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The Judgment Of Bolinas Plain
by
His low forehead wrinkled. “Thar’s no getting away until they come back,” he said without looking at her. “Could ye keep me in here to-night?”
“Yes,” she returned simply, as if the idea had already occurred to her; “but you must lie low in the loft.”
“And could you”–he hesitated, and went on with a forced smile–“you see, I’ve eaten nothing since last night. Could you”–
“I’ll bring you something,” she said quickly, nodding her head.
“And if you had”–he went on more hesitatingly, glancing down at his travel-torn and frayed garments–“anything like a coat, or any other clothing? It would disguise me also, you see, and put ’em off the track.”
She nodded her head again rapidly: she had thought of that too; there was a pair of doeskin trousers and a velvet jacket left by a Mexican vaquero who had bought stock from them two years ago. Practical as she was, a sudden conviction that he would look well in the velvet jacket helped her resolve.
“Did they say”–he said, with his forced smile and uneasy glance–“did they–tell you anything about me?”
“Yes,” she said abstractedly, gazing at him.
“You see,” he began hurriedly, “I’ll tell you how it was.”
“No, don’t!” she said quickly. She meant it. She wanted no facts to stand between her and this single romance of her life. “I must go and get the things,” she added, turning away, “before he gets back.”
“Who’s HE?” asked the man.
She was about to reply, “My husband,” but without knowing why stopped and said, “Mr. Beasley,” and then ran off quickly to the house.
She found the vaquero’s clothes, took some provisions, filled a flask of whiskey in the cupboard, and ran back with them, her mouth expanded to a vague smile, and pulsating like a schoolgirl. She even repressed with difficulty the ejaculation “There!” as she handed them to him. He thanked her, but with eyes fixed and fascinated by the provisions. She understood it with a new sense of delicacy, and saying, “I’ll come again when he gets back,” ran off and returned to the house, leaving him alone to his repast.
Meantime her husband, lounging lazily along the high road, had precipitated the catastrophe he wished to avoid. For his slouching figure, silhouetted against the horizon on that monotonous level, had been the only one detected by the deputy sheriff and the constable, his companion, and they had charged down within fifty yards of him before they discovered their mistake. They were not slow in making this an excuse for abandoning their quest as far as Lowville: in fact, after quitting the distraction of Mrs. Beasley’s presence they had, without in the least suspecting the actual truth, become doubtful if the fugitive had proceeded so far. He might at that moment be snugly ensconced behind some low wire-grass ridge, watching their own clearly defined figures, and waiting only for the night to evade them. The Beasley house seemed a proper place of operation in beating up the field. Ira’s cold reception of the suggestion was duly disposed of by the deputy. “I have the RIGHT, ye know,” he said, with a grim pleasantry, “to summon ye as my posse to aid and assist me in carrying out the law; but I ain’t the man to be rough on my friends, and I reckon it will do jest as well if I ‘requisition’ your house.” The dreadful recollection that the deputy had the power to detail him and the constable to scour the plain while he remained behind in company with Sue stopped Ira’s further objections. Yet, if he could only get rid of her while the deputy was in the house,–but then his nearest neighbor was five miles away! There was nothing left for him to do but to return with the men and watch his wife keenly. Strange to say, there was a certain stimulus in this which stirred his monotonous pulses and was not without a vague pleasure. There is a revelation to some natures in newly awakened jealousy that is a reincarnation of love.