CHAPTER VIII
BELSHAZZAR'S RECORD POINT
The Harvester set the neglected cabin in order; then he carefully
and deftly packed all his dried herbs, barks, and roots. Next came
carrying the couch grass, wild alum, and soapwort into the store-
room. Then followed July herbs. He first went to his beds of foxglove,
because the tender leaves of the second year should be stripped
from them at flowering time, and that usually began two weeks earlier;
but his bed lay in a shaded, damp location and the tall bloom stalks
were only in half flower, their pale lavender making an exquisite
picture. It paid to collect those leaves, so the Harvester hastily
stripped the amount he wanted.
Yarrow was beginning to bloom and he gathered as much as he required,
taking the whole plant. That only brought a few cents a pound, but
it was used entire, so the weight made it worth while.
Catnip tops and leaves were also ready. As it grew in the open in
dry soil and the beds had been weeded that spring, he could gather
great arm loads of it with a sickle, but he had to watch the swarming
bees. He left the male fern and mullein until the last for different
reasons.
On the damp, cool, rocky hillside, beneath deep shade of big forest
trees, grew the ferns, their long, graceful fronds waving softly.
Tree toads sang on the cool rocks beneath them, chewinks nested
under gnarled roots among them, rose-breasted grosbeaks sang in
grape-vines clambering over the thickets, and Singing Water ran
close beside. So the Harvester left digging these roots until nearly
the last, because he so disliked to disturb the bed. He could not
have done it if he had not been forced. All of the demand for his
fern never could be supplied. Of his products none was more important
to the Harvester because this formed the basis of one of the oldest
and most reliable remedies for little children. The fern had to
be gathered with especial care, deteriorated quickly, and no staple
was more subject to adulteration.
So he kept his bed intact, lifted the roots at the proper time,
carefully cleaned without washing, rapidly dried in currents of
hot air, and shipped them in bottles to the trade. He charged and
received fifteen cents a pound, where careless and indifferent workers
got ten.
On the banks of Singing Water, at the head of the fern bed, the
Harvester stood under a gray beech tree and looked down the swaying
length of delicate green. He was lean and rapidly bronzing, for
he seldom remembered a head covering because he loved the sweep
of the wind in his hair.
``I hate to touch you,'' he said. ``How I wish she could see you
before I begin. If she did, probably she would say it was a sin,
and then I never could muster courage to do it at all. I'd give
a small farm to know if those violets revived for her. I was crazy
to ask Doc if they were wilted, but I hated to. If they were from
the ones I gathered that morning they should have been all right.''
A tree toad dared him to come on; a chipmunk grew saucy as the Harvester
bent to an unloved task. If he stripped the bed as closely as he
dared and not injure it, he could not fill half his orders; so,
deftly and with swift, skilful fingers and an earnest face, he worked.
Belshazzar came down the hill on a rush, nose to earth and began
hunting among the plants. He never could understand why his loved
master was so careless as to go to work before he had pronounced
it safe. When the fern bed was finished, the Harvester took time
to make a trip to town, but there was no word waiting him; so he
went to the mullein. It lay on a sunny hillside beyond the couch
grass and joined a few small fields, the only cleared land of the
six hundred acres of Medicine Woods. Over rocks and little hills
and hollows spread the pale, grayish-yellow of the green leaves,
and from five to seven feet arose the flower stems, while the entire
earth between was covered with rosettes of young plants. Belshazzar
went before to give warning if any big rattlers curled in the sun
on the hillside, and after him followed the Harvester cutting leaves
in heaps. That was warm work and he covered his head with a floppy
old straw hat, with wet grass in the crown, and stopped occasionally
to rest.
He loved that yellow-faced hillside. Because so much of his reaping
lay in the shade and commonly his feet sank in dead leaves and damp
earth, the change was a rest. He cheerfully stubbed his toes on
rocks, and endured the heat without complaint. It appeared to him
as if a member of every species of butterfly he knew wavered down
the hillside. There were golden-brown danais, with their black-striped
wings, jetty troilus with an attempt at trailers, big asterias,
velvety black with longer trails and wide bands of yellow dots.
