“And so,” said Lee Haines, when he joined Buck1 Daniels in the living-room, “there goes our reinforcements. That whole crew will scatter2 like dead leaves when Barry breezes in. It looks to me—”
“Shut up!” cut in Daniels. “Shut up!”
His dark, homely3 face turned to the larger man with a singular expression of awe4. He whispered: “D'you hear? She's in the next room whippin' Joan for runnin' away, and never a yap out of the kid!”
He held up a lean finger for caution and then Haines heard the sound of the willow5 switch. It stopped.
“If you run away again,” warned Kate, her voice pitched high and trembling, “munner will whip harder, and put you in a dark place for a long, long time.”
Still there was not a sound of the child's voice, not even the pulse of stifled6 weeping. Presently the door opened and Kate stood there.
“Go out in the kitchen and tell Li to give you breakfast. Naughty girls can't eat with munner.”
Through the door came Joan, her little round face perfectly7 white, perfectly expressionless. She did not cringe, passing her mother; she walked steadily8 across the room, rose on tip-toe to open the kitchen door, and disappeared through it. Kate dropped into a chair, shaking.
“Out!” whispered Buck to Lee Haines. “Beat it. I got to talk alone.” And as soon as Haines obeyed, Buck sat down close to the girl. She was twisting and untangling her fingers in a dumb agony.
“What has he done to her, Buck? What has he done?”
It was a maxim9 with Buck that talk is to woman what swearing is to man; it is a safety valve, and therefore he waited in silence until the first rush of her grief had passed.
“She only looked at me when I whipped her. My heart turned in me. She didn't cry; she wasn't even angry. She just stood there—my baby!—and looked at me!”
She threw herself back in the chair with her eyes closed, and he saw where the trouble had marked her face. He wanted to lean over and take her in his arms.
“I'm going mad, Buck. I can't stand it. How could he have changed her to this?”
“Listen to me, Kate. Joan ain't been changed. She's only showin' what she is.”
The mother stared wildly at him.
“Don't look like I was a murderer. God knows I'm sorry, Kate, but if they's Dan's blood in your little girl it ain't my fault. It ain't anything he's taught her. It's just that bein' alone with him has brought out what she really is.”
“I won't believe you, Buck. I don't dare listen to you!”
“You got to listen, Kate, because you know I'm right. D'you think that any kind of teachin' could make her learn how to stand and keep from cryin' when she was whipped?”
“I know.”
She spoke10 softly, as if some terrible power might overhear them talk, and Buck lowered his voice in turn.
“She's wild, Kate, I knew it when I seen the way she handled Bart. She's wild!”
“Then I'll have her tame again.”
“You tried that once and failed.”
“Dan was a man when I tried, and his nature was formed. Joan is only a baby—my baby. She's half mine. She has my hair and my eyes.”
“I don't care what the color of her eyes is, I know what's behind them. Look at 'em, and then tell me who she takes after.”
“Buck, why do you talk like this? What do you want me to do?”
“A hard thing. Send Joan back to Dan.”
“Never!”
“He'll never give her up, I tell you.”
“Oh, God help me. What shall I do? I'll keep her! I'll make her tame.”
“But you'll never keep her that way. Think of Dan. Think of the yaller in his eyes, Kate.”
“Until I die,” she said with sudden quiet, “I'll fight to keep her.”
And he answered with equal solemnity: “Until Dan dies he'll fight to have her. And he's never been beat yet.”
Through a breathing space he stared at her and she at him, and the eyes of Buck Daniels were the first to turn. Everything that was womanly and gentle had died from her face, and in its stead was something which made Buck rise and wander from the room.
He found Lee Haines and told him briefly11 all that had passed. The great battle, they decided12, had begun between Kate and Barry for the sake of the child, and that battle would go on until one of them was dead or the prize for which they struggled lost. Barry would come on the trail and find them at the ranch13, and then he would strike for Joan. And they had no help for the struggle against him. The cowpunchers would scatter at the first sign of Barry, at the first shrill14 of his ill-omened whistling. They might ride for Elkhead and raise a posse from among the citizens, but it would take two days to do that and gather a number of effective fighters for the crisis, and in the meantime the chances were large that Barry would strike the ranch while the messenger was away. There was really nothing to do but sit patiently and wait. They were both brave men, very; and they were both n............