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A Tangled Skein

From: The Barrier

When Burrell entered he wasted no time in greetings.

"I know why you sent for me, Poleon. I've heard the news, and I
pretty fine."

"Yes, dere's been beeg strike all right, an' Necia is goin' be riche

"I'm as pleased as if the claim were mine, and you feel the same
way, of course."

The Frenchman nodded. "I love Necia very much, lak'--well, lak' I'm
broder to her." The knowledge that she was listening made him very
uncomfortable--in fact, this whole affair savored more of double-
dealing and treachery than anything he had ever attempted, and it
expression, "Dere's t'ing I want for talk 'bout wit' you, but I'm
scare' you'll t'ink I'm butt in."

"Nonsense," said Burrell. "I know you too well for that."

"You know me for good man, eh? An' you know I ain' try for bre'k up
oder fellers' biznesse, never! Wal, I'm come to you now lak' wan
good man to 'noder biccause I'm got bad trouble on de min', an' you
mus'n't get sore."

"There's no danger, Poleon. Let's have it. If there is anything I
can do, you may count on me."

"Wal," he began, nervously, clearing his throat, "it's lak' dis.
Dere's feller been talk some 'bout Necia, an' it ain' nice talk

"Who is he?" exclaimed the soldier, in a tone that made the girl's
heart leap.

"Wait! Lemme tol' you w'at he say, den we'll talk 'bout feex 'im
plaintee. He say dere's joke down on Stark's saloon dat Necia Gale
is mak' fool of herse'f on you, an' dat you ain' care for marry

"Runnion!" cried Burrell, and started for the door. "I'll settle
with him now for fair!" But Poleon blocked his way, and, observing
nor mistake:

"No, M'sieu', before you pass on dat place you'll tol' me if it's

"True!" the Lieutenant retorted, angrily. "What business is it of
yours? This concerns me."

"An' me, too! I'm w'at you call gardeen for Necia till John Gale
come back, an' I'm broder of her, too. You promis' jus' now you don'
get mad, an' I don' say she's Runnion neider w'at spik dose t'ing;
dere's more dan 'im been talkin'. Is it true?"


"Poleon Doret," he said, "it's not one's enemies who do him injury,
it's his damned fool friends. I have learned to regard you highly
are a sentimental idiot."

"Dem is tough word," Doret replied. "But dere's reason w'y I can't
tak' on no madnesse. You say I'm hones'. Wal, I'm hones' now, an' I
come to you wit' fair words an' I show my han' to you--I don' hoi'
out no cards, M'sieu'--but I don' t'ink it is you who have play
square, altogeder. I'm Necia's frien', an' I'll fight for her jus'
so queecker lak' you, but I mus' know dis t'ing for sure, so if you
have de good heart an' de courage of good man you'll tell me de
truth. Do you have the feelin' for marry on her?"

seemed not, for he swung between diverse emotions--anger that this
the man's history recurred to him. No wonder he was interested in
honorable one. It never occurred to the soldier that this Frenchman
than he intended; moreover, the fellow's high sense of honor was a
byword--and of a sudden the desire to set himself right in this
man's eyes dictated his answer.

"I am amazed at myself for listening to you," he said, at last, "and
I'd better, after all. First, however, let me say that the little
girl is just as pure now as she was before she knew me--"

Poleon threw up his hand. "M'sieu', dat's more closer to de insult
dan w'at you call me jus' now. You don' need for spoke it."

"You're right! There's no need to tell you that. As for showing her
certain attentions--well, I admit that I have, as you know, but,
thank God, I can say I've been a gentleman and addressed her as I
would the fairest lady I've known."

"An' you mean for marry, eh?" probed the other.

between his ungovernable desire and that decision which cold reason
had thrust upon him. He wanted to say, "Yes, I'll marry her to-
morrow," but something bade him pause before he sacrificed upon this
that tries a man's soul and compels him to know himself had not yet
come to Meade Burrell; wherefore, he hesitated long.

"I did not say so," he declared, at last. "It's a thing I can't well
question of my sentiment, there are insurmountable obstacles to such
bring about a proper adjustment--"

turning, he beheld Necia standing revealed in the dimness.

"What an amusing person you are!" she said. "I've had hard work
holding in all this time while you were torturing your mind and
twisting the honest English language out of shape and meaning. I
knew I should have to laugh sooner or later."

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Is it a joke?"

"Indeed it is," she declared, laughing afresh, "and the best I've
ever enjoyed. Wasn't it funny, Poleon"--she turned gayly to the
Frenchman, but he stood like one petrified--"to see him debating
you were very gentlemanly about it, sir, and you wouldn't have hurt
my feelings for the world!"


"That's your Dixie chivalry, I suppose. Well, I've played with you
long enough, Lieutenant Burrell, I'm tired of the game, and you
interest me no longer."