Coenia were most numerous of all and to the Harvester wonderfully
attractive in rich, subdued colours with a wealth of markings and
eye spots. Many small moths, with transparent wings and noses red
as blood, flashed past him hunting pollen. Goldfinches, intent on
thistle bloom, wavered through the air trailing mellow, happy notes
behind them, and often a humming-bird visited the mullein. On the
lake wild life splashed and chattered incessantly, and sometimes
the Harvester paused and stood with arms heaped with leaves, to
interpret some unusually appealing note of pain or anger or some
very attractive melody. The red-wings were swarming, the killdeers
busy, and he thought of the Dream Girl and smiled.
``I wonder if she would like this,'' he mused.
When the mullein leaves were deep on the trays of the dry-house
he began on the bloom and that was a task he loved. Just to lay
off the beds in swaths and follow them, deftly picking the stamens
and yellow petals from the blooms. These he would dry speedily in
hot air, bottle, and send at once to big laboratories. The listed
price was seventy-five cents a pound, but the beautiful golden bottles
of the Harvester always brought more. The work was worth while,
and he liked the location and gathering of this particular crop:
for these reasons he always left it until the last, and then revelled
in the gold of sunshine, bird, butterfly, and flower. Several days
were required to harvest the mullein and during the time the man
worked with nimble fingers, while his brain was intensely occupied
with the question of what to do next in his search for the Girl.
When the work was finished, he went to the deep wood to take a peep
at acres of thrifty ginseng, and he was satisfied as he surveyed
the big bed. Long years he had laboured diligently; soon came the
reward. He had not realized it before, but as he studied the situation
he saw that he either must begin this harvest at once or employ
help. If he waited until September he could not gather one third
of the crop alone.
``But the roots will weigh less if I take them now,'' he argued,
``and I can work at nothing in comfort until I have located her.
I will go on with my search and allow the ginseng to grow that much
heavier. What a picture! It is folly to disturb this now, for I
will lose the seed of every plant I dig, and that is worth almost
as much as the root. It is a question whether I want to furnish
the market with seed, and so raise competition for my bed. I think,
be jabbers, that I'll wait for this harvest until the seed is ripe,
and then bury part of a head where I dig a root, as the Indians
did. That's the idea! The more I grow, the more money; and I may
need considerable for her. One thing I'd like to know: Are these
plants cultivated? All the books quote the wild at highest rates
and all I've ever sold was wild. The start grew here naturally.
What I added from the surrounding country was wild, but through
and among it I've sown seed I bought, and I've tended it with every
care. But this is deep wood and wild conditions. I think I have
a perfect right to so label it. I'll ask Doc. And another thing
I'll go through the woods west of Onabasha where I used to find
ginseng, and see if I can get a little and then take the same amount
of plants grown here, and make a test. That way I can discover any
difference before I go to market. This is my gold mine, and that
point is mighty important to me, so I'll go this very day. I used
to find it in the woods northeast of town and on the land Jameson
bought, west. Wonder if he lives there yet. He should have died
of pure meanness long ago. I'll drive to the river and hunt along
the bank.''
Early the following morning the Harvester went to Onabasha and stopped
at the hospital for news. Finding none, he went through town and
several miles into the country on the other side, to a piece of
lowland lying along the river bank, where he once had found and
carried home to reset a big bed of ginseng. If he could get only
a half pound of roots from there now, they would serve his purpose.
He went down the bank, Belshazzar at his heels, and at last found
the place. Many trees had been cut, but there remained enough for
shade; the fields bore the ragged, unattractive appearance of old.
The Harvester smiled grimly as he remembered that the man who lived
there once had charged him for damage he might do to trees in driving
across his woods, and boasted to his neighbours that a young fool
was paying for the privilege of doing his grubbing. If Jameson had
known what the roots he was so anxious to dispose of brought a pound
on the market at that time, he would have been insane with anger.
So the Harvester's eyes were dancing with fun and a wry grin twisted
his lips as he clambered over the banks of the recently dredged
river, and looked at its pitiful condition and straight, muddy flow.
``Appears to match the remainder of the Jameson property,'' he said.
``I don't know who he is or where he came from, but he's no farmer.
Perhaps he uses this land to corral the stock he buys until he can
sell it again.''
