Never once did she refer to Will, or hint again that she had discovered Eve's secret, the secret which Doc Crombie and the whole of Barnriff would have given worlds to possess, but she told her story from the point of view of Jim's peril as a suspected cattle-thief, and his apparent interest in her, Eve, which the whole of the village women were beginning so virtuously to resent.

"An' if all that wasn't sufficient to set a wretched lot o' scallywags hanging him, along comes this business of the Little Bluff River," she finished up.

Eve's face was a study in emotion during the girl's recital. From terror it pa.s.sed to indignation, from horror to the shrinking of outraged wifehood. Now she stammered her request for Annie to go on.

"I--I don't understand," she declared, "what has that----?"

"What's it got to do with it?" cried Annie, with hot anger at the thought. "Why, just this. It's that mean Smallbones for sure. It's him at the bottom of it. They're saying that Jim did see the rustler, an'

helped him get clear away while he pretended to be chasin' him. That's what the mildest of 'em sez. But ther's others swear, an' Smallbones is one of 'em, that Jim himself was the rustler, an' they rec'nized him from the start. But someways he jest managed to fool Doc, 'cause his horse was cool, and didn't show no signs of the chase."

The girl's pretty eyes were wide with anger at these accusers. But her anger was nothing to compare with the fury which now stirred Eve.

"Oh, they're wicked, cruel monsters! They hate him, and they only want to hang him because they hate him. It's--it's nothing to do with the cattle stealing. Smallbones has always hated Jim, because--because Jim's better educated and comes from good people. Jim a cattle-thief?

Jim wouldn't steal a--a--blade of gra.s.s. He's too n.o.ble, and good, and--and honest. Oh, I hate these people! I hate them all--all!"

Annie sat aghast at the storm she had roused. But her woman's wit at once told her the nature of the real feeling underlying the girl's words. She had suspected before, but now she understood what, perhaps, Eve herself had no definite understanding of. With the wrecking of her love for her husband it had been salved and safely anch.o.r.ed elsewhere.

And Jim was the man who had--anch.o.r.ed it.

However, she wisely refrained from revealing her discovery. She was delighted, sentimentally, foolishly delighted, but unhesitatingly continued with the purpose of her coming.

"Yes, dear," she agreed, nodding her pretty head sagely. "And so do I.

But we've sure got to think of Jim Thorpe. And--and that's why I came along. Gay knows why I came, too. You know how queer Gay is 'bout some things. He said to me, 'You best get along. Y'see, I got Jim down fer buryin' proper when his time comes, an' I don't figger to get fooled by any low-down hanging.' That's what Gay said, an' I didn't think it quite elegant of him at the time. But there," with a sigh, "men are curious folk 'bout things. Still," she bustled on alertly, "we got to give him warning. We got to make him keep away for a while anyway. He hasn't been seen in the village since, and there's folks say we ain't likely to see him again. I--I almost hope they're right, for his sake.

It won't never do for him to come along--true--true it won't."

The girl's earnestness and alarm were reflected in Eve's face. She saw the necessity, the emergency. But how--how to get word to him? That was the difficulty. How? Neither of them knew where he was, and certainly none of the villagers did.

Eve shook her head desperately.

"I--I don't seem to be able to think," she said piteously. "I've done so much thinking, and--and scheming, that my head feels silly, and I--I--don't know what to suggest."

But Annie was paying only slight attention. Now her round eyes suddenly brightened.

"I've got it," she cried. "There's--there's Peter Blunt. He's sure to know where Jim is, or be able to find him. Yes, and there's your Elia--if Peter fails."

But Eve shook her head at the latter suggestion.

"Peter, yes. He'll help us, surely. But we must not think of Elia.

He's--he's too--delicate."

"Then it's Peter," cried Annie, impulsively. "Now I'll tell you what we'll do. I'll find Peter some time to-day, and--and tell him to come along and see you to-night, after dark. You see," she added naively, "he best not be seen visitin' you in daylight. Then you can tell him all I've told you, and he'll sure know the best to do. He likes Jim."

"Yes, yes," agreed Eve, brightening visibly and catching something of Annie's confidence in her scheme. "Peter will help me, I know. Oh, Annie, you are a dear, good thing! I don't know how I'd get through all this without you. But--but--you'll be secret, won't you, dear? You see, I'm quite helpless, and--and you know so much."

"You can trust me, Eve, you can trust me like you can trust--Jim Thorpe. Good-bye, dear, an' keep bright. I'll come along after you've seen Peter. Yes, we've got to help Jim out--that's how my man said, too. Good-bye."

She hurriedly kissed her friend and bustled out of the house. All this scheming had got hold of her busy brain, and she was eager to get to work on it.

CHAPTER XXVIII

WILL

It was a long day of suspense for Eve. There was so little to distract her mind from the things which troubled. A few household duties, that was all. There was Elia's food to be prepared when he came in from Peter's new cutting, just outside the village limits. There was her dressmaking. But this last left her so much room for thought, and only helped to lengthen the dragging hours.

At dinner-time Elia informed her that there were some jack-rabbits in a bluff just outside the village, and declared his intention of snaring them for her that night. But she paid only the slightest attention to him, and gave him permission to go almost without thinking. Since Will had escaped there was only one thing of any consequence. It was Jim's safety from the angry villagers.

