You Re Going To Love Me Before We Get Through

: The Virginian

The Swinton barbecue was over. The fiddles were silent, the steer was

eaten, the barrel emptied, or largely so, and the tapers extinguished;

round the house and sunken fire all movement of guests was quiet;

the families were long departed homeward, and after their hospitable

turbulence, the Swintons slept.



Mr. and Mrs. Westfall drove through the night, and as they neared their

cabin there came from among
he bundled wraps a still, small voice.



"Jim," said his wife, "I said Alfred would catch cold."



"Bosh! Lizzie, don't you fret. He's a little more than a yearlin', and

of course he'll snuffle." And young James took a kiss from his love.



"Well, how you can speak of Alfred that way, calling him a yearling, as

if he was a calf, and he just as much your child as mine, I don't see,

James Westfall!"



"Why, what under the sun do you mean?"



"There he goes again! Do hurry up home, Jim. He's got a real strange

cough."



So they hurried home. Soon the nine miles were finished, and good

James was unhitching by his stable lantern, while his wife in the house

hastened to commit their offspring to bed. The traces had dropped, and

each horse marched forward for further unbuckling, when James heard

himself called. Indeed, there was that in his wife's voice which made

him jerk out his pistol as he ran. But it was no bear or Indian--only

two strange children on the bed. His wife was glaring at them.



He sighed with relief and laid down the pistol.



"Put that on again, James Westfall. You'll need it. Look here!"



"Well, they won't bite. Whose are they? Where have you stowed ourn?"



"Where have I--" Utterance forsook this mother for a moment. "And you

ask me!" she continued. "Ask Lin McLean. Ask him that sets bulls on

folks and steals slippers, what he's done with our innocent lambs,

mixing them up with other people's coughing, unhealthy brats. That's

Charlie Taylor in Alfred's clothes, and I know Alfred didn't cough like

that, and I said to you it was strange; and the other one that's been

put in Christopher's new quilts is not even a bub--bub--boy!"



As this crime against society loomed clear to James Westfall's

understanding, he sat down on the nearest piece of furniture, and

heedless of his wife's tears and his exchanged children, broke into

unregenerate laughter. Doubtless after his sharp alarm about the bear,

he was unstrung. His lady, however, promptly restrung him; and by the

time they had repacked the now clamorous changelings, and were rattling

on their way to the Taylors', he began to share her outraged feelings

properly, as a husband and a father should; but when he reached the

Taylors' and learned from Miss Wood that at this house a child had

been unwrapped whom nobody could at all identify, and that Mr. and Mrs.

Taylor were already far on the road to the Swintons', James Westfall

whipped up his horses and grew almost as thirsty for revenge as was his

wife.



Where the steer had been roasted, the powdered ashes were now cold

white, and Mr. McLean, feeling through his dreams the change of dawn

come over the air, sat up cautiously among the outdoor slumberers and

waked his neighbor.



"Day will be soon," he whispered, "and we must light out of this. I

never suspicioned yu' had that much of the devil in you before."



"I reckon some of the fellows will act haidstrong," the Virginian

murmured luxuriously, among the warmth of his blankets.



"I tell yu' we must skip," said Lin, for the second time; and he rubbed

the Virginian's black head, which alone was visible.



"Skip, then, you," came muffled from within, "and keep you'self mighty

sca'ce till they can appreciate our frolic."



The Southerner withdrew deeper into his bed, and Mr. McLean, informing

him that he was a fool, arose and saddled his horse. From the

saddle-bag, he brought a parcel, and lightly laying this beside Bokay

Baldy, he mounted and was gone. When Baldy awoke later, he found the

parcel to be a pair of flowery slippers.



In selecting the inert Virginian as the fool, Mr. McLean was scarcely

wise; it is the absent who are always guilty.



Before ever Lin could have been a mile in retreat, the rattle of

the wheels roused all of them, and here came the Taylors. Before the

Taylors' knocking had brought the Swintons to their door, other wheels

sounded, and here were Mr. and Mrs. Carmody, and Uncle Hughey with his

wife, and close after them Mr. Dow, alone, who told how his wife had

gone into one of her fits--she upon whom Dr. Barker at Drybone had

enjoined total abstinence from all excitement. Voices of women and

children began to be up lifted; the Westfalls arrived in a lather,

and the Thomases; and by sunrise, what with fathers and mothers and

spectators and loud offspring, there was gathered such a meeting as has

seldom been before among the generations of speaking men. To-day you can

hear legends of it from Texas to Montana; but I am giving you the full

particulars.