He went down the embankment and began to search for the location
where he formerly had found the ginseng. When he came to the place
he stood amazed, for from seed, roots, and plants he had missed,
the growth had sprung up and spread, so that at a rapid estimate
the Harvester thought it contained at least five pounds, allowing
for what it would shrink on account of being gathered early. He
hesitated an instant, and thought of coming later; but the drive
was long and the loss would not amount to enough to pay for a second
trip. About taking it, he never thought at all. He once had permission
from the owner to dig all the shrubs, bushes, and weeds he desired
from that stretch of woods, and had paid for possible damages that
might occur. As he bent to the task there did come a fleeting thought
that the patch was weedless and in unusual shape for wild stuff.
Then, with swift strokes of his light mattock, he lifted the roots,
crammed them into his sack, whistled to Belshazzar, and going back
to the wagon, drove away. Reaching home he washed the ginseng, and
spread it on a tray to dry. The first time he wanted the mattock
he realized that he had left it lying where he had worked. It was
an implement that he had directed a blacksmith to fashion to meet
his requirements. No store contained anything half so useful to
him. He had worked with it for years and it just suited him, so
there was nothing to do but go back. Betsy was too tired to return
that day, so he planned to dig his ginseng with something else,
finish his work the following morning, and get the mattock in the
afternoon.
``It's like a knife you've carried for years, or a gun,'' muttered
the Harvester. ``I actually don't know how to get along without
it. What made me so careless I can't imagine. I never before in
my life did a trick like that. I wonder if I hurried a little. I
certainly was free to take it. He always wanted the stuff dug up.
Of all the stupid tricks, Belshazzar, that was the worst. Now Betsy
and a half day of wasted time must pay for my carelessness. Since
I have to go, I'll look a little farther. Maybe there is more. Those
woods used to be full of it.''
According to this programme, the next afternoon the Harvester again
walked down the embankment of the mourning river and through the
ragged woods to the place where the ginseng had been. He went forward,
stepping lightly, as men of his race had walked the forest for ages,
swerving to avoid boughs, and looking straight ahead. Contrary to
his usual custom of coming to heel in a strange wood, Belshazzar
suddenly darted around the man and took the path they had followed
the previous day. The animal was performing his office in life;
he had heard or scented something unusual. The Harvester knew what
that meant. He looked inquiringly at the dog, glanced around, and
then at the earth. Belshazzar proceeded noiselessly at a rapid pace
over the leaves: Suddenly the master saw the dog stop in a stiff
point. Lifting his feet lightly and straining his eyes before him,
the Harvester passed a spice thicket and came in line.
For one second he stood as rigid as Belshazzar. The next his right
arm shot upward full length, and began describing circles, his open
palm heavenward, and into his face leapt a glorified expression
of exultation. Face down in the rifled ginseng bed lay a sobbing
girl. Her frame was long and slender, a thick coil of dark hair;
bound her head. A second more and the Harvester bent and softly
patted Belshazzar's head. The beast broke point and looked up. The
man caught the dog's chin in a caressing grip, again touched his
head, moved soundless lips, and waved toward the prostrate figure.
The dog hesitated. The Harvester made the same motions. Belshazzar
softly stepped over the leaves, passed around the feet of the girl,
and paused beside her, nose to earth, softly sniffing.
In one moment she came swiftly to a sitting posture.
``Oh!'' she cried in a spasm of fright.
Belshazzar reached an investigating nose and wagged an eager tail.
``Why you are a nice friendly dog!'' said the trembling voice.
He immediately verified the assertion by offering his nose for a
kiss. The girl timidly laid a hand on his head.
``Heaven knows I'm lonely enough to kiss a dog,'' she said, ``but
suppose you belong to the man who stole my ginseng, and then ran
away so fast he forgot his---- his piece he digged with.''
Belshazzar pressed closer.
``I am just killed, and I don't care whose dog you are,'' sobbed
the girl.
She threw her arms around Belshazzar's neck and laid her white face
against his satiny shoulder. The Harvester could endure no more.
He took a step forward, his face convulsed with pain.
``Please don't!'' he begged. ``I took your ginseng. I'll bring it
back to-morrow. There wasn't more than twenty-five or thirty dollars'
worth. It doesn't amount to one tear.''
The girl arose so quickly, the Harvester could not see how she did
it. With a startled fright on her face, and the dark eyes swimming,
she turned to him in one long look. Words rolled from the lips of
the man in a jumble. Behind the tears there was a dull, expressionless
blue in the girl's eyes and her face was so white that it appeared
blank. He began talking before she could speak, in an effort to
secure forgiveness without condemnation.
