The Twins of Suffering Creek Part 24

In the pause that followed James' expression underwent a subtle change. It was not that there was any definite movement of a single muscle. His smile remained, but, somehow, through it peeped a hard look which had not been there before.

"So you want--the kids," he said at last, and a curious metallic quality was in his voice. "Say," he added thoughtfully, "you women are queer ones."

"Maybe we are," retorted Jessie. She tried to laugh as she spoke, but it was a dismal failure. Then she hurried on. "Yes," she cried a little shrilly, "it was part of our bargain, and--so far you have not carried it out."

"Bargain?" The man's brows went up.

"Yes, bargain."

"I don't remember a--bargain." James' eyes had in them an ominous glitter.

"Then you've got a bad memory."

"I sure haven't, Jess. I sure haven't that. I generally remember good.

And what I remember now is that I promised you those kids if you needed them. I swore that you should have 'em. But I made no bargain.

Guess women don't see things dead right. This is the first time you've spoken to me of this, and you say I haven't fulfilled my bargain. When I refuse to give you them kiddies, it's time to take that tone. You want them kids. Well--go on."

The change in her lover's manner warned Jessie that danger lay ahead.

In the brief time she had spent under his roof she had already learned that, as yet, she had only seen the gentlest side of the man, and that the other side was always perilously near the surface.

In the beginning this had been rather a delight to her to think that she, of all people, was privileged to bask in the sunny side of a man who habitually displayed the storm clouds of his fiercer side to the world in general. But since that time a change, which she neither knew nor understood, had come over her, and, instead of rejoicing that he possessed that harsher nature, she rather feared it, feared that it might be turned upon her.

It was this change that had helped to bring her woman's cunning into play. It was this change which had brought her her haunting visions of the old life. It was this change which had prompted her that she must keep her lover at arm's length--as yet. It was this change, had she paused to a.n.a.lyze it, which might have told her of the hideous mistake she had made. That the pa.s.sion which she had believed to be an absorbing love for the man was merely a pa.s.sion, a base human pa.s.sion, inspired in a weak, discontented woman. But as yet she understood nothing of this. The glamour of the man's personality still had power to sway her, and she acknowledged it in her next words.

"Don't be angry, Jim dear," she said, with a smile of seductive sweetness which had immediate effect upon the man. "You don't understand us women. We're sure unreasonable where our love is concerned."

Then a flush spread itself slowly over her handsome face, and pa.s.sion lit her eyes.

"But I must have my children," she broke out suddenly. "One of them, anyhow--little Vada. You--you can't understand all it means to be away from them. They are mine. They are part of me. I--I feel I could kill anyone who keeps them from me. You promised, Jim, you sure did. Get her for me. My little girl--my little Vada."

The man had risen from his chair and moved to the window. He sat on the rough sill facing her. His eyes were hot with pa.s.sion, too, but it was pa.s.sion of a very different sort.

"And if I do?" he questioned subtly.

"If you do?" Jessie's eyes widened with a world of cunning simplicity.

"Yes, if I do?" The man's face was nearer.

"You'll have fulfilled your promise."

Jessie had turned again to the window, and her eyes were cold.

The man's brows drew together sharply, and his dark eyes watched the perfect outline of her oval cheek. Then he drew a sharp breath, and biting words leapt to his lips. But he held them back with a sudden grip that was perilously near breaking. Jessie's power was still enormous with him. But this very power was maddening to a man of his nature, and the two must not come into too frequent conflict.

He suddenly laughed, and the woman turned in alarm at the note that sounded in it.

"Yes," he said tensely. "I'll fulfill my promise. It'll amuse me, sure, getting back at that Sufferin' Creek lay-out. I owe them something for keepin' back the gold-stages. You shall have Vada, sure."

He broke off for an instant and drew nearer. He leant forward, and one arm reached out to encircle her waist. But with an almost imperceptible movement the woman stood beyond his reach.

"And--and after?" he questioned, his arm still outstretched to embrace her.

