The Short Line War Part 32

"I understand that I have to thank you," he continued. "They were your horses, I believe. I hope I have not inconvenienced you by keeping you here. But it was an emergency."

"Has Mr. West been found?" Katherine struggled to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

"No." Weeks sat down. "It seems impossible to get any word. I've roused things pretty effectively though, I think. There's a reward up. The sheriffs of both counties are at work, and the farmers are all stirred up.

There's nothing to do but wait. If he's found, and by any chance is hurt, they're to bring him here."

"Wouldn't it be a good plan to have a doctor here, in case--"

"I don't think it is necessary. Of course the probability is that he is locked up somewhere and is being held for a day or so. If he is knocked out, it was not done intentionally. They wouldn't dare."

At the word "they" Katherine winced a little, but Weeks apparently was entirely impersonal. There was a silence, Weeks sitting with slightly drawn brows but with an otherwise impa.s.sive face, Katherine looking out the window. A little later a wagon came slowly up the roadway. Two men were on the seat and a third reclined in the box. They were driving carefully, and Jim did not hear the sound of the wheels until a subdued exclamation from Katherine drew his attention. She was sitting erect, her hands gripping a cus.h.i.+on. Jim followed her gaze, then without a word he rose and hurried from the room.

A moment later Katherine saw the wagon pull up at the steps, Weeks running down to meet it. The man beside the driver dropped back into the wagon box and raised the reclining figure; then he and Jim helped him to the ground.

In spite of the soiled clothes, the matted hair, and the bandage across the forehead, Katherine recognized Harvey. When she saw that he could walk, even though leaning heavily on the others, her heart bounded. The three came slowly up the steps. Then she could hear Jim's voice in the hall, evidently issuing an order, and the steward slid one of the hall settees into the room and piled rugs upon it.

Katherine rose in some doubt as they entered. She had taken up two of the cus.h.i.+ons, one in each hand, and stood holding them. By now it was nearing five o'clock. The sun was about setting, and while outdoors it was still light, the long low room was already dim with approaching evening, so that not until he was close at hand could she see Harvey distinctly. But when she did distinguish the pale face and the weary eyes, her hesitation vanished and she hastened to lay the cus.h.i.+ons on the settee. Harvey evidently had not observed her, for he suddenly drew back.

"Really, Miss Porter, I'm not such an invalid as these people are trying to make out. I don't need to lie down." He laughed slightly as Jim drew him forward. "It's just a little stiffness. See here--" he broke away from his helpers and walked somewhat uncertainly to the settee, sitting on the edge. "What's the matter with that?"

"Lie down, West," said Jim, quietly. Katherine glanced at him quickly. It was a peremptory order, but delivered in a quiet friendly tone whose calm a.s.sertiveness admitted of no debate. With an impatient gesture Harvey obeyed. Indeed, as Katherine looked almost shyly at this big, self-contained man she wondered if it would be possible to disobey him.

And with the sudden realization of his secure authority came a wave of pity for her own father, the man who had thrown himself against this human rock and who was suffering for it. She turned away an instant for fear that her face would reveal her emotion.

"Well," said Jim, looking at his watch, "by starting now I can catch the early train to Chicago. Be careful, West; there's no hurry. I'll wire you in the morning if there is anything important. Miss Porter, may I ask you to see that the steward takes care of Mr. West? I'll send a doctor out.

I'm sorry to trouble you--there's no one else."

Katherine inclined her head. And then she realized that Harvey and she were alone.

"Won't you draw up a chair?" said Harvey. "I want to talk to you. I'm glad you're here. It's an awful bore to be alone when you're this way."

His attempt at an easy manner gave Katherine a sense of relief. She sat beside him.

"I'm sorry you are hurt. How did it happen?"

"I think I fell off a fence. Wonder if I lost my handkerchief?" He thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out a revolver, clasping it by the barrel. "That's funny. I don't remember--oh, yes." He stuffed it back into his pocket.

"What is it? Tell me about it."