``You see, I grow it for a living on land I own, and I've always
gathered all there was in the country and no one cared. There never
was enough in one place to pay, and no other man wanted to spend
the time, and so I've always felt free to take it. Every one knew
I did, and no one ever objected before. Once I paid Henry Jameson
for the privilege of cleaning it from these woods. That was six
or seven years ago, and it didn't occur to me that I wasn't at liberty
to dig what has grown since. I'll bring it back at once, and pay
you for the shrinkage from gathering it too early. There won't be
much over six pounds when it's dry. Please, please don't feel badly.
Won't you trust me to return it, and make good the damage I've done?''
The face of the Harvester was eager and his tones appealing, as
he leaned forward trying to make her understand.
``Certainly!'' said the Girl as she bent to pat the dog, while she
dried her eyes under cover of the movement. ``Certainly! It can
make no difference!''
But as the Harvester drew a deep breath of relief, she suddenly
straightened to full height and looked straight at him.
``Oh what is the use to tell a pitiful lie!'' she cried. ``It does
make a difference! It makes all the difference in the world! I need
that money! I need it unspeakably. I owe a debt I must pay. What----what
did I understand you to say ginseng is worth?''
``If you will take a few steps,'' said the Harvester, ``and make
yourself comfortable on this log in the shade, I will tell you all
I know about it.''
The girl walked swiftly to the log indicated, seated herself, and
waited. The Harvester followed to a respectful distance.
``I can't tell to an ounce what wet roots would weigh,'' he said
as easily as he could command his voice to speak with the heart
in him beating wildly, ``and of course they lose greatly in drying;
but I've handled enough that I know the weight I carried home will
come to six pounds at the very least. Then you must figure on some
loss, because I dug this before it really was ready. It does not
reach full growth until September, and if it is taken too soon there
is a decrease in weight. I will make that up to you when I return
it.''
The troubled eyes were gazing on his face intently, and the Harvester
studied them as he talked.
``You would think, then, there would be all of six pounds?
``Yes,'' said the Harvester, ``closer eight. When I replace the
shrinkage there is bound to be over seven.''
``And how much did I understand you to say it brought a pound?''
``That all depends,'' answered he. ``If you cure it yourself, and
dry it too much, you lose in weight. If you carry it in a small
lot to the druggists of Onabasha, probably you will not get over
five dollars for it.''
``Five?''
It was a startled cry.
``How much did you expect?'' asked the Harvester gently.
``Uncle Henry said he thought he could get fifty cents a pound for
all I could find.''
``If your Uncle Henry has learned at last that ginseng is a salable
article he should know something about the price also. Will you
tell me what he said, and how you came to think of gathering roots
for the market?''
``There were men talking beneath the trees one Sunday afternoon
about old times and hunting deer, and they spoke of people who made
money long ago gathering roots and barks, and they mentioned one
man who lived by it yet.''
``Was his name Langston?''
``Yes, I remember because I liked the name. I was so eager to earn
something, and I can't leave here just now because Aunt Molly is
very ill, so the thought came that possibly I could gather stuff
worth money, after my work was finished. I went out and asked questions.
They said nothing brought enough to make it pay any one, except
this ginseng plant, and the Langston man almost had stripped the
country. Then uncle said he used to get stuff here, and he might
have got some of that. I asked what it was like, so they told me
and I hunted until I found that, and it seemed a quantity to me.
Of course I didn't know it had to be dried. Uncle took a root I
dug to a store, and they told him that it wasn't much used any more,
but they would give him fifty cents a pound for it. What MAKES you
think you can get five dollars?''
``With your permission,'' said the Harvester.
He seated himself on the log, drew from his pocket an old pamphlet,
and spreading it before her, ran a pencil along the line of a list
of schedule prices for common drug roots and herbs. Because he understood,
his eyes were very bright, and his voice a trifle crisp. A latent
anger springing in his breast was a good curb for his emotions.
He was closely acquainted with all of the druggists of Onabasha,
and he knew that not one of them had offered less than standard
prices for ginseng.
``The reason I think so,'' he said gently, ``is because growing
it is the largest part of my occupation, and it was a staple with
my father before me. I am David Langston, of whom you heard those
men speak. Since I was a very small boy I have lived by collecting
herbs and roots, and I get more for ginseng than anything else.
