The Wrong Woman (4 page)

A Woman. At a sheep-shack. She had his tin stew-pan on the fire and was
bending over it, sampling the contents. On the ground was a strange sighttwo
pieces of pie, two peaches, half a chicken, sandwiches,some with ham and some
with jam,pickles and cheese. And the coffee-pot under full steam. The
large-hearted and healthy Lena had put all this into the package rolled into the
slicker. It was partly this that had made Janet's burden so heavy.

The man's jaw dropped, as almost did the lamb; but catching himself in time
he hugged it closer with unconscious strength. The woman replaced the cover on
the stew-pan, straightened up, and spoke.

"Good-evening," she said. This in a tone of positive welcome (possibly a
little overdone).

"How do you do," he replied.

"I have just been making use of your fire-hole. And your coffee-pot. You see
I wasI was"

"Oh, that's all right. That's all right. Just make yourself right at home.
Are the men folks gone somewhere?" He cast his eyes about.

"There are nono men folks. You see I was just coming along by
myselfalonewithout anybodyany men folks." These words nearly choked her. But
immediately she added, with the most brightening smile, "I was
so
frightened by your dog. He scared me so."

Having said this, she dropped her eyes to the stew-pan, the contents of which
seemed to need attention just at that moment.

"Oh, he won't bite. Anyway, he won't bite you. He knows ladies."

"I am so afraid of them," she said, her eyes still occupied.

She needed a moment to recover her courage, thinking rapidly. And as for the
man, he thought nothing whatever; he just looked. She was bright-eyed and fair
and wholly perfect. She was dressed in plain black, with deep white cuffs which
turned back upon the sleeves, and a white turnover collar, as neat as a nun.
Offsetting, somehow, the severity of this, was the boyish side-sweep of her
hair, and the watch-chain looped to a crocheted pocket on her breast. And on the
ground lay the soldierly three-cornered hat.

To a man who had been expecting to come home to doughy hot bread and fried
rabbit and solitude, this was a surprise. It was somewhat as if Providence had
taken note of his case and sent out a Sister of Charity; and one who had the
charming advantage of being also a dimpled Daughter of the Regiment. Once his
eye had taken in the regular contour of her nose and rested on that dimple, his
gaze did not wander. He did not even winkit would have been a complete loss of
looking. When she removed the lid from the saucepan a spicy aroma spread itself
abroad. Dog and herder sniffed the evening air, sampling the new odor. It was a
whiff of Araby the Blest.

"As I was just going to explain," she said, straightening up again, "I had an
accident with my horse. I came in here to find a water-hole and he ran away and
threw me off. Then I found I was lost"; and she went on to relate the details of
her adventure up to the time of her arrival at the shack.

As she spoke, she felt as if she had been thrust out into the middle of a big
empty stage to make a speech to that momentous audience of one mana speech upon
which everything depended. However panic-stricken she might be, she must not
show it. For that would give him an opening for assurances, for allusions which
would have to be recognized, for asseverations which would have to be formally
confided inintimacy. And that must not be. The least betrayal of fear by her
would bring it about. There must not be even the suggestion of a situation. It
had been a godsend that, upon the first failure of her courage, the dog had
offered himself as a reason. The dog had made an excellent cover for her
trepidation. And now it was a support to feel that the dog was walking aboutan
object upon which to saddle her nervous apprehension at any moment when she lost
control.

She delivered her speech with a naturalness and ease which surprised her. She
even added a little high-handed touch or two, referring to the aggravation of
being thrown by one's horse and thus delayed in one's business; not to speak of
being made such an intruder.

The man stood and listened to the music of her voice. As she began to speak
with so much ease, he was smitten with a consciousness of his personal
appearance, with the four awkward legs dangling down in front of him. In hope of
making a more manly figure before her, he set the lamb down, feasting his eyes
meanwhile upon the dainty repast and the two white napkins spread upon the
ground. And when he stood up again, no one knew less than he whether he had set
the lamb on its legs or its back or stood it on its head. It now occurred to him
that he had not removed his hat. He did so immediately.

