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school, the danger of any relapse, the necessity of her having a more clearly defined position as a scholar, and even the advisability of her being transferred to a more advanced school with a more mature teacher of her own sex. “This is what I wished to say to Mrs. McKinstry to-day,” he concluded, “but she referred me to you.”
“In course, in course,” said McKinstry, nodding complacently. “She’s a good woman in and around the ranch, and in any doin’s o’ this kind,” he lightly waved his wounded arm in the air, “there ain’t a better, tho’ I say it. She was Blair Rawlins’ darter; she and her brother Clay bein’ the only ones that kem out safe arter their twenty years’ fight with the McEntees in West Kaintuck. But she don’t understand gals ez you and me do. Not that I’m much, ez I orter be more kam. And the old woman jest sized the hull thing when she said SHE hadn’t any hand in Cressy’s engagement. No more she had! And ez far ez that goes, no more did me, nor Seth Davis, nor Cressy.” He paused, and lifting his heavy-lidded eyes to the master for the second time, said reflectively, “Ye mustn’t mind my tellin’ ye—ez betwixt man and man—that THE one ez is most responsible for the makin’ and breakin’ o’ that engagement is YOU!”
“Me!” said the master in utter bewilderment.
“You!” repeated McKinstry quietly, reinstalling the hand Ford had attempted to withdraw. “I ain’t sayin’ ye either know’d it or kalkilated on it. But it war so. Ef ye’d hark to me, and meander on a little, I’ll tell ye HOW it war. I don’t mind walkin’ a piece YOUR way, for if we go towards the ranch, and the hounds see me, they’ll set up a racket and bring out the old woman, and then good-by to any confidential talk betwixt you and me. And I’m, somehow, kammer out yer.”
He moved slowly down the trail, still holding Ford’s arm confidentially, although, owing to his large protecting manner, he seemed to offer a ridiculous suggestion of supporting HIM with his wounded member.
“When you first kem to Injin Spring,” he began, “Seth and Cressy was goin’ to school, boy and girl like, and nothin’ more. They’d known each other from babies—the Davises bein’ our neighbors in Kaintuck, and emigraten’ with us from St. Joe. Seth mout hev cottoned to Cress, and Cress to him, in course o’ time, and there wasn’t anythin’ betwixt the families to hev kept ‘em from marryin’ when they wanted. But there never war any words passed, and no engagement.”
“But,” interrupted Ford hastily, “my predecessor, Mr. Martin, distinctly told me that there was, and that it was with YOUR permission.”
“That’s only because you noticed suthin’ the first day you looked over the school with Martin. ‘Dad,’ sez Cress to me, ‘that new teacher’s very peart; and he’s that keen about noticin’ me and Seth that I reckon you’d better giv out that we’re engaged.’ ‘But are you?’ sez I. ‘It’ll come to that in the end,’ sez Cress, ‘and if that yer teacher hez come here with Northern ideas o’ society, it’s just ez well to let him see Injin Spring ain’t entirely in the woods about them things either.’ So I agreed, and Martin told you it was all right; Cress and Seth was an engaged couple, and you was to take no notice. And then YOU ups and objects to the hull thing, and allows that courtin’ in school, even among engaged pupils, ain’t proper.”
The master turned his eyes with some uneasiness to the face of Cressy’s father. It was heavy but impassive.
