Lonesome Land by B. M. Bower (reading strategies book .TXT) 📖

And, say! If there's anything more you want, just holler, and I'll come on the long lope.”

Val took up the teaspoon, tasted the tea, and then regarded the cup doubtfully. She never drank sugar in her tea. She wondered how much of it he had put in. Her head ached frightfully, and she felt weak and utterly hopeless of ever feeling different.

“Everything all right?” came Kent's voice from the kitchen.

“Yes,” Val answered hastily, trying hard to speak with some life and cheer in her tone. “It's lovely—all of it.”

“Want more tea?” It sounded, out there, as though he was pushing back his chair to rise from the table.

“No, no, this is plenty.” Val glanced fearfully toward the kitchen door, lifted the teacup, and heroically drank every drop. It was, she considered, the least that she could do.

When he had finished eating he came in, and found her nibbling apathetically at the toast. She looked up at him with an apology in her eyes.

“Mr. Burnett, don't think I am always so silly,” she began, leaning back against the piled pillows with a sigh. “I have always thought that I could bear anything. But last night I didn't sleep much. I dreamed about fires, and that Manley was—dead—and I woke up in a perfect horror. It was only ten o'clock. So then I sat up and tried to read, and every five minutes I would go out and look at the sky, to see if there was a glow anywhere. It was foolish, of course. And I didn't sleep at all to-day, either. The minute I would lie down I'd imagine I heard a fire roaring. And then it came. But I was all used up before that, so I wasn't really—I must have fainted, for I don't remember getting into the house—and I do think fainting is the silliest thing! I never did such a thing before,” she finished abjectly.

“Oh, well—I guess you had a license to faint if you felt that way,” he comforted awkwardly. “It was the smoke and the heat, I reckon; they were enough to put a crimp in anybody. Did Man say about when he would be back? Because I ought to be moving along; it's quite a walk to the Wishbone.”

“Oh—you won't go till Manley comes! Please! I—I'd go crazy, here alone, and—and he might not come—he's frequently detained. I—I've such a horror of fires—” She certainly looked as if she had. She was sitting up straight, her hands held out appealingly to him, her eyes big and bright.

“Sure I won't go if you feel that way about it.” Kent was half frightened at her wild manner. “I guess Man will be along pretty soon, anyway. He'll hit the trail as soon as he can get behind the fire, that's a cinch. He'll be worried to death about you. And you don't need to be afraid of prairie fires any more, Mrs. Fleetwood; you're safe. There can't be any more fires till next year, anyway; there's nothing left to burn.” He turned his face to the window and stared out somberly at the ravaged hillside. “Yes—you're dead safe, now!”

“I'm such a fool,” Val confessed, her eyes also turning to the window, “If you want to go, I—” Her mouth was quivering, and she did not finish the sentence.

“Oh, I'll stay till Man comes. He's liable to be along any time, now.” He glanced at her scorched, smoke-stained dress. “He'll sure think you made a hand, all right!”

Val took the hint, and blushed with true feminine shame that she was not looking her best. “I'll go and change,” she murmured, and rose wearily. “But I feel as if the world had been 'rolled up in a scroll and burned,' as the Bible puts it, and as if nothing matters any more.”

“It does, though. We'll all go right along living the same as ever, and the first snow will make this fire seem as old as the war—except to the cattle; they're the ones to get it in the neck this winter.”

He went out and walked aimlessly around in the yard, and went over to the smoking remains of the stable, and to the heap of black ashes where the stacks had been. Manley would be hard hit, he knew. He wished he would hurry and come, and relieve him of the responsibility of keeping Val company. He wondered a little, in his masculine way, that women should always be afraid when there was no cause for fear. For instance, she had stayed alone a good many times, evidently, when there was real danger of a fire sweeping down upon her at any hour of the day or night; but now, when there was no longer a possibility of anything happening, she had turned white and begged him to stay—and Val, he judged shrewdly, was not the sort of woman who finds it easy to beg favors of anybody.

There came a sound of galloping, up on the hill, and he turned quickly. Dull dusk was settling bleakly down upon the land, but he could see three or four horsemen just making the first descent from the top. He shouted a wordless greeting, and heard their answering yells. In another minute or two they were pulling up at the house, where he had hurried to meet them. Val, tucking a side comb hastily into her freshly coiled hair, her pretty self clothed all in white linen, appeased eagerly in the doorway.

“Why—where's Manley?” she demanded anxiously.

Blumenthall was dismounting near her, and he touched his hat before he answered. “We were on the way home, and we thought we'd better ride around this way and see how you came out,” he evaded. “I see you lost your hay and buildings—pretty close call for the house, too, I should judge. You must have got here in time to do something, Kent.”

“But where's Manley?” Val was growing pale again. “Has anything happened? Is he hurt? Tell me!”

“Oh, he's all right, Mrs. Fleetwood.” Blumenthall glanced meaningly at Kent—and Fred De Garmo, sitting to one side of his saddle, looked at Polycarp Jenks and smiled slightly. “We left town ahead of him, and knocked right along.”

Val regarded the group suspiciously. “He's coming, then, is he?”

“Oh, certainly. Glad you're all right, Mrs. Fleetwood. That was an awful fire—it swept the whole country clean between the two rivers, I'm afraid. This wind made it bad.” He was tightening his cinch, and now he unhooked the stirrup from the horn and mounted again. “We'll have to be getting along—don't know, yet, how we came out of it over to the ranch. But our guards ought to have stopped it there.” He looked at Kent. “How did the Wishbone make it?” he inquired.

“I was just going to ask you if you knew,” Kent replied, scowling because he saw Fred looking at Val in what he considered an impertinent manner. “My horse ran off while I was fighting fire here, so I'm afoot. I was waiting for Man to show up.”

“You'll git all of that you want—he-he!” Polycarp cut in tactlessly. “Man won't git home t'-night—not unless—”

“Aw, come on.” Fred started along the charred trail which led across the coulee and up the farther side. Blumenthall spoke a last, commonplace sentence or two, just to round off the conversation and make the termination not