Bram Stoker: Bram Stoker: The Complete Novels

Dick, with a hitch of his mighty shoulder, dropped the carcase on the floor, and stood looking admiringly at Peter Blyth, whilst joining in his laugh; then he sat down opposite him on a rough stool, which he drew towards him by crooking a toe round its leg, and went on with his laugh in greater comfort. Presently Peter began to realise that he was in a more amazingly ridiculous position than that which he had feared, and, with a certain feeling of shamefacedness, felt his laughter die away as he began to gasp out apologies. Dick leaned over, and, lifting a mighty hand, smote the other’s thigh as he roared out:

“Durn me, stranger, but ye’re welcome. I hain’t seen a man laugh so hearty in all my born days, an’ I hain’t had such a laugh myself since I seen the Two Macs split one another’s heads open at the Empire Saloon in Sacramento.’ My! but I’m glad to see ye, though who the hell ye are, or why ye’re here, is more’n I know yet. But we’ll know in time. Have ye breakfasted? I’m nearly famished myself; but I’ve brought in a roast,” he designated it by a kick, “and we’ll soon have a blaze and get fixed right up!”

Before Peter could say anything he had strode to the fireplace, and stirring up the embers with his foot, had thrown on them an armful of dried twigs. In a few seconds a fierce blaze was roaring up the rude chimney, and very shortly a chunk of the buck, hung on an iron hook, was already beginning to splutter in the heat. Peter offered to help, but the other waved him back:

“No, sir! This is my shanty, an’ ye’re my guest! Ye’re as welcome in it as the flowers of May. Jest ye sit down and try to get ready another laugh for after breakfast, while I get the fixin’s ready. I hope ye can eat saleratus bread; it’s all we get up here this time o’ year.”

As he spoke he was making tea, and setting out his rude table with workmanlike dexterity. Peter could not but admire him as he moved, for notwithstanding his big bulk he was always in perfect poise, and in everything he did he seemed perfect master of it; and he soon lost sight, or at least consciousness, of his dirt and blood, and saw only the splendid specimen of natural manhood, so magnificently equipped for his wild mountain life and so nobly unconscious of his surroundings.

Peter Blyth felt his feelings mingled; half being of shame that he had so underestimated his host, the other of anxiety as to the future. Matters did not seem of such simple solution as he had imagined. He could not but feel that there was a basis for Esse’s unsettlement rather wider than he had thought possible.

When breakfast was ready he sat at table with enjoyment, and, despite want of tablecloth, napkin, or any of the luxuries to which he was accustomed, made a hearty meal. As for Dick he ate to such an extent that Peter had serious misgivings as to whether he might not do himself an injury. When hunger was satisfied Dick took two pipes and handed one of them to Peter with the tobacco canister, and drawing up a rude armchair to one side of the fireplace motioned Peter into it; he took his own seat in a similar one on the other side. Then he commenced the conversation:

“Now, stranger! Wire in, and tell me all about it!”

Peter Blyth saw that the difficult part of his task was at hand, and went straight at it:

“I am a friend of Mrs. Elstree and of Esse!”

Dick rose up and held out a large hand.

“Wall, ye were welcome before, but ef that’s yer racket, there ain’t no welcome under this ar roof big enough or good enough for ye. Shake!”

Then Peter experienced the force of Dick’s pump-handle act of friendship; and, like Esse and her mother, felt that Nature might easily have been forgiven if she had gifted her child with a lesser measure of manual power. One good thing, however, was accomplished, the two men were en rapport, and Peter’s task became more possible. He went on:

“My name is Blyth — Peter Blyth; but no one ever calls me anything but Peter! I hope you will be like the rest!”

“All right, Peter!” said Dick cheerfully. “Drive along!”

“I saw both the ladies two days ago. Mrs. Elstree did not know I was coming here or she would, I am sure, have sent you her very warm greeting. Esse, however, knew that I was coming, and sent her love.”

“Lor’ bless her! Little Missy, I hope she’s keepin’ peart an’ clipper? She kem up here as white as a lily; but me an’ Shasta soon set her up, an’ she went away like a rose!”

Here Peter saw an opportunity of arousing Dick’s pity, and at once took advantage of it.

“Poor little girl!” he said, “I fear she is not at all so well as she should be. She looked pretty pale when I saw her.”

“Do tell! The poor purty Little Missy. I wouldn’t see her sick for all the world.”

“I’m sure of that, old fellow! And it would gladden her heart to hear you say that!”

“Well, I should smile! Why, I don’t suppose that by this time she remembers there’s such a man as me!”

“No, no, Dick — you mustn’t think that! Esse thinks more of you than you imagine. Indeed, that’s why I’m here now!”

“Why you’re here? Say, stranger, you’re talking conundrums!”

Peter felt the drops gather on his forehead; he was in the thick of it now, and spoke out boldly.

“Look here, Dick, I’ve come up here on purpose to speak with you! May I speak frankly, as man to man?”

“You bet!”

“And you promise that you will never repeat what I say?”

Again the horny hand was held out:

“Shake!”

The promise was recorded.

“Dick, that poor little girl is fretting her heart out to see you again!”

“No!” the wonderment ended in a short laugh. “Go on! What’s yer game? Oh, ye’re a funny one, ye are!” and he gave his guest a playful push that almost sent him headlong into the fire, whilst his laughter seemed to Peter to hum and buzz amongst the rafters.

Peter went on seriously:

“Honest Indian, Dick! I give you my word of honour that the little girl has been thinking of you till she has nearly broken her heart for want of seeing you. She is as pale as a ghost, and her poor mother has been fretting her life out about her. Now, won’t you do something for her?”

“Do somethin’! Why look here! ye may take the full of her purty little body of blood out of my veins for her, if that will do her any good!”

This time it was Peter Blyth who held out his hand, and said:

“Shake!”

Then he went on:

“You know, Dick — or perhaps you don’t know, living up here all alone — that young girls have strange fancies, and their affections don’t always go where their elders would like to see them. Esse has been a good deal with you, they tell me, all last summer; and after all, you’re a man! By George, you are all that! And she’s a woman! And it seems to me — you understand, old man! Why need I go on!”

A blush, a distinct and veritable blush, as pronounced as might be found in any ladies’ seminary in San Francisco suffused Dick’s face, and he turned away with a little simper that would not have disgraced a schoolgirl.

“Why, ye don’t mean to say,” he went on sheepishly, “that that purty thing wants me for her bo?”

His bashfulness kept him silent, and Peter Blyth looked on in fresh wonderment to see such awkward modesty so manifesdy displayed in the person of such a blood-stained ruffian as he looked. Dick’s embarrassment, however, was only momentary, and ended, as did most of his emotions, in a peal of laughter. Peter looked on with qualified amusement; it would have been all pure fun to him only for the memory of Esse’s pale face in the background. Dick suddenly stopped and said:

“What do ye want me to do?”