Very early I tired of hunting other people's woods for herbs, so
I began transplanting them to my own. I moved that bed out there
seven years ago. What you found has grown since from roots I overlooked
and seeds that fell at that time. Now do you think I am enough of
an authority to trust my word on the subject?''
There was not a change of expression on her white face.
``You surely should know,'' she said wearily, ``and you could have
no possible object in deceiving me. Please go on.''
``Any country boy or girl can find ginseng, gather, wash, and dry
it, and get five dollars a pound. I can return yours to-morrow and
you can cure and take it to a druggist I will name you, and sell
for that. But if you will allow me to make a suggestion, you can
get more. Your roots are now on the trays of an evaporating house.
They will dry to the proper degree desired by the trade, so that
they will not lose an extra ounce in weight, and if I send them
with my stuff to big wholesale houses I deal with, they will be
graded with the finest wild ginseng. It is worth more than the cultivated
and you will get closer eight dollars a pound for it than five.
There is some speculation in it, and the market fluctuates: but,
as a rule, I sell for the highest price the drug brings, and, at
times when the season is very dry, I set my own prices. Shall I
return yours or may I cure and sell it, and bring you the money?''
``How much trouble would that make you?''
``None. The work of digging and washing is already finished. All
that remains is to weigh it and make a memorandum of the amount
when I sell. I should very much like to do it. It would be a comfort
to see the money go into your hands. If you are afraid to trust
me, I will give you the names of several people you can ask concerning
me the next time you go to the city.''
She looked at him steadily.
``Never mind that,'' she said. ``But why do you offer to do it for
a stranger? It must be some trouble, no matter how small you represent
it to be.''
``Perhaps I am going to pay you eight and sell for ten.''
``I don't think you can. Five sounds fabulous to me. I can't believe
that. If you wanted to make money you needn't have told me you took
it. I never would have known. That isn't your reason!''
``Possibly I would like to atone for those tears I caused,'' said
the Harvester.
``Don't think of that! They are of no consequence to any one. You
needn't do anything for me on that account.''
``Don't search for a reason,'' said the Harvester, in his gentlest
tones. ``Forget that feature of the case. Say I'm peculiar, and
allow me to do it because it would be a pleasure. In close two weeks
I will bring you the money. Is it a bargain?''
``Yes, if you care to make it.''
``I care very much. We will call that settled.''
``I wish I could tell you what it will mean to me,'' said the Girl.
``If you only would,'' plead the Harvester.
`` I must not burden a stranger with my troubles.''
``But if it would make the stranger so happy!''
``That isn't possible. I must face life and bear what it brings
me alone.''
``Not unless you choose,'' said the Harvester. ``That is, if you
will pardon me, a narrow view of life. It cuts other people out
of the joy of service. If you can't tell me, would you trust a very
lovely and gentle woman I could bring to you?''
``No more than you. It is my affair; I must work it out myself.''
``I am mighty sorry,'' said the Harvester. ``I believe you err in
that decision. Think it over a day or so, and see if two heads are
not better than one. You will realize when this ginseng matter is
settled that you profited by trusting me. The same will hold good
along other lines, if you only can bring yourself to think so. At
any rate, try. Telling a trouble makes it lighter. Sympathy should
help, if nothing can be done. And as for money, I can show you how
to earn sums at least worth your time, if you have nothing else
you want to do.''
The Girl bent toward him.
``Oh please do tell me!'' she cried eagerly. ``I've tried and tried
to find some way ever since I have been here, but every one else
I have met says I can't, and nothing seems to be worth anything.
If you only would tell me something I could do!''
``If you will excuse my saying so,'' said the Harvester, ``it appeals
to me that ease, not work, is the thing you require. You appear
extremely worn. Won't you let me help you find a way to a long rest
first?''
``Impossible!'' cried the Girl. ``I know I am white and appear ill,
but truly I never have been sick in all my life. I have been having
trouble and working too much, but I'll be better soon. Believe me,
there is no rest for me now. I must earn the money I owe first.''
``There is a way, if you care to take it,'' said the Harvester.
``In my work I have become very well acquainted with the chief surgeon
of the city hospital. Through him I happen to know that he has a
free bed in a beautiful room, where you could rest until you are
perfectly strong again, and that room is empty just now. When you
are well, I will tell you about the work.''