Harvey looked thoughtfully at her. It occurred to him that to let her know of McNally's actions, which presumably were instigated by Porter himself, would be bringing matters too close home.

"No," he replied, "it's rather a disagreeable story. If you were a good nurse you would try to make me forget it. I'm glad you are here--very glad. How did you happen to come?"

"I often drive out. It is growing dark. I must think about getting back."

"No," said Harvey, quickly, "don't go. I don't want you to go. I want to talk to you." His voice dropped as he spoke, and both suddenly became conscious of a change that had come over them, between them. Katherine sat still, turning her head toward the window, and though she could not see him she knew that Harvey was looking at her. The room was darker now.

"Have you thought how odd this is," Harvey went on, "this conversation? We are talking just as though nothing had happened, just as though we were the same people who--who bought things at Field's; but we aren't. There's no use in thinking we are." He paused to raise himself on his elbow. "Do you know it is just twelve days since we were here?"

Katherine laughed a little.

"You have counted them?"

"Yes. Last night when I was coming down on the special I thought about it--you know it seems longer, it seems a year ago. You remember we talked about the M. & T. And the next day when you drove me to the station--do you remember? I've wondered since then, a good many times, what you meant, whether you really wanted to see us win." She started to speak, but he broke in: "If I dared think so--"

"You think I am weak."

"No, if you really want to know what I think--I think you are the strongest girl I ever knew. Katherine,"--he reached impulsively for her hand, but she drew it away,--"I think you are--well, I might as well say it, you probably know it anyhow. I love you. I--I don't know that there is anything else to say."

Katherine leaned back and looked at him. Her back was toward the window, and he could see only the outline of her head.

"Are you sure?" she asked slowly.

"You mean--you think I'm not well, that I haven't control of myself--I do love you, Katherine, so much that I can't get along without you. You believe me, don't you? You must believe me!"

"Yes," very slowly, "I believe you."

"Then--"

"I don't know what to say. I'm afraid I--Oh, don't say any more! It isn't right." She rose suddenly as if to move away, but Harvey caught her dress and then her hand.

"Katherine, you aren't going to leave me this way. Perhaps you don't want me, perhaps I have been mistaken and foolish, but I love you, and that ought to count for something."

"It does--you don't understand--" She looked out the window for a moment: the first low-lying stars were out. "Don't you suppose," she said at last, in a labored voice, "that I have feelings? Don't you suppose that I--I don't mean that, either. You have been fighting my father--I have helped you. I have helped you to injure him, my own father. He is sick now, and I left him to-day, because--" Harvey's grasp tightened. "I have been disloyal to him, I have been dishonest--and that counts for something, too. No--we have been good friends, we can still be good friends. Perhaps, if it had been different--but it wasn't."

"You don't mean this, Katherine."

She drew her hand away and stood erect, dignified now and calm.

"I am going home. I know that you love me, and I know that you will not hurt me any longer; for it does hurt me, I will tell you that."

"But I shall see you--" With an effort, he raised himself to his feet and stood, weak and giddy, leaning on the back of the chair. "I won't give you up!"

"Lie down. You mustn't tire yourself. We don't know what may happen," she steadied his arm as he sat down on the couch; "we only know what is right for us now. Good-by. I will speak to the steward."

With throbbing head Harvey sank back on the cus.h.i.+ons. A few moments later the doctor came in.

CHAPTER XXI

THE TILLMAN CITY STOCK

The Governor was a familiar figure in Chicago, and his presence in a hotel lobby ordinarily excited no more than a glance of curious interest from the loungers about the news stand. The sensation he caused, when he entered the office of the Great Northern on Friday afternoon, was due to the company he brought with him; for on one side walked a pale, nervous, careworn man, who was hardly recognizable as the dapper, self-contained William C. Porter, and on the other, burly as ever, and, though grave, confident as ever, was Jim Weeks.

A man who was registering at the desk watched them as they stepped into an elevator, and then said to the clerk:--

"Have you got your furniture well insured? Because you can bet your life the fur will begin to fly in a few minutes."