"You--you--say you've been playing with me!" stammered the man. The

"Why, of course," she cried, scornfully, "just as you took me up for
conceit that I couldn't resist the temptation, and you hid your
other women, after all, and if you were not like other men." She was
throat while she railed at him. "You needn't waste time debating
whether I'm good enough for you, because I'm not--decidedly, I'm not
your kind, and you are a joke to me."

wide and glowing like coals, her lips chalk-white. "You see, it's
time I stopped such foolishness, anyhow, for I'm to be married on

"You are going to be married?" he muttered, laboriously.

"Yes, to Poleon. Why, that's been understood for years."


"So you're in this, Doret. You're a part of this little farce. You
with you--"

"D-don't blame him!" cried the girl, hysterically. "It is all my
doing. He had no part in it."

Burrell wheeled back to the Frenchman again. "Is this true?"

"Yes," said Doret, in a restrained voice. "Dis ain' no work of

"You're a liar!" breathed the Kentuckian, now fairly wild with
no move.

"M'sieu'," he cried, "I'm livin' t'orty year, an' never took no nam'
lak' dat before, but dere's reason here w'y I can't mak' no answer."
He inclined his head towards the girl, and before Burrell could
break out again he checked him.

"It's no good mak' fight wit' lesser dan two people. You've tol' me
dat you are gentleman. Wal, I ain' nobody but trapper an' trader,
but I don' spoil de name of no good girl, an' I don' quarrel in
presence of lady, so mebbe, affer all, dere's mistak' somew'ere, an'
I'm gentleman mese'f 'stead of you."

"Why, you aren't really angry, Lieutenant?" mocked Necia. "It's only
out of gear. You mustn't quarrel over a SQUAW!"

beyond her control and the savage instincts of the wilderness were

"You are quite right," he replied. "I am very foolish, and the laugh
is with you." His lips tried to frame a smile, but failed, and he
added: "Your wit is not my kind, that is all. I beg you both to
accept my congratulations on your nuptials. Undoubtedly, you will be
happy together; two people with such similar ideas of humor must
have much to enjoy in common." He bowed low and, turning, walked

The moment he was gone she cried, breathlessly:

"You must marry me, Poleon. You've got to do it now."

"Do you mean dat for sure?" he said.

"Can't you see there's nothing else for it, after this? I'll show
him that he can't make me a toy to suit his convenience. I've told
him I would marry you on Sunday, and I'll do it or die. Of course
you don't love me, for you don't know what love is, I suppose; how--
could you?" She broke down and began to catch her breath amid
dry and feverish.

"I--I'm very unhappy, b-but I'll be a good--wife to you. Oh, Poleon,
if you only knew--"


"No! I don' know w'at kin' of love is dis, for sure. De kin' of love
I know is de kin' I sing 'bout in my songs; I s'pose it's different
breed to yours, an' I'm begin to see it don' live nowhere but on dem
songs of mine. Dere's long tarn' I waste here now--five year--but
to-morrow I go again lookin' for my own countree."

"Poleon!" she cried, looking up with startled eyes. "Not to-morrow,
but Sunday--we will go together."

He shook his head. "To-morrow, Necia! An' I go alone."

"Then you won't--marry me?" she asked, in a hushed and frightened

"No! Dere's wan t'ing I can't do even for you, Necia, dere's wan
t'ing I can't geeve, dat's all--jus' wan on all de worl'. I can't
kill de li'l' god wit' de bow an' arrer. He's all dat mak' de sun
shine, de birds sing, an' de leaves w'isper to me; he's de wan li'l'
feller w'at mak' my life wort' livin' an' keep music in my soul. If
I keel 'im dere ain' no more lef lak' it, an' I'm never goin' fin'
my lan' of content, nor sing nor laugh no more. I'm t'inkin' I would
rader sing songs to 'im all alone onderneat' de stars beside my
campfire, an' talk wit' 'im in my bark canoe, dan go livin' wit' you
in fine house an' let 'im get col' an' die."

"But I told him I'd marry you--that I had always intended to. He'll
believe I was lying," she moaned, in distress.

"Dat's too bad--but dis t'ing ain' no doin's wit' me. Dere's wan
t'ing in dis worl' mus' live forever, an' dat's love--if we kill 'im
den it's purty poor place for stoppin' in. I'm cut off my han' for
help you, Necia, but I can't be husban' to no woman in fun."

"Your foolish head is full of romance," she burst out. "You think
you're doing me a favor, but you're not. Why, there's Runnion--he
wants me so much that he'd 'even marry me'!" Her wild laughter
stabbed the man. "Was ever a girl in such a fix! I've been made love
seem to turn pale and run like whipped dogs. I'm only good enough
for a bad man and a gambler, I suppose." She sank to a seat, flung
uncontrollably. "If--if--I only had a woman to talk to--but they are
all men--all men."

Poleon waited patiently until her paroxysm of sobbing had passed,
she disappeared inside the log-house.

