tion in their lives.

They stood thus, locked in each other's arms, borne along by a pa.s.sion that was beyond their control--lost to all the world, lost to all those things which should have mattered to them. It was the fervid outpouring of two natures which had nothing that was spiritual in them. They demanded the life of the senses, and so strong was the desire that they were lost to all else.

Then suddenly in the midst of their dream came the disturbing patter of small feet and the joyous, innocent laughter of infantile glee. Two tiny mud-stained figures rushed at the doorway and fell sprawling into the hut. They were on their feet again in a moment, laughing and crowing out their delight. Then, as the man and woman sprang apart, they stood round-eyed, wondering and gaping.

Jamie and Vada paused only till the grown-up eyes were turned in their direction, then their chorus broke out in one breath.

"We got fi' 'piders--"

"An' two bugs!"

The important information was fairly shrieked, to the accompaniment of dancing eyes and flushed cheeks.

Jessie gasped. But her emotion was not at the news so rudely broken.

It was the breaking of the spell which had held her. Just for one horrific moment she stood staring helplessly at the innocent picture of her four-year-old twins, beautiful in spite of their grimy exterior, beautiful as a Heaven-inspired picture to the mother.

The man smiled. Nor was it an unpleasant smile. Perhaps, somewhere in his savage composition, he had a grain of humor; perhaps it was only the foolish smile of a man whose wits are not equal to so incongruous a situation.

"They're most ev'ry color," piped Vada, with added excitement.

"Uh!" grunted Jamie in agreement. "An' the bugs has horns."

But the man had recovered himself. The interruption had brought with it a realization of the time he had spent in the hut.

"You'd best go and find more," he said. "There's heaps outside." Then he turned to Jessie. "Come on. We must be going. Have you got the things you need ready?"

But the mother's eyes were on the small intruders. Something was gripping at her heart, and somehow it felt like four small and dirty hands.

"Wher' you goin'?" demanded Vada, her childish curiosity roused, and all her beautiful spiders forgotten for the moment.

Her question remained unanswered, leaving the room in ominous silence.

Then Jamie's treble blundered into its midst, dutifully echoing his sister's inquiry.

"'Es, wher' you doin'?"

The man's eyes were narrowly watching the woman's face. He noted the tremulous lips, the yearning light in her eyes. In a moment he was answering the children, lest their innocent words should upset his plans.

"Say, your momma's going for a horse-ride. She's just going right out, and I'm going to show her a dandy place where she can fetch you, so you can catch heaps an' heaps of bugs and spiders. She's just wanting you to stop right here and catch more bugs, till I come along and fetch you."

"O--oh!" cried Vada, prolonging her exclamation gleefully. "Say, can't us go now?"

"Me do too," murmured her faithful shadow.

One quick glance at the mother's face and the man spoke again.

"Not now, kiddies. I'll come and fetch you. Run along." Then he turned swiftly upon Jessie. "Where's your bundle?" he asked in his usual masterful manner.

And her reply came in a tone of almost heart-broken submission.

"In there," she said, with a glance at the inner room.

The man gave her no time to add anything more. He felt the ground he was treading was more than shaky. He knew that with the coming of these children a tremendous power was militating against him--a power which would need all his wits to combat. He pa.s.sed into the inner room, and returned in a moment with the girl's bundle. And with his return one glance showed him how nearly his plans were upset. Jessie was clasping Jamie in her arms, kissing him hungrily, tears streaming down her cheeks, while, out of sheer sympathy, little Vada was clinging to her mother's skirts, her small face buried in amongst them, sobbing as though her heart would break.

In a moment he was at her side. This was not a time when any drastic methods could serve him, and he adopted the only course which his shrewd sense told him would be likely to avail. Gently but firmly he took the boy out of her arms.

"You want him to go with us?" he said kindly. "Very well. Maybe we're doing wrong--I mean, for his sake. Anyhow, I'll carry him, and then I'll come back for Vada. It's not good. It's too hard on him, carrying him all that distance--too dangerous. Still, I want you to be happy, Jess. I'd do anything for that, even--even at his expense. So--"

"No--no!" cried the mother, carried away by the fear he expressed so subtly, and warmed by his carefully expressed sympathy. "Don't take any notice of me. I'm foolish--silly. You're right--he--he couldn't make the journey with us. No, no, we--won't--take him now. Set him down, Jim. I'll go now, and you'll--you'll come back for them. Yes, yes, let's go now. I--I can't stay any--longer. I've left a letter for Zip. Swear I shall have them both. You'll never--never break your word? I think I'd--die without them."

"You shall have them. I swear it." The man spoke readily enough. It was so easy to promise anything, so long as he got her.

But his oath brought neither expression of grat.i.tude nor comment. The woman was beyond mere words. She felt that only flight could save her from breaking down altogether. And, thus impelled, she tore herself from the presence of the children and rushed out of the hut. The horses were down at the creek, and thither she sped, lest her purpose should fail her.

James followed her. He felt that she must not be left by herself to think. But at the door he paused and glanced keenly around him. Then he breathed a sigh of relief. Not a living soul was to be seen anywhere. It was good; his plans had worked out perfectly.

He set Jamie down, and, all unconscious of the little drama being played round his young life, the child stretched out a chubby hand in the direction of the soap-box he and his sister had been playing with.

"'Piders," he observed laconically.

Vada rushed past him to inspect their treasures, her tears already dried into streaks on her dirty little cheeks.

"An' bugs," she cried gleefully, squatting beside the box.

They had forgotten.

The man hurried away down towards the creek, bearing the pitiful bundle of woman's raiment. The girl was ahead, and, as she again came into his view, one thought, and one thought only, occupied his mind.

Jessie was his whole world--at that moment.

He, too, had forgotten.

"They've runned away," cried Vada, peering into the box.

"Me don't like 'piders," murmured Jamie definitely.

Vada's great brown eyes filled with tears. Fresh rivulets began to run down the muddy channels on her downy cheeks. Her disappointment found vent in great sobbing gulps.

Jamie stared at her in silent speculation. Then one little fat hand reached out and pushed her. She rolled over and buried her wet face in the dusty ground and howled heart-brokenly. Then Jamie crawled close up beside her, and, stretching himself out, wept his sympathy into the back of her gaping frock.

CHAPTER III

THE AWAKENING OF SCIPIO