Of course they pitched upon poor Lin. Here was the Virginian doing

his best, holding horses and helping ladies descend, while the name of

McLean began to be muttered with threats. Soon a party led by Mr. Dow

set forth in search of him, and the Southerner debated a moment if he

had better not put them on a wrong track. But he concluded that they

might safely go on searching.



Mrs. Westfall found Christopher at once in the green shawl of Anna

Maria Dow, but all was not achieved thus in the twinkling of an eye. Mr.

McLean had, it appeared, as James Westfall lugubriously pointed out, not

merely "swapped the duds; he had shuffled the whole doggone deck;" and

they cursed this Satanic invention. The fathers were but of moderate

assistance; it was the mothers who did the heavy work; and by ten

o'clock some unsolved problems grew so delicate that a ladies' caucus



was organized in a private room,--no admittance for men,--and what was

done there I can only surmise.



During its progress the search party returned. It had not found Mr.

McLean. It had found a tree with a notice pegged upon it, reading, "God

bless our home!" This was captured.



But success attended the caucus; each mother emerged, satisfied that

she had received her own, and each sire, now that his family was itself

again, began to look at his neighbor sideways. After a man has been

angry enough to kill another man, after the fire of righteous slaughter

has raged in his heart as it had certainly raged for several hours in

the hearts of these fathers, the flame will usually burn itself out.

This will be so in a generous nature, unless the cause of the anger is

still unchanged. But the children had been identified; none had taken

hurt. All had been humanely given their nourishment. The thing was over.

The day was beautiful. A tempting feast remained from the barbecue.

These Bear Creek fathers could not keep their ire at red heat. Most

of them, being as yet more their wives' lovers than their children's

parents, began to see the mirthful side of the adventure; and they

ceased to feel very severely toward Lin McLean.



Not so the women. They cried for vengeance; but they cried in vain, and

were met with smiles.



Mrs. Westfall argued long that punishment should be dealt the offender.

"Anyway," she persisted, "it was real defiant of him putting that up on

the tree. I might forgive him but for that."



"Yes," spoke the Virginian in their midst, "that wasn't sort o' right.

Especially as I am the man you're huntin'."



They sat dumb at his assurance.



"Come and kill me," he continued, round upon the party. "I'll not

resist."



But they could not resist the way in which he had looked round upon

them. He had chosen the right moment for his confession, as a captain

of a horse awaits the proper time for a charge. Some rebukes he did

receive; the worst came from the mothers. And all that he could say for

himself was, "I am getting off too easy."



"But what was your point?" said Westfall.



"Blamed if I know any more. I expect it must have been the whiskey."



"I would mind it less," said Mrs. Westfall, "if you looked a bit sorry

or ashamed."



The Virginian shook his head at her penitently. "I'm tryin' to," he

said.



And thus he sat disarming his accusers until they began to lunch upon

the copious remnants of the barbecue. He did not join them at this meal.

In telling you that Mrs. Dow was the only lady absent upon this historic

morning, I was guilty of an inadvertence. There was one other.



The Virginian rode away sedately through the autumn sunshine; and as

he went he asked his Monte horse a question. "Do yu' reckon she'll have

forgotten you too, you pie-biter?" said he. Instead of the new trousers,

the cow-puncher's leathern chaps were on his legs. But he had the new

scarf knotted at his neck. Most men would gladly have equalled him in

appearance. "You Monte," said he, "will she be at home?"



It was Sunday, and no school day, and he found her in her cabin that

stood next the Taylors' house. Her eyes were very bright.



"I'd thought I'd just call," said he.



"Why, that's such a pity! Mr. and Mrs. Taylor are away."



"Yes; they've been right busy. That's why I thought I'd call. Will yu'

come for a ride, ma'am?"



"Dear me! I--"



"You can ride my hawss. He's gentle."



"What! And you walk?"



"No, ma'am. Nor the two of us ride him THIS time, either." At this she

turned entirely pink, and he, noticing, went on quietly: "I'll catch up

one of Taylor's hawsses. Taylor knows me."



"No. I don't really think I could do that. But thank you. Thank you very

much. I must go now and see how Mrs. Taylor's fire is."