"An' dat's de end of it all," he mused. "Five year I've wait--an'
jus' for dis."

roistering, brown man would fold her to himself--she would yield to
snatch her and hold her against the world.

reason; she might even have set out mischievously to amuse herself
her cruel protestations.

when pitted against it.

despair and lonesomeness that Burrell lighted every lamp and candle
to darkness a subtle transition occurs akin to the change from
positive to negative in an electrical current, and that this
intangible, untraceable atmospheric influence exerts a definite,
may, it is certain that as the night grew darker the Lieutenant's
bolted out, almost running in his eagerness.

post--a freighter, as he noted by her lights. In the glare at the
from Lee's Creek, and without accosting them he hurried on to the
no answer to his knock, he entered, for it was customary at Gale's
came out.

was that which he had seen one blithe spring morning three months
rounded neck and shoulders, whose whiteness was startling against
everything else.

some mark of her blood or breed that had escaped her previous
fear of losing her aroused him and spurred his wit.

"Don't go away! I have something I must tell you. I've thought it
over, and you've got to listen, Necia."

"I am listening," she answered, very quietly.

"Understand me, I'm not whining, and I'm willing to take my
medicine. I couldn't talk or think very straight this afternoon, but
you were wrong."

"Yes, I know now, I was wrong. It was most unlady-like, wasn't it?
But you see, I am only a little savage."

"I don't mean that; I mean you were wrong when you said I had played
made me love you, Necia. Can't you see?"

She made no sign.

"If you can't, I owe it to you and to myself to set you right. I am
Poleon I want you to know that I shall love you always."

flinched, seeing which he broke out:

"You do love me, Necia--you do; I see it in your eyes!" And he

"No, no! Don't touch me!" she almost screamed.

"My dear one," he breathed, "you must listen to me. You have nothing
to fear, for I love you--love you--love you! You were made for me!
You'll be my wife. Yes; you'll be married on Sunday, but to me, not
to Poleon or any other man!"

Indian girl--?

"You do love me, don't you?" he pleaded. But still she could not

"You mean--you want to--marry me?" she murmured, at last, hesitating
little world.

"Indeed I do!" he declared, with emphasis. "In spite of everything,
anything. Nothing else matters."


"Nothing! I'll quit the army. I'll give up the Service, and my
people, too. I'll put everything back of me, and we'll start out
anew--just you and I."

"Wait a moment," she said, retreating a little from his eager, out-
stretched arms. "Why do you need to do all that?"

"Never mind why; it's as good as done. You wouldn't understand--"

"But I think I do understand now. Do I really mean all that to you?"

"Yes, and more!"

"Listen to me," said the girl, quietly. "I want you to talk slowly
so I may not misunderstand. If you--marry me, must you forego all
those great things you speak of--your profession, your family, your

"Don't let's talk about it, Necia; I've got you, and--"

"Please answer me," she urged. "I thought I understood, but I'm
afraid I don't. I thought it was my being a breed that stood in the

"There's nothing in the way--"

"--that I wasn't good enough. I knew I could overcome that; I knew I
could make myself grow to your level, but I didn't think my blood
awkwardly, because I'm not sure that I quite understand it myself
yet. Things seem different now, somehow, than they did before."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the soldier. "If they don't bother me, Necia,
why should you worry?"

"Would you really have to give up your family--your sister? Would
those people you are so proud of and who are so proud of you--would
they cut you off?"

"There is no question of cutting off. I have no inheritance coming;
I don't want any. I don't want anything except you, dear."

"Won't you tell me?" she persisted. "You see, I am dull at these

"Well, what if they do?" he conceded. "You more than make it up to
me--you outweigh a thousand families."

"And would your marriage to a--a--to me destroy your army career?"

"Well, it will really be much easier for both of us if I resign from
the Service," he finally admitted. "In fact, I've decided to do so
at once."

"No, no! You mustn't do that. To-night you think I am worth the
price, but a day will come--"

He leaned forward and caught her hands in his.

"--Meade, I can't let you do it."

"I'd like to see you help yourself," he said, banteringly.

"I can and I will. You must not marry me, Meade--it's not right--it
can't be." She suddenly realized what this renunciation would mean,
to her freely--it would be very hard! But to her, too, there had
future, too well to ruin him.

"It will be over before you know it," she heard him saying, in a
lame attempt at levity. "Father Barnum is an expert, and the
operation won't occupy him ten minutes."

"Meade, you must listen to me now," she said, so earnestly that it
sobered him. "Do you think a girl could be happy if she knew a good
you do such a thing. I couldn't bear to see myself a drag on you.
time, and then--" She was finding it more and more difficult to
continue. "A prisoner grows to hate the chains that bind him; when
can't be. You're not of my people, and I'm not of yours."

outside, approaching the house. The girl's breath caught in her
throat, she flung herself recklessly upon her lover's breast and
threw her arms around his neck in an agony of farewell.

"Meade! Meade! my soldier!" she sobbed, "kiss me good-bye for the
last time!"

"No," he said roughly.

But she dragged his face down to her burning lips.

"Now you must go," she said, tearing herself away, "and, for my
sake, don't see me again."

"I will! I will! I'll ask your father for you to-night."

"No, no! Don't; please don't! Wait till--till to-morrow--till I say
the word! Promise me! On your love, promise!"

Her eyes held such a painful entreaty that he nodded acquiescence as
the door opened and her father and Alluna entered.

Next: Stark Takes A Hand In The Game

Previous: Where The Path Led

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