A Lady From Redhorse

by Ambrose Bierce

　　

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CORONADO, JUNE 20. I find myself more and more interested in him. It is not, I am sure,his--do you know any good noun corresponding to the adjective"handsome"? One does not like to say "beauty" when speaking of a man. Heis beautiful enough, Heaven knows; I should not even care to trust youwith him--faithfulest of all possible wives that you are--when he lookshis best, as he always does. Nor do I think the fascination of hismanner has much to do with it. You recollect that the charm of artinheres in that which is undefinable, and to you and me, my dear Irene,I fancy there is rather less of that in the branch of art underconsideration than to girls in their first season. I fancy I know how myfine gentleman produces many of his effects and could perhaps give him apointer on heightening them. Nevertheless, his manner is something trulydelightful. I suppose what interests me chiefly is the man's brains. Hisconversation is the best I have ever heard and altogether unlike any oneelse's. He seems to know everything, as indeed he ought, for he has beeneverywhere, read everything, seen all there is to see--sometimes I thinkrather more than is good for him--and had acquaintance with the_queerest_ people. And then his voice--Irene, when I hear it I actuallyfeel as if I ought to have paid at the door, though of course it is myown door. JULY 3. I fear my remarks about Dr. Barritz must have been, being thoughtless,very silly, or you would not have written of him with such levity, notto say disrespect. Believe me, dearest, he has more dignity andseriousness (of the kind, I mean, which is not inconsistent with amanner sometimes playful and always charming) than any of the men thatyou and I ever met. And young Raynor--you knew Raynor at Monterey--tellsme that the men all like him and that he is treated with something likedeference everywhere. There is a mystery, too--something about hisconnection with the Blavatsky people in Northern India. Raynor eitherwould not or could not tell me the particulars. I infer that Dr. Barritzis thought--don't you dare to laugh!--a magician. Could anything befiner than that? An ordinary mystery is not, of course, so good as a scandal, but when itrelates to dark and dreadful practices--to the exercise of unearthlypowers--could anything be more piquant? It explains, too, the singularinfluence the man has upon me. It is the undefinable in his art--blackart. Seriously, dear, I quite tremble when he looks me full in the eyeswith those unfathomable orbs of his, which I have already vainlyattempted to describe to you. How dreadful if he has the power to makeone fall in love! Do you know if the Blavatsky crowd have that power--outside of Sepoy? JULY 16. The strangest thing! Last evening while Auntie was attending one of thehotel hops (I hate them) Dr. Barritz called. It was scandalously late--Iactually believe that he had talked with Auntie in the ballroom andlearned from her that I was alone. I had been all the evening contrivinghow to worm out of him the truth about his connection with the Thugs inSepoy, and all of that black business, but the moment he fixed his eyeson me (for I admitted him, I'm ashamed to say) I was helpless. Itrembled, I blushed, I--O Irene, Irene, I love the man beyond expressionand you know how it is yourself. Fancy! I, an ugly duckling from Redhorse--daughter (they say) of oldCalamity Jim--certainly his heiress, with no living relation but anabsurd old aunt who spoils me a thousand and fifty ways--absolutelydestitute of everything but a million dollars and a hope in Paris,--Idaring to love a god like him! My dear, if I had you here I could tearyour hair out with mortification. I am convinced that he is aware of my feeling, for he stayed but a fewmoments, said nothing but what another man might have said half as well,and pretending that he had an engagement went away. I learned to-day (alittle bird told me--the bell-bird) that he went straight to bed. Howdoes that strike you as evidence of exemplary habits? JULY 17. That little wretch, Raynor, called yesterday and his babble set mealmost wild. He never runs down--that is to say, when he exterminates ascore of reputations, more or less, he does not pause between onereputation and the next. (By the way, he inquired about you, and hismanifestations of interest in you had, I confess, a good deal of_vraisemblance._.) Mr. Raynor observes no game laws; like Death (whichhe would inflict if slander were fatal) he has all seasons for his own.But I like him, for we knew each other at Redhorse when we were young.He was known in those days as "Giggles," and I--O Irene, can you everforgive me?--I was called "Gunny." God knows why; perhaps in allusion tothe material of my pinafores; perhaps because the name is inalliteration with "Giggles," for Gig and I were inseparable playmates,and the miners may have thought it a delicate civility to recognize somekind of relationship between us. Later, we took in a third--another of Adversity's brood, who, likeGarrick between Tragedy and Comedy, had a chronic inability toadjudicate the rival claims of Frost and Famine. Between him and miserythere was seldom anything more than a single suspender and the hope of ameal which would at the same time support life and make itinsupportable. He literally picked up a precarious living for himselfand an aged mother by "chloriding the dumps," that is to say, the minerspermitted him to search the heaps of waste rock for such pieces of "payore" as had been overlooked; and these he sacked up and sold at theSyndicate Mill. He became a member of our firm--"Gunny, Giggles, andDumps" thenceforth--through my favor; for I could not then, nor can Inow, be indifferent to his courage and prowess in defending againstGiggles the immemorial right of his sex to insult a strange andunprotected female--myself. After old Jim struck it in the Calamity andI began to wear shoes and go to school, and in emulation Giggles took towashing his face and became Jack Raynor, of Wells, Fargo & Co., and oldMrs. Barts was herself chlorided to her fathers, Dumps drifted over toSan Juan Smith and turned stage driver, and was killed by road agents,and so forth. Why do I tell you all this, dear? Because it is heavy on my heart.Because I walk the