Jeff Briggs's Love Story

She stopped, half jestingly, half earnestly, in the middle of the road, and emphasized her determination with a nod of her head—an action that, however, shook her hat first rakishly over one eye, and then on the ground. At which Jeff laughed, picked it up, presented it to her, and then ran off to the house.

III

His aunt met him angrily on the porch. “Thar ye are at last, and yer’s a stranger waitin to see you. He’s been axin all sorts o’ questions, about the house and the business, and kinder snoopin’ round permiskiss. I don’t like his looks, Jeff, but thet’s no reason why ye should be gallivantin’ round in business hours.”

A large, thick-set man, with a mechanical smile that was an overt act of false pretense, was lounging in the bar-room. Jeff dimly remembered to have seen him at the last county election, distributing tickets at the polls. This gave Jeff a slight prejudice against him, but a greater presentiment of some vague evil in the air caused him to motion the stranger to an empty room in the angle of the house behind the barroom, which was too near the hall through which Miss Mayfield must presently pass.

It was an infelicitous act of precaution, for at that very moment Miss Mayfield slowly passed beneath its open window, and seeing her chair in the sunny angle, dropped into it for rest and possibly meditation. Consequently she overheard every word of the following colloquy.

The Stranger’s voice: “Well, now, seein’ ez I’ve been waitin’ for ye over an hour, off and on, and ez my bizness with ye is two words, it strikes me yer puttin’ on a little too much style in this yer interview, Mr. Jefferson Briggs.”

Jeff’s voice (a little husky with restraint): “What is yer business?”

The stranger’s voice (lazily): “It’s an attachment on this yer property for principal, interest, and costs—one hundred and twelve dollars and’ seventy-five cents, at the suit of Cyrus Parker.”

Jeff’s voice (in quick surprise): “Parker? Why, I saw him only yesterday, and he agreed to wait a spell longer.”

The Stranger’s voice: “Mebbee he did! Mebbee he heard afterwards suthin’ about the goin’s on up yar. Mebbee he heard suthin’ o’ property bein’ converted into ready cash—sich property ez horses, guns, and sich! Mebbee he heard o’ gay and festive doin’s—chickin every day, fresh eggs, butcher’s meat, port wine, and sich! Mebbee he allowed that his chances o’ gettin’ his own honest grub outer his debt was lookin’ mighty slim! Mebbee” (louder) “he thought he’d ask the man who bought yer horse, and the man you pawned your gun to, what was goin’ on! Mebbee he thought he’d like to get a holt a suthin’ himself, even if it was only some of that yar chickin and port wine!”

Jeff’s voice (earnestly and hastily): “They’re not for me. I have a family boarding here, with a sick daughter. You don’t think—”

The Stranger’s voice (lazily): “I reckon! I seed you and her pre-ambulating down the hill, lockin’ arms. A good deal o’ style, Jeff—fancy! expensive! How does Aunt Sally take it?”

A slight shaking of the floor and window—a dead silence.

The Stranger’s voice (very faintly): “For God’s sake, let me up!”

Jeff’s voice (very distinctly): “Another word! raise your voice above a whisper, and by the living G—”

Silence.

The Stranger’s voice (gasping): “I—I—promise!”

Jeff’s voice (low and desperate): “Get up out of that! Sit down thar! Now hear me! I’m not resisting your process. If you had all h-ll as witnesses you daren’t say that. I’ve shut up your foul jaw, and kept it from poisoning the air, and thar’s no law in Californy agin it! Now listen. What! You will, will you?”

Everything quiet; a bird twittering on the window ledge, nothing more.

The Stranger’s voice (very huskily): “I cave! Gimme some whiskey.”

Jeff’s voice: “When we’re through. Now listen! You can take possession of the house; you can stand behind the bar and take every cent that comes in; you can prevent anything going out; but as long as Mr. Mayfield and his family stay here, by the living God—law or no law—I’ll be boss here, and they shall never know it!”

The Stranger’s voice (weakly and submissively): “That sounds square. Anythin’ not agin the law and in reason, Jeff!”

Jeff’s voice: “I mean to be square. Here is all the money I have, ten dollars. Take it for any extra trouble you may have to satisfy me.”

A pause—the clinking of coin.

The Stranger’s voice (deprecatingly): “Well! I reckon that would be about fair. Consider the trouble” (a weak laugh here) “just now. ‘Tain’t every man ez hez your grip. He! he! Ef ye hadn’t took me so suddent like—he! he!—well!—how about that ar whiskey?”

Jeff’s voice (coolly): “I’ll bring it.”

Steps, silence, coughing, spitting, and throat-clearing from the stranger.

Steps again, and the click of glass.

The Stranger’s voice (submissively): “In course I must go back to the Forks and fetch up my duds. Ye know what I mean! Thar now—don’t, Mr. Jeff!”

Jeff’s voice (sternly): “If I find you go back on me—”

The Stranger’s voice (hurriedly): “Thar’s my hand on it. Ye can count on Jim Dodd.”

Steps again. Silence. A bird lights on the window ledge, and peers into the room. All is at rest.

Jeff and the deputy-sheriff walked through the bar-room and out on the porch. Miss Mayfield in an arm-chair looked up from her book.

“I’ve written a letter to my father that I’d like to have mailed at the Forks this afternoon,” she said, looking from Jeff to the stranger; “perhaps this gentleman will oblige me by taking it, if he’s going that way.”

“I’ll take it, miss,” said Jeff hurriedly.

“No,” said Miss Mayfield archly, “I’ve taken up too much of your time already.”

“I’m at your service, miss,” said the stranger, considerably affected by the spectacle of this pretty girl, who certainly at that moment, in her bright eyes and slightly pink cheeks, belied the suggestion of ill health.

“Thank you. Dear me!” She was rummaging in a reticule and in her pocket, etc. “Oh, Mr. Jeff!”

“Yes, miss?”

“I’m so frightened!”

“How, miss?”

“I have—yes!—I have left that letter on the stump in the woods, where I was sitting when you came. Would you—”

Jeff darted into the house, seized his hat, and stopped. He was thinking of the stranger.

“Could you be so kind?”

Jeff looked in her agitated face, cast a meaning glance at the stranger, and was off like a shot.

The fire dropped out of Miss Mayfield’s eyes and cheeks. She turned toward the stranger.

“Please step this way.”

She always hated her own childish treble. But just at that moment she thought she had put force and dignity into it, and was correspondingly satisfied. The deputy sheriff was equally pleased, and came towards the upright little figure with open admiration.

“Your name is Dodd—James Dodd?”

“Yes, miss.”