"I'll look after that, ma'am. I'd like for yu' to go ridin' mighty well.

Yu' have no babies this mawnin' to be anxious after."



At this shaft, Grandmother Stark flashed awake deep within the spirit of

her descendant, and she made a haughty declaration of war. "I don't know

what you mean, sir," she said.



Now was his danger; for it was easy to fall into mere crude impertinence

and ask her why, then, did she speak thus abruptly? There were various

easy things of this kind for him to say. And any rudeness would have

lost him the battle. But the Virginian was not the man to lose such

a battle in such a way. His shaft had hit. She thought he referred

to those babies about whom last night she had shown such superfluous

solicitude. Her conscience was guilty. This was all that he had wished

to make sure of before he began operations.



"Why, I mean," said he, easily, sitting down near the door, "that it's

Sunday. School don't hinder yu' from enjoyin' a ride to-day. You'll

teach the kids all the better for it to-morro', ma'am. Maybe it's your

duty." And he smiled at her.



"My duty! It's quite novel to have strangers--"



"Am I a stranger?" he cut in, firing his first broadside. "I was

introduced, ma'am," he continued, noting how she had flushed again. "And

I would not be oversteppin' for the world. I'll go away if yu' want."

And hereupon he quietly rose, and stood, hat in hand.



Molly was flustered. She did not at all want him to go. No one of

her admirers had ever been like this creature. The fringed leathern

chaparreros, the cartridge belt, the flannel shirt, the knotted scarf at

the neck, these things were now an old story to her. Since her arrival

she had seen young men and old in plenty dressed thus. But worn by this

man now standing by her door, they seemed to radiate romance. She did

not want him to go--and she wished to win her battle. And now in

her agitation she became suddenly severe, as she had done at Hoosic

Junction. He should have a punishment to remember!



"You call yourself a man, I suppose," she said.



But he did not tremble in the least. Her fierceness filled him with

delight, and the tender desire of ownership flooded through him.



"A grown-up, responsible man," she repeated.



"Yes, ma'am. I think so." He now sat down again.



"And you let them think that--that Mr. McLean--You dare not look me in

the face and say that Mr. McLean did that last night!"



"I reckon I dassent."



"There! I knew it! I said so from the first!"



"And me a stranger to you!" he murmured.



It was his second broadside. It left her badly crippled. She was silent.



"Who did yu' mention it to, ma'am?"



She hoped she had him. "Why, are you afraid?" And she laughed lightly.



"I told 'em myself. And their astonishment seemed so genu-wine I'd just

hate to think they had fooled me that thorough when they knowed it all

along from you seeing me."



"I did not see you. I knew it must--of course I did not tell any one.

When I said I said so from the first, I meant--you can understand

perfectly what I meant."



"Yes, ma'am."



Poor Molly was near stamping her foot. "And what sort of a trick," she

rushed on, "was that to play? Do you call it a manly thing to frighten

and distress women because you--for no reason at all? I should never

have imagined it could be the act of a person who wears a big pistol and

rides a big horse. I should be afraid to go riding with such an immature

protector."



"Yes; that was awful childish. Your words do cut a little; for maybe

there's been times when I have acted pretty near like a man. But I

cert'nly forgot to be introduced before I spoke to yu' last night.

Because why? You've found me out dead in one thing. Won't you take a

guess at this too?"



"I cannot sit guessing why people do not behave themselves--who seem to

know better."



"Well, ma'am, I've played square and owned up to yu'. And that's not

what you're doin' by me. I ask your pardon if I say what I have a right

to say in language not as good as I'd like to talk to yu' with. But at

South Fork Crossin' who did any introducin'? Did yu' complain I was a

stranger then?"



"I--no!" she flashed out; then, quite sweetly, "The driver told me it

wasn't REALLY so dangerous there, you know."



"That's not the point I'm makin'. You are a grown-up woman, a

responsible woman. You've come ever so far, and all alone, to a

rough country to instruct young children that play games,--tag, and

hide-and-seek, and fooleries they'll have to quit when they get old.

Don't you think pretendin' yu' don't know a man,--his name's nothin',

but him,--a man whom you were glad enough to let assist yu' when

somebody was needed,--don't you think that's mighty close to

hide-and-seek them children plays? I ain't so sure but what there's a

pair of us children in this hyeh room."



