The Hunted Woman Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  To John Aldous Joanne's appearance at this moment was like an anti-climax.It plunged him headlong for a single moment into what he believed to be theabsurdity of a situation. He had a quick mental picture of himself out onthe dead spruce, performing a bit of mock-heroism by dragging in ahalf-drowned colt by one ear. In another instant this had passed, and hewas wondering why Joanne Gray was not on her way to Tete Jaune.

  "It was splendid!" she was saying again, her eyes glowing at him. "I knowmen who would not have risked that for a human!"

  "Perhaps they would have been showing good judgment," replied Aldous.

  He noticed now that she was holding with one hand the end of a long slendersapling which a week or two before he had cut and trimmed for a fish-pole.He nodded toward it, a half-cynical smile on his lips.

  "Were you going to fish me out--or the colt?" he asked.

  "You," she replied. "I thought you were in danger." And then she added, "Isuppose you are deeply grateful that fate did not compel you to be saved bya woman."

  "Not at all. If the spruce had snapped, I would have caught at the end ofyour sapling like any drowning rat--or man. Allow me to thank you."

  She had stepped down to the level strip of sand on which the colt wasweakly struggling to rise to its feet. She was breathing quickly. Her facewas still pale. She was without a hat, and as she bent for a moment overthe colt Aldous felt his eyes drawn irresistibly to the soft thick coils ofher hair, a glory of colour that made him think of the lustrous brown of aripe wintelberry. She looked up suddenly and caught his eyes upon her.

  "I came quite by accident," she explained quickly. "I wanted to be alone,and Mrs. Otto said this path would lead to the river. When I saw you I wasabout to turn back. And then I saw the other--the horses coming down thestream. It was terrible. Are they all drowned?"

  "All that you saw. It wasn't a pretty sight, was it?" There was asuggestive inquiry in his voice as he added, "If you had gone to Tete Jauneyou would have missed the unpleasantness of the spectacle."

  "I would have gone, but something happened. They say it was a cave-in, aslide--something like that. The train cannot go on until to-morrow."

  "And you are to stay with the Ottos?"

  She nodded.

  Quick as a flash she had seemed to read his thoughts.

  "I am sorry," she added, before he could speak. "I can see that I haveannoyed you. I have literally projected myself into your work, and I amafraid that I have caused you trouble. Mrs. Otto has told me of this manthey call Quade. She says he is dangerous. And I have made him your enemy."

  "I am, not afraid of Quade. The incident was nothing more than an agreeableinterruption to what was becoming a rather monotonous existence up here. Ihave always believed, you know, that a certain amount of physicalexcitement is good oil for our mental machinery. That, perhaps, was why youcaught me hauling at His Coltship's ear."

  He had spoken stiffly. There was a hard note in his voice, a suggestion ofsomething that was displeasing in his forced laugh. He knew that in thesemoments he was fighting against his inner self--against his desire to tellher how glad he was that something had held back the Tete Jaune train, andhow wonderful her hair looked in the afternoon sun. He was struggling tokeep himself behind the barriers he had built up and so long maintained inhis writings. And yet, as he looked, he felt something crumbling intoruins. He knew that he had hurt her. The hardness of his words, thecoldness of his smile, his apparently utter indifference to her had sentsomething that was almost like a quick, physical pain into her eyes. Hedrew a step nearer, so that he caught the soft contour of her cheek. JoanneGray heard him, and lowered her head slightly, so that he could not see.She was a moment too late. On her cheek Aldous saw a single creepingdrop--a tear.

  In an instant he was at her side. With a quick movement she brushed thetear away before she faced him.

  "I've hurt you," he said, looking her straight in the eyes. "I've hurt you,and God knows I'm a brute for doing it. I've treated you as badly asQuade--only in a different way. I know how I've made you feel--that you'vebeen a nuisance, and have got me into trouble, and that I don't want tohave anything more to do with you. Have I made you feel that?"

  "I am afraid--you have."

  He reached out a hand, and almost involuntarily her own came to it. She sawthe change in his face, regret, pain, and then that slow-coming, wonderfullaughter in his eyes.

  "That's just how I set out to make you feel," he confessed, the warmth ofher hand sending a thrill through him. "I might as well be frank, don't youthink? Until you came I had but one desire, and that was to finish my book.I had planned great work for to-day. And you spoiled it. I couldn't get youout of my mind. And it made me--ugly."

