Douglas Durkin - The Heart of Cherry McBain (Douglas Durkin) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

"I told you last night about my brother, Dick," he said. "Well – Dick is dead."

"King!"

She had never before called him by his first name.

"Yes – I had a letter last night. It was waiting for me when I got down. But that's all gone now – it's past and settled. But this other thing – it has mixed me some. I didn't think I'd ever want to hit a man again. And I'm not looking for McCartney – not for any man," he said, and his eyes turned to the spot where he had thrown the broken stick. "But no man ever found me running – and Bill McCartney won't."

Cherry laid one hand on his arm and looked at him.

"He has gone to town with a lot of men to-night," she said. "They often ride in on Saturday night – that's why we have been able to ride and talk together. He will be there when you get to town – and all day to-morrow. And listen – I'm not afraid – not afraid for you, nor for me. But I don't want you to meet him yet."

King's reply came quietly and with great deliberation.

"I've been in that town since the first tent was pitched," he observed in a voice that was even and showed no excitement. "I've watched it grow up – and I've gone pretty much where I liked. I guess I'll go on in about the same way."

"Oh, I'm not afraid of that," Cherry replied. "I've told you I'm not afraid for you – and not for myself. But if the break should come – "

"I guess you don't need to worry about that," King remarked. "There won't be any break between me and McCartney – not till there's a reason for it."

Cherry went back again to the trail and taking the bridle-rein in her hand led the way down towards the river. King followed her until they came to the roughly-made bridge that spanned the little stream, a hurriedly constructed bridge of tamarac poles that had been thrown into place by the advance parties of railway workers.

"I have never gone farther than this," said Cherry, when they had come to the centre of the bridge. "I often ride out in the evenings and stand here for a while before going back. Some day I am going on to town, just to see what sort of place you have."

"This is the White Pine," said King. "I have crossed it often higher up. It gets very nasty after two or three days' rain."

Suddenly a flash of lightning reminded them that the storm was approaching. While they talked they had all but forgotten the black clouds rolling up from the east. Cherry got up at once upon the stout log that ran along the side of the bridge to keep the poles in place, and putting one foot into the stirrup drew herself up lightly into the saddle. When she was seated she turned and looked at King.

"We shall ride out again some time," she said, and gave him her hand.

He closed his big hand over her fingers for a moment without speaking. When he was about to turn away she clung still to his hand and looked at him very earnestly.

"Why don't you sometimes talk a little?" she asked.

The abruptness with which she asked the question brought the slow smile back to King's face.

"I'm not good at talking," he replied. "Besides – I like to hear you talk."

King had not ventured before in their short acquaintance to offer a compliment. He did not mean to compliment her now. He was speaking his mind simply, directly, sincerely.

She regarded him strangely for a moment in silence.

"Sometimes," she said at last, "sometimes I think – "

She paused a moment and then withdrew her hand suddenly and wheeling her horse about went off at a gallop down the trail, leaving him gazing after her in wonderment.

When she had passed out of sight he looked once at the clouds before getting into the saddle and then, getting up, he gave a sharp whistle that brought Sal bounding to him, and set off along the trail that led to town. Behind him the storm was coming up rapidly.

"It's you for it now," he said to his horse as he leaned forward and stroked the warm neck.

Only once after that did his voice break the silence of the long ride. The first drops of rain brought him suddenly out of his dreaming.

"If you could only talk!" he said to himself, and his voice was full of impatience.

But King Howden was no talker.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.