Valley of Humility. Because I am subduing myself topermanent consciousness of my unworthiness to unloose the latchet of Dr.Barritz's shoe. Because, oh dear, oh dear, there's a cousin of Dumps atthis hotel! I haven't spoken to him. I never had much acquaintance withhim,--but do you suppose he has recognized me? Do, please give me inyour next your candid, sure-enough opinion about it, and say you don'tthink so. Do you suppose He knows about me already, and that that is whyHe left me last evening when He saw that I blushed and trembled like afool under His eyes? You know I can't bribe _all_ the newspapers, and Ican't go back on anybody who was civil to Gunny at Redhorse--not if I'mpitched out of society into the sea. So the skeleton sometimes rattlesbehind the door. I never cared much before, as you know, but now--_now_it is not the same. Jack Raynor I am sure of--he will not tell Him. Heseems, indeed, to hold Him in such respect as hardly to dare speak toHim at all, and I'm a good deal that way myself. Dear, dear! I wish Ihad something besides a million dollars! If Jack were three inchestaller I'd marry him alive and go back to Redhorse and wear sackclothagain to the end of my miserable days. JULY 25. We had a perfectly splendid sunset last evening and I must tell you allabout it. I ran away from Auntie and everybody and was walking alone onthe beach. I expect you to believe, you infidel! that I had not lookedout of my window on the seaward side of the hotel and seen Him walkingalone on the beach. If you are not lost to every feeling of womanlydelicacy you will accept my statement without question. I soonestablished myself under my sunshade and had for some time been gazingout dreamily over the sea, when he approached, walking close to the edgeof the water--it was ebb tide. I assure you the wet sand actuallybrightened about his feet! As he approached me he lifted his hat,saying, "Miss Dement, may I sit with you?--or will you walk with me?" The possibility that neither might be agreeable seems not to haveoccurred to him. Did you ever know such assurance? Assurance? My dear,it was gall, downright _gall!_ Well, I didn't find it wormwood, andreplied, with my untutored Redhorse heart in my throat, "I--I shall bepleased to do _anything_." Could words have been more stupid? There aredepths of fatuity in me, friend o' my soul, that are simply bottomless! He extended his hand, smiling, and I delivered mine into it without amoment's hesitation, and when his fingers closed about it to assist meto my feet the consciousness that it trembled made me blush worse thanthe red west. I got up, however, and after a while, observing that hehad not let go my hand I pulled on it a little, but unsuccessfully. Hesimply held on, saying nothing, but looking down into my face with somekind of smile--I didn't know--how could I?--whether it was affectionate,derisive, or what, for I did not look at him. How beautiful he was!--with the red fires of the sunset burning in the depths of his eyes. Doyou know, dear, if the Thugs and Experts of the Blavatsky region haveany special kind of eyes? Ah, you should have seen his superb attitude,the god-like inclination of his head as he stood over me after I had gotupon my feet! It was a noble picture, but I soon destroyed it, for Ibegan at once to sink again to the earth. There was only one thing forhim to do, and he did it; he supported me with an arm about my waist. "Miss Dement, are you ill?" he said. It was not an exclamation; there was neither alarm nor solicitude in it.If he had added: "I suppose that is about what I am expected to say," hewould hardly have expressed his sense of the situation more clearly. Hismanner filled me with shame and indignation, for I was sufferingacutely. I wrenched my hand out of his, grasped the arm supporting meand pushing myself free, fell plump into the sand and sat helpless. Myhat had fallen off in the struggle and my hair tumbled about my face andshoulders in the most mortifying way. "Go away from me," I cried, half choking. "O _please_ go away, you--youThug! How dare you think _that_ when my leg is asleep?" I actually said those identical words! And then I broke down and sobbed.Irene, I _blubbered_! His manner altered in an instant--I could see that much through myfingers and hair. He dropped on one knee beside me, parted the tangle ofhair and said in the tenderest way: "My poor girl, God knows I have notintended to pain you. How should I?--I who love you--I who have lovedyou for--for years and years!" He had pulled my wet hands away from my face and was covering them withkisses. My cheeks were like two coals, my whole face was flaming and, Ithink, steaming. What could I do? I hid it on his shoulder--there was noother place. And, O my dear friend, how my leg tingled and thrilled, andhow I wanted to kick! We sat so for a long time. He had released one of my hands to pass hisarm about me again and I possessed myself of my handkerchief and wasdrying my eyes and my nose. I would not look up until that was done; hetried in vain to push me a little away and gaze into my face. Presently,when all was right, and it had grown a bit dark, I lifted my head,looked him straight in the eyes and smiled my best--my level best, dear. "What do you mean," I said, "by 'years and years'?" "Dearest," he replied, very gravely, very earnestly, "in the absence ofthe sunken cheeks, the hollow eyes, the lank hair, the slouching gait,the rags, dirt, and youth, can you not--will you not understand? Gunny,I'm Dumps!" In a moment I was upon my feet and he upon his. I seized him by thelapels of his coat and peered into his handsome face in the deepeningdarkness. I was breathless with excitement. "And you are not dead?" I asked, hardly knowing what I said. "Only dead in love, dear. I recovered from the road agent's bullet, butthis, I fear, is fatal." "But about Jack--Mr. Raynor? Don't you know--" "I am ashamed to say, darling, that it was through that unworthyperson's suggestion that I came here from Vienna." Irene, they have roped in your affectionate friend, MARY JANE DEMENT. P.S.--The worst of it is that there is no mystery; that was theinvention of Jack Raynor, to arouse my curiosity. James is not a Thug.He solemnly assures me that in all his wanderings he has never set footin Sepoy.

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