  "And that was--all?" she whispered, a tense waiting in her eyes. "Youdidn't think----"

  "What Quade thought," he bit in sharply. The grip of his fingers hurt herhand. "No, not that. My God, I didn't make you think _that?_"

  "I'm a stranger--and they say women don't go to Tete Jaune alone," sheanswered doubtfully.

  "That's true, they don't--not as a general rule. Especially women like you.You're alone, a stranger, and too beautiful. I don't say that to flatteryou. You are beautiful, and you undoubtedly know it. To let you go on aloneand unprotected among three or four thousand men like most of those upthere would be a crime. And the women, too--the Little Sisters. They'dblast you. If you had a husband, a brother or a father waiting for you itwould be different. But you've told me you haven't. You have made me changemy mind about my book. You are of more interest to me just now than that.Will you believe me? Will you let me be a friend, if you need a friend?"

  To Aldous it seemed that she drew herself up a little proudly. For a momentshe seemed taller. A rose-flush of colour spread over her cheeks. She drewher hand from him. And yet, as she looked at him, he could see that she wasglad.

  "Yes, I believe you," she said. "But I must not accept your offer offriendship. You have done more for me now than I can ever repay. Friendshipmeans service, and to serve me would spoil your plans, for you are in greathaste to complete your book."

  "If you mean that you need my assistance, the book can wait."

  "I shouldn't have said that," she cut in quickly, her lips tighteningslightly. "It was utterly absurd of me to hint that I might requireassistance--that I cannot take care of myself. But I shall be proud of thefriendship of John Aldous."

  "Yes, you can take care of yourself, Ladygray," said Aldous softly, lookinginto her eyes and yet speaking as if to himself. "That is why you havebroken so curiously into my life. It's _that_--and not your beauty. I haveknown beautiful women before. But they were--just women, frail things thatmight snap under stress. I have always thought there is only one woman inten thousand who would not do that--under certain conditions. I believe youare that one in ten thousand. You can go on to Tete Jaune alone. You can goanywhere alone--and care for yourself."

  He was looking at her so strangely that she held her breath, her lipsparted, the flush in her cheeks deepening.

  "And the strangest part of it all is that I have always known you away backin my imagination," he went on. "You have lived there, and have troubledme. I could not construct you perfectly. It is almost inconceivable thatyou should have borne the same name--Joanne. Joanne, of 'Fair Play.'"

  She gave a little gasp.

  "Joanne was--terrible," she cried. "She was bad--bad to the heart and soulof her!"

  "She was splendid," replied Aldous, without a change in his quiet voice."She was splendid--but bad. I racked myself to find a soul for her, and Ifailed. And yet she was splendid. It was my crime--not hers--that shelacked a soul. She would have been my ideal, but I spoiled her. And byspoiling her I sold half a million copies of the book. I did not do itpurposely. I would have given her a soul if I could have found one. Shewent her way."

  "And you compare me to--_her?_"

  "Yes," said Aldous deliberately. "You are that Joanne. But you possess whatI could no
t give to her. Joanne of 'Fair Play' was splendid without a soul.You have what she lacked. You may not understand, but you have come toperfect what I only partly created."

  The colour had slowly ebbed from Joanne's face. There was a mysteriousdarkness in her eyes.

  "If you were not John Aldous I would--strike you," she said. "As itis--yes--I want you as a friend."

  She held out her hand. For a moment he felt its warmth again in his own.He bowed over it. Her eyes rested steadily on his blond head, and again shenoted the sprinkle of premature gray in his hair. For a second time shefelt almost overwhelmingly the mysterious strength of this man. Perhapseach took three breaths before John Aldous raised his head. In that timesomething wonderful and complete passed between them. Neither could havetold the other what it was. When their eyes met again, it was in theirfaces.

  "I have planned to have supper in my cabin to-night," said Aldous, breakingthe tension of that first moment. "Won't you be my guest, Ladygray?"

  "Mrs. Otto----" she began.

  "I will go to her at once and explain that you are going to eat partridgeswith me," he interrupted. "Come--let me show you into my workshop andhome."

  He led her to the cabin and into its one big room.

  "You will make yourself at home while I am gone, won't you?" he invited."If it will give you any pleasure you may peel a few potatoes. I won't begone ten minutes."

  Not waiting for any protest she might have, Aldous slipped back through thedoor and took the path up to the Ottos'.