“I don’t mind tellin’ you, now that it’s over, what happened. The trouble with me, Mr. Ford, is—I ain’t kam! and YOU air, and that’s what got me. For when I heard what you’d said, I got on that mustang and started for the school-house to clean you out and giv’ you five minutes to leave Injin Spring. I don’t know ez you remember that day. I’d kalkilated my time so ez to ketch ye comin’ out o’ school, but I was too airly. I hung around out o’ sight, and then hitched my hoss to a buckeye and peeped inter the winder to hev a good look at ye. It was very quiet and kam. There was squirrels over the roof, yellow-jackets and bees dronin’ away, and kinder sleeping-like all around in the air, and jay-birds twitterin’ in the shingles, and they never minded me. You were movin’ up and down among them little gals and boys, liftin’ up their heads and talkin’ to ‘em softly and quiet like, ez if you was one of them yourself. And they looked contented and kam. And onct—I don’t know if YOU remember it—you kem close up to the winder with your hands behind you, and looked out so kam and quiet and so far off, ez if everybody else outside the school was miles away from you. It kem to me then that I’d given a heap to hev had the old woman see you thar. It kem to me, Mr. Ford, that there wasn’t any place for ME thar; and it kem to me, too—and a little rough like—that mebbee there wasn’t any place there for MY Cress either! So I rode away without disturbin’ you nor the birds nor the squirrels. Talkin’ with Cress that night, she said ez how it was a fair sample of what happened every day, and that you’d always treated her fair like the others. So she allowed that she’d go down to Sacramento, and get some things agin her and Seth bein’ married next month, and she reckoned she wouldn’t trouble you nor the school agin. Hark till I’ve done, Mr. Ford,” he continued, as the young man made a slight movement of deprecation. “Well, I agreed. But arter she got to Sacramento and bought some fancy fixin’s, she wrote to me and sez ez how she’d been thinkin’ the hull thing over, and she reckoned that she and Seth were too young to marry, and the engagement had better be broke. And I broke it for her.”
“But how?” asked the bewildered master.
“Gin’rally with this gun,” returned McKinstry with slow gravity, indicating the rifle he was carrying, “for I ain’t kam. I let on to Seth’s father that if I ever found Seth and Cressy together again, I’d shoot him. It made a sort o’ coolness betwixt the families, and hez given some comfort to them low-down Harrisons; but even the law, I reckon, recognizes a father’s rights. And ez Cress sez, now ez Seth’s out o’ the way, thar ain’t no reason why she can’t go back to school and finish her eddication. And I reckoned she was right. And we both agreed that ez she’d left school to git them store clothes, it was only fair that she’d give the school the benefit of ‘em.”
The case seemed more hopeless than ever. The master knew that the man beside him might hardly prove as lenient to a second objection at his hand. But that very reason, perhaps, impelled him, now that he knew his danger, to consider it more strongly as a duty, and his pride revolted from a possible threat underlying McKinstry’s confidences. Nevertheless he began gently:
“But you are quite sure you won’t regret that you didn’t avail yourself of this broken engagement, and your daughter’s outfit—to send her to some larger boarding-school in Sacramento or San Francisco? Don’t you think she may find it dull, and soon tire of the company of mere children when she has already known the excitement of”—he was about to say “a lover,” but checked himself, and added, “a young girl’s freedom?”
“Mr. Ford,” returned McKinstry, with the slow and fatuous misconception of a one-ideaed man, “when I said just now that, lookin’ inter that kam, peaceful school of yours, I didn’t find a place for Cress, it warn’t because I didn’t think she OUGHTER hev a place thar. Thar was that thar wot she never had ez a little girl with me and the old woman, and that she couldn’t find ez a grownd up girl in any boarding-school—the home of a child; that kind o’ innocent foolishness that I sometimes reckon must hev slipped outer our emigrant wagon comin’ across the plains, or got left behind at St. Joe. She was a grownd girl fit to marry afore she was a child. She had young fellers a-sparkin’ her afore she ever played with ‘em ez boy and girl. I don’t mind tellin’ you that it wern’t in the natur of Blair Rawlins’ darter to teach her own darter any better, for all she’s been a mighty help to me. So if it’s all the same to you, Mr. Ford, we won’t talk about a grownd up school; I’d rather Cress be a little girl again among them other children. I should be a powerful sight more kam if I knowed that when I was away huntin’ stock or fightin’ stakes with them Harrisons, that she was a settin’ there with them and the birds and the bees, and listenin’ to them and to you. Mebbee there’s been a little too many scrimmages goin’ on round the ranch sence she’s been a child; mebbee she orter know suthin’ more of a man than a feller who sparks her and fights for her.”
The