That afternoon, as she sat over her work, he alone occupied her thoughts and troubled her to a degree that would have startled her had she been less concerned in his danger. She saw now how the cowardly part she had played in accepting his help to save her worthless husband had thrown the burden of his crime upon Jim's willing shoulders. And now they wanted to hang him. She was to blame and she alone. She who would not willingly hurt one hair of his head.

Hurt him? Oh, no, no! And yet, how she had hurt him already. She had never meant to. It had been rushed upon her. She had acted upon the impulse of the moment. And then--then he had refused to listen when she realized the meaning of what she had done. Hurt him? No. Now she felt that nothing else mattered if only she could see a way to clear his name.

She thought long and hopelessly. Then, of a sudden, she sprang to her feet with a cry. Yes, yes, there was a way. They should not hang him.

She still had it in her power to save him. She still had it in her power to tell the whole miserable, pitiful truth. She had been a coward, but she would be a coward no longer. This was for Jim. The other had been for herself. Yes, she would tell the truth. She would tell them that Will Henderson--her husband--was the thief. They would believe--yes----

But her hope suddenly dropped from her. Would they believe? She remembered what Annie had told her. She had been seen with Jim several times in the village since he had left McLagan's. How many times?

Once--twice---- Yes, three times in all. And already the women of the place had started scandalous stories. Would they believe her? If she denounced Will, what then? Their retort would promptly be that she was trying to rid herself of her husband, for--her own ends. Oh, it was cruel!

She flung herself into her chair, and buried her face in her hands.

She could do nothing. Nothing but wait for help from others. And G.o.d alone knew into what trouble she might not plunge them.

But gradually she became calmer. She began to think in a different channel. She was thinking of these scandalous tongues, and searching for an answer to them. She began to question her feelings. She told herself that Jim was nothing but a friend. A well-liked friend. She told herself this several times, and thought she believed it. Why should it be otherwise? She had only seen him three times since he came in from McLagan's. So why should it be otherwise? No, it was not otherwise.

Slowly, as she thought, and the hours drifted on, her fears fell away into the background. Her heart grew very tender, and her denial less decided. She wondered where Jim was. She longed to go to him. She would have loved to carry the warning to him herself. Somehow, she wanted to be at his side, to tell him all she felt at the trouble she had brought upon him. At the wrong she had so thoughtlessly, unintentionally done him. She wanted to show him how she had only done as her weak woman's conscience had prompted her. She had not thought beyond what she believed to be her duty. She had not paused to think what trouble she was bringing on others--on him. Had she only realized at the time, that, with all her might, she was driving the searing brand deeper into his flesh, she would rather have faced the rope herself. She wanted to tell him all this, to open her heart to him, and let him see that she was not the cruel, selfish creature he must think her for having accepted his sacrifice in bearing the warning to Will.

The fascination of her self-abnegating thought held her, and she drifted on to more personal details. She pictured his kind eyes, and heard his deep, gentle voice telling her that he forgave her, that he preferred to carry the warning rather than she should suffer. She felt in her heart that this was what he would say, for she knew, as most women know these things, that the old love of a year ago was still as it was then. And the thought of it was sweet and comforting now in her trouble.

She remained in her wondrously seductive dreamland while the minutes crept on. And, as the dusky shadows of evening gathered, she sat silent in her woman's dream of the man. It was gentle, soothing, irresistible. It was the natural reaction after long hours of mental struggle, when a merciful Providence brings relief to the suffering mind, the saving sedative of a few restful moments in the realms of a gentle dreaming of subconsciousness.

But perhaps this respite was something in the nature of an inversion of the tempering of the wind. Perhaps a strange Providence was giving her a few moments in which to strengthen herself for the blow that was to follow so quickly. It is of small consequence, however. These things pa.s.s in a lifetime almost un.o.bserved. It is only on subsequent reflection that they become apparent.

The darkness had closed down, and for once the usually brilliant summer evening was clouded, and the twilight quickly lost. The woman's introspective gaze was smiling, the drawn lines about her pretty mouth, the shadows under her eyes seemed to have fallen from her. It almost seemed as though the happiness of her dreams had entirely banished the trouble that had so long weighed her down.

Then suddenly the latch of her door lifted with a rattle. She started at once into perfect consciousness. At last. It was Peter Blunt come with his ready help. She started to her feet, all her dream-castles tumbling about her. The door was pushed roughly open, and Will, her husband, came hurriedly in:

"You?"

Eve's exclamation was the last thing in horror, the last thing in unconscious detestation. But his eyes held hers as one fascinated by the eyes of some cruel reptile. Nor was it until he nodded his reply that the spell was broken.

"Yes--and I guess you ain't too pleased."

There was a harsh sarcasm in his tone, which added to the steely horror in the woman's heart. Now her eyes glanced swiftly over his body. He was dressed differently to anything she had ever seen him in.

He was wearing a suit of store clothes, and a soft cotton shirt with a collar. His whole appearance suggested the Sunday costume of any of the villagers, which they generally wore when setting out on a visit to a town of some importance. Just for a moment she wondered if this was Will's intention. Was he about to make a bolt out of the country?

He shut the door carefully, and glanced round the darkened room. There was just sufficient glow from the stove to tell him there was no one else in the place.

"Where's Elia? Are you alone?"