"And as I was coming across the range," she continued, "I saw your place. I
had been so tired and hungry that I had lost my appetite. A person does, you
know. But I was just dying for a cup of hot coffee. So I decided to use your
conveniences. And I intended to leave your fire-hole burning for you"

"Oh, that's all right. I 'm glad you did."

She gave a sudden little scream. This was so unexpected that the man, whose
nerves were not easily touched, drew himself up straighter and stared at her in
amazement.

"Oo-o-o-o-o!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together and fixing her gaze
upon the supper.

It was the lamb again. It was standing right in the middle of the feast, its
legs spread as usual and one foot deep in the sugar-bowl. The lamb was waiting.
It was waiting till the spirit should move it to the next idiotic thing to do;
and it would no doubt have achieved it had not the man taken quick action. He
seized upon the lamb precipitately and snatched it away; then he stood with one
hand around its middle and its long legs hanging down, with the four hoofs
together.

"Oh, is n't that a
sw-e-e-et
little lamb!" she exclaimed, delightedly.
"Oh,
is n't
he a darling!"

"Wellyes," said the man, holding it out and regarding it critically. "It was
certainly trying to be a sweet little lamb."

She blushed. She had not seen the lamb all by himself, before; and these were
the first free and natural words she had spoken. After this spontaneous outburst
she proceeded more guardedly.

"And after the coffee was on," she continued, "I thought it would be such a
shame for a man to have to get his own supper after I had left, with so
much
to eat. So I intended to leave your supper for you. That is in case
you did n't come along when IIYou see I did n't expect you home so early." To
which she quickly added, "You know, when I first came along, I thought the place
might possibly be vacant. Of course, I had to go in and see; and then, as long
as I had already made so free, I thought I might as well use your coffee-pot and
things. And your coffee, too."

"Oh, that's all rightperfectly all right. This place does n't all belong to
me. There's plenty of room for everybody."

He delivered this with a sweep of his arm that seemed to give her everything
inside the horizon, and possibly lap over the edges.

"So I did take your coffeeand sugar. And I hope you 'll like what I have."

"Judging by the looks, it's mighty good. Perfectly grand. But I 'll go now
and put this lamb where he won't be scaring us again Miss Excuse me, but I
haven't asked your name."

"My name is Smith. Janet Smith."

"My name is Brown. Stephen Brown. Glad to meet you, Miss Smith."

He put his hat to his head in order to take it off. She acknowledged the
formality with a slight bow.

"I 'll go and fix this lamb," he resumed. "I intended to do some repairing
before sundown; that's why I came home a little early. But it's rather late now
to do much. There's other work I have to 'tend to, though. I hope it won't take
very long."

So saying, he started away. When he had gone a little distance, and observed
that the dog was remaining behind, an interested spectator, he called back:
"Don't mind him if he watches you. His name is Shep. He likes ladies."

Janet finished setting Mr. Brown's table, which consisted of a place where
the grass was worn short. When he was working among the sheep with his back
turned, she patted the dog on the head with the greatest familiarity. Janet
"loved" dogs. When next she looked up to see what had become of her guest, or
host, he was disappearing in the deep little gully.

When the shack rose upon her vision, Janet's spirits gave a leap. A mere box
it was, in the image of a house; but yet, from the moment its countenance
appeared on the scene, that lost and lorn prairie seemed to have found a place
for itself. The whole interminable region attached itself to the shack and
became a front and backyard; the landscape was situated and set right, knowing
its right hand from its left. Four walls, a roof, and a doorall the things
necessary to make a threshold, that magic line across which woman faces the
world with the courage of divine right. At the end of a lonesome, laborious day
she saw it; and she hurried to it with a sort of homing instinct. Opening the
door, she gave a start and stepped back. Another's "things" were in it. Now what
should she do? It was a question with half a dozen answers; and they all said,
Go.

