one against him, with him the call of the blood would just as surely have been obeyed. This was the man, savage, crude, of indomitable courage and passionate recklessness.
And Jessie was dazzled, even blinded. She was just a weak, erring woman, thrilling with strong youthful life, and his dominating nature played upon her vanity with an ease that was quite pitiful. She was only too ready to believe his denials of the accusations against him. She was only too ready to–love. The humility, devotion, the goodness of Scipio meant nothing to her. They were barren virtues, too unexciting and uninteresting to make any appeal. Her passionate heart demanded something more stimulating. And the stimulant she found in the savage wooing of his unscrupulous rival.
Now the man’s eyes contemplated the girl’s ripe beauty, while he struggled for that composure necessary to carry out all that was in his mind. He checked a further rising impulse, and his voice sounded almost harsh as he put a sharp question.
“Where’s Zip?” he demanded.
The girl’s eyelids slowly lifted. The warm glow of her eyes made them limpid and melting.
“Gone out to his claim,” she said in a low voice.
The other nodded appreciatively.
“Good.”
He turned to the window. Out across the refuse-heaps the rest of the camp was huddled together, a squalid collection of huts, uninspiring, unpicturesque. His glance satisfied him. There was not a living soul in view; not a sound except the prattle of the children who were still playing outside the hut. But the latter carried no meaning to him. In the heat of the moment even their mother was dead to the appeal of their piping voices.
“You’re coming away now, Jess,” the man went on, making a movement towards her.
But the girl drew back. The directness of his challenge was startling, and roused in her a belated defensiveness. Going away? It sounded suddenly terrible to her, and thrilled her with a rush of fear which set her shivering. And yet she knew that all along this–this was the end towards which she had been drifting. The rich color faded from her cheeks and her lips trembled.
“No, no,” she whispered in a terrified tone. For the moment all that was best in her rose up and threatened to defeat his end.
But James saw his mistake. For a second a flash of anger lit his eyes, and hot resentment flew to his lips. But it found no expression. Instead, the anger died out of his eyes, and was replaced by a fire of passion such as had always won its way with this girl. He moved towards her again with something subtly seductive in his manner, and his arms closed about her unresisting form in a caress she was powerless to deny. Passive yet palpitating she lay pressed in his arms, all her woman’s softness, all her subtle perfume, maddening him to a frenzy.
“Won’t you? I love you, Jessie, so that nothing else on earth counts. I can’t do without you–I can’t–I can’t!”
His hot lips crushed against hers, which yielded themselves all too willingly. Presently he raised his head, and his eyes held hers. “Won’t you come, Jess? There’s nothing here for you. See, I can give you all you wish for: money, a fine home, as homes go hereabouts. My ranch is a dandy place, and,” with a curious laugh, “stocked with some of the best cattle in the country. You’ll have horses to ride, and dresses–See! You can have all you want. What is there here? Nothing. Say, you don’t even get enough to eat. Scipio hasn’t got more backbone in him than to gather five cents when it’s raining dollars.” He kissed her upturned face again, and the warm responsive movement of her lips told him how easy his task really was.
But again she pressed him back, so that he held her only at arms’ length. Her swimming eyes gazed long and ardently into his.
“It isn’t that, Jim,” she said earnestly; “it isn’t that. Those things don’t count. It’s–it’s you. I–I don’t want dresses. I don’t want the money. I–I–want you.”
Then she started, terrified again.
“But, Jim, why did you come up to this hut?” she cried. “Why didn’t you wait for me down in the bush at the river, as usual? Oh, Jim, if anybody sees you they’ll shoot you down like a dog–”
“Dog, eh?” cried the man, with a ringing laugh. “Let ’em try. But don’t you worry, Jess. No one saw me. Anyway, I don’t care a curse if they did.”
“Oh, Jim!”
Then she nestled closer to him for a moment of passionate silence, while he kissed her, prolonging the embrace with all the fire with which he was consumed. And after that she spoke again. But now it was the mother that would no longer be denied, even in the midst of her storm of emotion.
“But I–I can’t leave them–the little ones. I can’t, I can’t!” she cried piteously. “Jim, I love you. God knows how badly I love you, but I–I love them, too. They are mine. They are part of me, and–and I can’t do without them. No–no. I can’t go–I won’t go,” she hurried on, without conviction. “I can’t. I want my babies–my little boy and girl. You say you love me. I know you love me. Then take them with us, and–and I’ll do as you wish. Oh, I’m wicked, I know. I’m wicked, and cruel, and vile to leave Scipio. And I don’t want to, but–but–oh, Jim, say you’ll take them, too. I can never be happy without them. You can never understand. You are a man, and so strong.” He drew her to him again, and she nestled close in his arms. “You don’t know what it is to hear a child’s voice, and know that it is part of you, your life, one little tiny atom beginning all over again. No, no–I must have them.”
She slowly drew herself away, watching his handsome face, half fearfully, half eagerly. She knew in her heart that she was waiting for his verdict, and, whatever it might be, she would have to abide by it. She knew she must do as he wished, and that very knowledge gladdened her, even in spite of her maternal dread of being parted from her babies.
She saw his expression change. She saw the look of perplexity in the sudden drawing together of his finely marked brows, she saw the half-angry impatience flash into his eyes, she saw this again replaced with a half-derisive smile. And each emotion she read in her own way, molding it to suit and fall in with her own desires, yet with a willing feeling that his decision should be paramount, that she was there to obey him.
He slowly shook his head, and a curious hardness set itself about his strong mouth.
“Not now,” he said. “I would, but it can’t be done. See here, Jess, I’ve got two horses hidden away down there in the bush beside the creek–one for you, and one for me. We can’t fetch those kiddies along with us now. It wouldn’t be safe, anyhow. We’ve got sixty-odd miles to ride through the foothills. But see, I’ll fetch ’em one day, after, if you must have ’em. How’s that?”
“But they’ll never let you,” cried Jessie. “The whole camp will be up in arms when they know I’ve gone. You don’t know them, Jim. They’re fond of Zip, and they’ll stand by him.”
James laughed contemptuously.
“Say, Jess,” he cried, “you come right along with me now. And if you need those kiddies, not all Suffering Creek–no, nor hell itself–shall stop me bringing ’em along to you.” Then he chuckled in an unpleasant manner. “Say, it would tickle me to death to set these mutton-headed gophers jumping around. You’ll get those kiddies if you need ’em, if I have to blow hell into this mud-heap of a city.”
Jessie’s eyes glowed at the man’s note of savage strength and confidence. She knew he could and would do as he
