Colorado Jim Part 8

Here was a question that was easy enough to answer.

"I guess it's a cute little country, but it ain't big enough for a man to breathe in. There's no wind, no suns.h.i.+ne. And the people are as cold as the climate."

Angela laughed.

"So we are cold?"

"Oysters. I came the hul way from Devons.h.i.+re to London in a train with another guy--man. 'Good-morning,' says I. 'Good-morning,' says he--and that's all there was to it. It beats me, this frostiness--ain't natural."

Angela winced at the speech. The mutilated Anglo-Saxon caused her almost physical pain, yet the voice was musical enough and deep as a ba.s.soon.

"All you Americans say the same thing."

"But I ain't American. I was born in Cornwall. Went to Colorado in '82 and sailed round in a prairie schooner, with wild Injuns after our scalps. I reckon that was no picnic for my people. I was a little fellow then--not big enough to tell an Injun from a bear. We didn't find gold, but we found G.o.d's own country. Wal, I can't remember much about it--thank G.o.d, I can't remember much."

She looked at him, amazed by the tenseness of his words.

"What don't you wish to remember?"

His brows contracted and the big hands closed till the knuckles almost penetrated the skin that covered them.

"The Injuns got us in the end," he said huskily. "I jest remember the huge red sun going down on the prairie, with the wagon and two tents down by a stream, where the horses were watering. There was a kind o' grotto affair beyond the stream. Old Sam, the driver, came and yanked me into that. I was young, but I savvied what it meant.... It was h.e.l.l arter that--shooting and screaming.... When I came out.... When I came out...."

He said no more. His eyes were staring into nothingness as through his brain flashed the dreadful scene of youth. He remembered running and crying--running and crying into the wilderness until a party of emigrants rescued him from madness.

Angela sat with parted lips. It was strange to be sitting there listening to such horrors. She was conscious of the giant personality behind his nervousness. The great voice commanded her attention. In those few moments she was afraid of him.

"Let us go in," she said.

The rest of the evening was a dream to Jim. Occasionally people stared at him as though he were a creature from a menagerie, and several adventurous folks actually talked with him. But all this was like a hazy background against which shone the almost unearthly beauty of Angela. A new phase had been entered in the life of Colorado Jim. Pa.s.sion, long dampered down by wild living and arduous toil, leaped up in one soul-consuming flame. He was in love with a woman--a woman as far above him, and as unattainable as a star. He moved about like a drunken man, bewildered by this new and terrible desire.

"What do you think of Angy?" queried Claude.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said fiercely.

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me she was like that."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Jim shut his mouth with a snap.

"Nothin'," he said.

These Featherstones knew how to enjoy themselves. For hour after hour the dreamy strains of waltz music came from the string orchestra, and couples moved rhythmically round the big room, as though fatigue was a thing unknown. Once or twice Jim caught sight of the angel of his dreams, with face no longer pale, hanging on some man's arm, immersed in the all-consuming measure. It was maddening....

He was sitting in the conservatory, smoking, when Featherstone came out.

All the evening he had kept an inquisitive eye on Jim. This was Featherstone's mental day, and one of those rare occasions when he thought about money and things.

"Ah, Mr. Conlan," he drawled. "So you don't dance?"

"No--leastways, not that sort."

"Pity. Dancing is a fine exercise."

"I guess I'm not in want of exercise."

"No?" He looked at Jim's huge figure. "'Pon my word, I think you're right.... Are you settling down in this country--buying a small estate, making the most of your fortune, and all that sort of thing?"

"There ain't no place in this country big enough to hold me long. I could swaller all the oxygen in the Strand in one gulp."

Featherstone laughed amusedly.

"London isn't England. It's a growth upon the land. There is still Wales, Scotland, Devons.h.i.+re----"

"Ah, Devons.h.i.+re! Now, that is some pretty little garden, I agree."

"Oh, you like it?"

"Sure."

"So do I. Wish I might live there always, but one must consider one's family, and Bond Street and the Opera have their attractions for the young people. That is why I am selling the Devons.h.i.+re place. Can't let good property lie unoccupied, and letting is so devilishly unsatisfactory."

He was congratulating himself he had wrapped that pill up not so badly for an unbusiness-like man. Jim took the bait quite well, too. He didn't want to buy any property, but he wasn't averse to keeping on the right side of Featherstone. Where Featherstone was there was Angela, and he might extend negotiations over months of time and then "turn down" the proposition if he felt like it.

"Say, is that property sold yet?" he queried casually.

"No. It was only recently that I decided to sell. I have another country place in Kent, much more convenient."

"Mebbe I could see it?"

"Certainly. My agent will be pleased to show you over."

As an afterthought he added: "Better still, we are spending a fortnight there, and I should be happy if you would spend the time with us. You could--ah--then examine the place at your leisure."

Jim's eyes glistened. The prospect of a fortnight in close proximity to Angela--it was magnificent, unbelievable! He strove to control his eagerness.

"I'll be sure pleased," he said.

Jim went home with his brain in a whirl. Love had come, late, but with tremendous fury. He gained no sleep that night. The star of his desire shone like a mocking mirage before his mind's eye. It was all impossible, hopeless, but to love and lose were better than to live in ignorance of life's strongest pa.s.sion. To dally with the impossible were sheer madness, he knew that. But what was to be done but obey the yearnings of his heart, though it brought its own revenge?

The next morning saw Featherstone in a perfectly angelic mood. The cause was soon revealed.

"My dear," he confided to his wife, "I have sold Little Badholme."

"Claude!"