Just outside the door was a box with a hinged lid. It contained kitchenware
and supplies. There was the coffee-potand coffee. As there was no one in sight
(rolling ground is very deceptive), she decided that, tired as she was and with
the journey still before her, this opportunity of rest and a comfortable supper,
with plenty of strong hot coffee, ought to be taken advantage of. Then, as soon
as supper was over, she would retire from the scene and consider what was best
to do. She would sit down and try her courage in the dark. Possibly, under cover
of night, she would come in closer to his camp-fire and sit there on her
slicker. Or maybe there would be two men! But at present it was all undecidable,
almost unthinkable; she must take this little respite from being lost and try to
make the most of things.

The twigs of half-dried mesquite did not kindle readily. With fanning and
blowing the fire consumed a great deal of time and matches; but at last it got
itself into the spirit of burning. In the midst of these preparations she heard
the bark of a dog and a medley of
baas
, and looking round the corner of
the shack she saw that it was too late.

When Mr. Brown had recovered from his surprise and excused himself, she
became very industrious indeed, flitting about on the little space of ground
like a bird in a cage. Despite her confusion, her mother wit was still with her,
prompting her to cover her agitation with the appearance of housewifely
activity; so every time that she beat against the bars of her situation she
carried a fork or a spoon or the lid of something. She set his place, fed the
fire, put on more coffee. He continued to work about the corral. Though the
sight of him was not quieting, she glanced up often enough to keep track of him.
He seemed to take his time.

Janet, partially blinded by too much attention to the fire, looked up through
the dusk as he went to the edge of the little gully and descended. He was a
"full fathom of a man," and as he sank from sight his length seemed to go right
down through the surface of things, like Hamlet's father retiring to the lower
regions. When, finally, his head had disappeared, she dropped her pretense of
being cheerfully occupied and turned her attention in another direction. She
looked hard at the shackits door half open and the two bunks showing. Her brows
drew closer together, with the enigma between them. That little Home, to which
she had hurried with such a feeling of relief, had taken on a different guise.
It was now the place she must get away from. At the same time black night was
coming on as if to drive her into it. The sun was sinking. In the east the
vanguard of darkness was already advancing. She gripped her chin tensely and
tried to think, her forefinger pressed deep into the dimple. On the upper bunk
was a faded blue blanket; the lower one was red.

Which way should she turn, or how conduct herself? Dreading to go and afraid
to stay, she was confronted with a problem the terms of which seemed only able
to repeat themselves. With the terrors of the night before her, she dared not
venture away from this man; her very nature courted his presence. His strength
and fearlessness she found herself clinging to as if he belonged to herand yet
he was a menace! Of course there might be nothing to fear if But If was the
dove that found no rest for the sole of its foot.

The problem presented difficulty on every hand, as if things were on his
side. The darkness and the shack worked together to prevent escape; they seemed
to have her completely surrounded.

What sort of man was he?

Repeatedly she had taken note of his features, but only to feel more deeply
how little can be told in that way. Her inability to decide what impression he
should
have made on her was tantalizingthe aching question still
remained. The face is but a likeness; you should know the original. And yet his
countenance, so strongly painted on her mind, seemed always on the point of
answering her profoundest query. It was as if she knew him. She now contemplated
her mental image more deeply, feeling that she could get behind that countenance
and have absolute knowledge. But it was a delusion. The soul is invisible.

In utter homelessness she gazed down at that little space of ground allotted
to him and her. And the supper which united them. In nature there seemed to be
no barrier between man and woman; their paths led toward each other. The flat
ground seemed paved with gradual ingratiating approach; and no defense but
outcrytoo terrible and too late. Surely too late, for he was in the position of
her protector, and she would have to assume that he was a gentleman; and how is
a girl by that prairie camp-fire going to say just how much room her person
shall occupy? Then how shall she set safe bounds? With the darkness closing in
around her she felt trapped.