Molly Wood was regarding him saucily. "I don't think I like you," said

she.



"That's all square enough. You're goin' to love me before we get

through. I wish yu'd come a-ridin, ma'am."



"Dear, dear, dear! So I'm going to love you? How will you do it? I know

men think that they only need to sit and look strong and make chests at

a girl--"



"Goodness gracious! I ain't makin' any chests at yu'!" Laughter overcame

him for a moment, and Miss Wood liked his laugh very much. "Please come

a-ridin'," he urged. "It's the prettiest kind of a day."



She looked at him frankly, and there was a pause. "I will take back two

things that I said to you," she then answered him. "I believe that I do

like you. And I know that if I went riding with you, I should not

have an immature protector." And then, with a final gesture of

acknowledgment, she held out her hand to him. "And I have always

wanted," she said, "to thank you for what you did at the river."



He took her hand, and his heart bounded. "You're a gentleman!" he

exclaimed.



It was now her turn to be overcome with merriment. "I've always wanted

to be a man," she said.



"I am mighty glad you ain't," said he, looking at her.



But Molly had already received enough broadsides for one day. She could

allow no more of them, and she took herself capably in hand. "Where did

you learn to make such pretty speeches?" she asked. "Well, never mind

that. One sees that you have had plenty of practice for one so young."



"I am twenty-seven," blurted the Virginian, and knew instantly that he

had spoken like a fool.



"Who would have dreamed it!" said Molly, with well-measured mockery. She

knew that she had scored at last, and that this day was hers. "Don't

be too sure you are glad I'm not a man," she now told him. There was

something like a challenge in her voice.



"I risk it," he remarked.



"For I am almost twenty-three myself," she concluded. And she gave him a

look on her own account.



"And you'll not come a-ridin'?" he persisted.



"No," she answered him; "no." And he knew that he could not make her.



"Then I will tell yu' good-by," said he. "But I am comin' again. And

next time I'll have along a gentle hawss for yu'."



"Next time! Next time! Well, perhaps I will go with you. Do you live

far?"



"I live on Judge Henry's ranch, over yondeh." He pointed across the

mountains. "It's on Sunk Creek. A pretty rough trail; but I can come

hyeh to see you in a day, I reckon. Well, I hope you'll cert'nly enjoy

good health, ma'am."



"Oh, there's one thing!" said Molly Wood, calling after him rather

quickly. "I--I'm not at all afraid of horses. You needn't bring such

a gentle one. I--was very tired that day, and--and I don't scream as a

rule."



He turned and looked at her so that she could not meet his glance.

"Bless your heart!" said he. "Will yu' give me one o' those flowers?"



"Oh, certainly! I'm always so glad when people like them."



"They're pretty near the color of your eyes."



"Never mind my eyes."



"Can't help it, ma'am. Not since South Fork."



He put the flower in the leather band of his hat, and rode away on his

Monte horse. Miss Wood lingered a moment, then made some steps toward

her gate, from which he could still be seen; and then, with something

like a toss of the head, she went in and shut her door.



Later in the day the Virginian met Mr. McLean, who looked at his hat and

innocently quoted. "'My Looloo picked a daisy.'"



"Don't yu', Lin," said the Southerner.



"Then I won't," said Lin.



Thus, for this occasion, did the Virginian part from his lady--and

nothing said one way or another about the handkerchief that had

disappeared during the South Fork incident.



As we fall asleep at night, our thoughts will often ramble back and

forth between the two worlds.



"What color were his eyes?" wondered Molly on her pillow. "His mustache

is not bristly like so many of them. Sam never gave me such a look

at Hoosic Junction. No.... You can't come with me.... Get off your

horse.... The passengers are all staring...."



And while Molly was thus dreaming that the Virginian had ridden his

horse into the railroad car, and sat down beside her, the fire in the

great stone chimney of her cabin flickered quietly, its gleams now and

again touching the miniature of Grandmother Stark upon the wall.



Camped on the Sunk Creek trail, the Virginian was telling himself in his

blankets: "I ain't too old for education. Maybe she will lend me books.

And I'll watch her ways and learn...stand still, Monte. I can learn a

lot more than the kids on that. There's Monte...you pie-biter, stop....

He has ate up your book, ma'am, but I'll get yu'..."



And then the Virginian was fast asleep.



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