The woman made no answer.

"And after?"

There was a hot glow in his tone. He waited. Then he went on.

"Then I'll have done everything," he said--"all that a man can do to make you happy. I'll have fulfilled all my promises. I'll--And you?"

he went on, coming close up to her.

This time she did not repulse him. Instinct told her that she must not. Before all things she wanted Vada. So his arms closed about her, and a shower of hot, pa.s.sionate kisses fell upon her face, her hair, her lips.

At last she pushed him gently away. For the moment all the old pa.s.sion had been stirred, but now, as she released herself, an odd s.h.i.+ver pa.s.sed through her body, and a great relief came to her as she stood out of his reach. It was the first real, definite feeling of repulsion she had had, and as she realized it a sudden fear gripped her heart, and she longed to rush from his presence. But, even so, she did not fully understand the change that was taking place in her. Her predominating thought was for the possession of little Vada, and she urged him with all the intensity of her longing.

"You'll get her for me?" she cried, with an excitement that transfigured her. "You will. Oh, Jim, I can never thank you sufficiently. You are good to me. And when will you get her--now? Oh, Jim, don't wait. You must do it now. I want her so badly. I wonder how you'll do it. Will you take her? Or will you ask Zip for her? I--I believe he would give her up. He's such a queer fellow. I believe he'd do anything I asked him. I sure do. How are you going to get her?"

The man was watching her with all the fire of his love in his eyes. It was a greedy, devouring gaze of which Jessie must have been aware had she only been thinking less of her child. Nor did he answer at once.

Then slowly the pa.s.sionate light died out of his eyes, and they became thoughtful.

"Tell me," the woman urged him.

Suddenly he looked into her face with a cruel grin.

"Sit down, Jess," he said sharply, "and write a letter to Zip asking him, in your best lingo, to let you have your kid. An' when you done that I'll see he gets it, an'--I'll see you get the kid. But make the letter good an' hot. Pile up the agony biz. I'll fix the rest."

For a moment the woman looked into his face, now lit with such a cruel grin. Something in her heart gave her pause. Somehow she felt that what she was called upon to do was intended to hurt Zip in some subtle way, and the thought was not pleasant. She didn't want to hurt Zip.

She tried in those few seconds to probe this man's purpose. But her mind was not equal to the task. Surely a letter appealing to Zip could not really hurt him. And she wanted little Vada so much. It was this last thought that decided her. No, nothing should stand in her way. She steeled her heart against her better feelings, but with some misgivings, and sat down to write.

James watched her. She procured paper and pen, and he watched her bending over the table. No detail of her face and figure escaped his greedy eyes. She was very beautiful, so beautiful to him that he stirred restlessly, chafing irritably under the restraint he was putting upon himself. Again and again he asked himself why he was fool enough to do as he was doing. She was his. There was no one to stop him, no one but--her.

Ah! There was the trouble. Such was the man's temper that nothing could satisfy him that gave him no difficulty of attaining. His was the appet.i.te of an epicure in all things. Everything in its way must be of the best, and to be of the best to him it must be the most difficult of achievement.

He waited with what patience he could until the letter was written.

Then he watched Jessie seal and address it. Then she rose and stood staring down at the cruel missive. She knew it was cruel now, for, trading on the knowledge of the man who was to receive it, she had appealed through the channel of her woman's weakness to all that great spirit which she knew to abide in her little husband's heart.

James understood something of what was pa.s.sing in her mind. And it pleased him to think of what he had forced her to do--pleased him as cruelty ever pleases the truly vicious.

At last she held the missive out to him.

"There it is," she said. And as his hand closed upon it her own was drawn sharply away, as though to avoid contact with his.

"Good," he said, with a peculiar grin.

For a moment the silence remained unbroken. Then the woman raised appealing eyes to his face.

"You won't hurt Zip?" she said in a voice that would surely have heartened the object of her solicitude had he heard it.

The man shook his head. His jaws were set, and his smile was unpleasing.