A Mountain Woman [45]
faultless.
"I hope you won't object to havin' me ride beside you," he said, wheeling his horse. To tell the truth, Kate did not object. She was a little dull, and had been conscious all the morning of that peculiar physical depression which marks the begin- ning of a fit of homesickness.
"The wind gits a fine sweep," said Roeder, after having obtained the permis- sion he desired. "Now in the gulch we either had a dead stagnation, or else the wind was tearin' up and down like a wild beast."
Kate did not reply, and they went on together, facing the riotous wind.
"You can't guess how queer it seems t' be here," he said, confidentially. "It seems t' me as if I had come from some other planet. Thar don't rightly seem t' be no place fur me. I tell you what it's like. It's as if I'd come down t' enlist in th' ranks, an' found 'em full, -- every man marchin' along in his place, an' no place left fur me."
Kate could not find a reply.
"I ain't a friend, -- not a friend! I ain't complainin'. It ain't th' fault of any one -- but myself. You don' know what a durned fool I've bin. Someway, up thar in th' gulch I got t' seemin' so sort of impor- tant t' myself, and my makin' my stake seemed such a big thing, that I thought I had only t' come down here t' Helena t' have folks want t' know me. I didn't particular want th' money because it wus money. But out here you work fur it, jest as you work fur other things in other places, -- jest because every one is workin' fur it, and it's the man who gets th' most that beats. It ain't that they are any more greedy than men anywhere else. My pile's a pretty good-sized one. An' it's likely to be bigger; but no one else seems t' care. Th' paper printed some pieces about it. Some of th' men came round t' see me; but I saw their game. I said I guessed I'd look further fur my acquaintances. I ain't spoken to a lady, -- not a real lady, you know, -- t' talk with, friendly like, but you, fur -- years."
His face flushed in that sudden way again. They were passing some of those preten- tious houses which rise in the midst of Helena's ragged streets with such an extra- neous air, and Kate leaned forward to look at them. The driver, seeing her interest, drew up the horses for a moment.
"Fine, fine!" ejaculated Roeder. "But they ain't got no garden. A house don't seem anythin' t' me without a garden. Do you know what I think would be th' most beautiful thing in th' world? A baby in a rose-garden! Do you know, I ain't had a baby in my hands, excep' Ned Ramsey's little kid, once, for ten year!"
Kate's face shone with sympathy.
"How dreadful!" she cried. "I couldn't live without a baby about."
"Like babies, do you? Well, well. Boys? Like boys?"
"Not a bit better than girls," said Kate, stoutly.
"I like boys," responded Roeder, with conviction. "My mother liked boys. She had three girls, but she liked me a damned sight the best."
Kate laughed outright.
"Why do you swear?" she said. "I never heard a man swear before, -- at least, not one with whom I was talking. That's one of your gulch habits. You must get over it."
Roeder's blond face turned scarlet.
"You must excuse me," he pleaded. "I'll cure myself of it! Jest give me a chance."
This was a little more personal than Kate approved of, and she raised her parasol to conceal her annoyance. It was a brilliant little fluff of a thing which looked as if it were made of butterflies' wings. Roeder touched it with awe.
"You have sech beautiful things," he said. "I didn't know women wore sech nice things. Now that dress -- it's like -- I don't know what it's like." It was a simple little taffeta, with warp and woof of azure and of cream, and gay knots of ribbon about it.
"We have the advantage of men," she said. "I often think one of the greatest drawbacks to being a man would be the sombre clothes. I like to wear the prettiest things that can be found."
"Lace?" queried Roeder. "Do you like lace?"
"I should say so! Did you ever see a woman who didn't?"
"Hu -- um! These women I've known
"I hope you won't object to havin' me ride beside you," he said, wheeling his horse. To tell the truth, Kate did not object. She was a little dull, and had been conscious all the morning of that peculiar physical depression which marks the begin- ning of a fit of homesickness.
"The wind gits a fine sweep," said Roeder, after having obtained the permis- sion he desired. "Now in the gulch we either had a dead stagnation, or else the wind was tearin' up and down like a wild beast."
Kate did not reply, and they went on together, facing the riotous wind.
"You can't guess how queer it seems t' be here," he said, confidentially. "It seems t' me as if I had come from some other planet. Thar don't rightly seem t' be no place fur me. I tell you what it's like. It's as if I'd come down t' enlist in th' ranks, an' found 'em full, -- every man marchin' along in his place, an' no place left fur me."
Kate could not find a reply.
"I ain't a friend, -- not a friend! I ain't complainin'. It ain't th' fault of any one -- but myself. You don' know what a durned fool I've bin. Someway, up thar in th' gulch I got t' seemin' so sort of impor- tant t' myself, and my makin' my stake seemed such a big thing, that I thought I had only t' come down here t' Helena t' have folks want t' know me. I didn't particular want th' money because it wus money. But out here you work fur it, jest as you work fur other things in other places, -- jest because every one is workin' fur it, and it's the man who gets th' most that beats. It ain't that they are any more greedy than men anywhere else. My pile's a pretty good-sized one. An' it's likely to be bigger; but no one else seems t' care. Th' paper printed some pieces about it. Some of th' men came round t' see me; but I saw their game. I said I guessed I'd look further fur my acquaintances. I ain't spoken to a lady, -- not a real lady, you know, -- t' talk with, friendly like, but you, fur -- years."
His face flushed in that sudden way again. They were passing some of those preten- tious houses which rise in the midst of Helena's ragged streets with such an extra- neous air, and Kate leaned forward to look at them. The driver, seeing her interest, drew up the horses for a moment.
"Fine, fine!" ejaculated Roeder. "But they ain't got no garden. A house don't seem anythin' t' me without a garden. Do you know what I think would be th' most beautiful thing in th' world? A baby in a rose-garden! Do you know, I ain't had a baby in my hands, excep' Ned Ramsey's little kid, once, for ten year!"
Kate's face shone with sympathy.
"How dreadful!" she cried. "I couldn't live without a baby about."
"Like babies, do you? Well, well. Boys? Like boys?"
"Not a bit better than girls," said Kate, stoutly.
"I like boys," responded Roeder, with conviction. "My mother liked boys. She had three girls, but she liked me a damned sight the best."
Kate laughed outright.
"Why do you swear?" she said. "I never heard a man swear before, -- at least, not one with whom I was talking. That's one of your gulch habits. You must get over it."
Roeder's blond face turned scarlet.
"You must excuse me," he pleaded. "I'll cure myself of it! Jest give me a chance."
This was a little more personal than Kate approved of, and she raised her parasol to conceal her annoyance. It was a brilliant little fluff of a thing which looked as if it were made of butterflies' wings. Roeder touched it with awe.
"You have sech beautiful things," he said. "I didn't know women wore sech nice things. Now that dress -- it's like -- I don't know what it's like." It was a simple little taffeta, with warp and woof of azure and of cream, and gay knots of ribbon about it.
"We have the advantage of men," she said. "I often think one of the greatest drawbacks to being a man would be the sombre clothes. I like to wear the prettiest things that can be found."
"Lace?" queried Roeder. "Do you like lace?"
"I should say so! Did you ever see a woman who didn't?"
"Hu -- um! These women I've known