As she arose the Harvester stood, and tall and straight she faced
him.
``Impossible!'' she said. ``It would be brutal to leave my aunt.
I cannot pay to rest in a hospital ward, and I will not accept charity.
If you can put me in the way of earning, even a few cents a day,
at anything I could do outside the work necessary to earn my board
here, it would bring me closer to happiness than anything else on
earth.''
``What I suggest is not impossible,'' said the Harvester softly.
``If you will go, inside an hour a sweet and gentle lady will come
for you and take you to ease and perfect rest until you are strong
again. I will see that your aunt is cared for scrupulously. I can't
help urging you. It is a crime to talk of work to a woman so manifestly
worn as you are.''
``Then we will not speak of it,'' said the Girl wearily. ``It is
time for me to go, anyway. I see you mean to be very kind, and while
I don't in the least understand it, I do hope you feel I am grateful.
If half you say about the ginseng comes true, I can make a payment
worth while before I had hoped to. I have no words to tell you what
that will mean to me.''
``If this debt you speak of were paid, could you rest then?''
``I could lie down and give up in peace, and I think I would.''
``I think you wouldn't,'' said the Harvester, ``because you wouldn't
be allowed. There are people in these days who make a business of
securing rest for the tired and over weary, and they would come
and prevent that if you tried it. Please let me make another suggestion.
If you owe money to some one you feel needs it and the debt is preying
on you, let's pay it.''
He drew a small check-book from his pocket and slipped a pen from
a band.
``If you will name the amount and give me the address, you shall
be free to go to the rest I ask for you inside an hour.''
Then slowly from head to foot she looked at him.
``Why?''
``Because your face and attitude clearly indicate that you are over
tired. Believe me, you do yourself wrong if you refuse.''
``In what way would changing creditors rest me?''
``I thought perhaps you were owing some one who needed the money.
I am not a rich man, but I have no one save myself to provide for
and I have funds lying idle that I would be glad to use for you.
If you make a point of it, when you are rested, you can repay me.''
``My creditor needs the money, but I should prefer owing him rather
than a perfect stranger. What you suggest would help me not at all.
I must go now.''
``Very well,'' said the Harvester. ``If you will tell me whom to
ask for and where you live, I will come to see you to-morrow and
bring you some pamphlets. With these and with a little help you
soon can earn any amount a girl is likely to owe. It will require
but a little while. Where can I find you?''
The Girl hesitated and for the first time a hint of colour flushed
her cheek. But courage appeared to be her strong point.
``Do you live in this part of the country?'' she asked.
``I live ten miles from here, east of Onabasha,'' he answered.
``Do you know Henry Jameson?''
``By sight and by reputation.''
``Did you ever know anything kind or humane of him?''
``I never did.''
``My name is Ruth Jameson. At present I am indebted to him for the
only shelter I have. His wife is ill through overwork and worry,
and I am paying for my bed and what I don't eat, principally, by
attempting her work. It scarcely would be fair to Uncle Henry to
say that I do it. I stagger around as long as I can stand, then
I sit through his abuse. He is a pleasant man. Please don't think
I am telling you this to harrow your sympathy further. The reason
I explain is because I am driven. If I do not, you will misjudge
me when I say that I only can see you here. I understood what you
meant when you said Uncle Henry should have known the price of ginseng
if he knew it was for sale. He did. He knew what he could get for
it, and what he meant to pay me. That is one of his original methods
with a woman. If he thought I could earn anything worth while, he
would allow me, if I killed myself doing it; and then he would take
the money by force if necessary. So I can meet you here only. I
can earn just what I may in secret. He buys cattle and horses and
is away from home much of the day, and when Aunt Molly is comfortable
I can have a few hours.''
``I understand,'' said the Harvester. ``But this is an added hardship.
Why do you remain? Why subject yourself to force and work too heavy
for you?''
``Because his is the only roof on earth where I feel I can pay for
all I get. I don't care to discuss it, I only want you to say you
understand, if I ask you to bring the pamphlets here and tell me
how I can earn money.''
``I do,'' said the Harvester earnestly, although his heart was hot
in protest. ``You may be very sure that I will not misjudge you.
Shall I come at two o'clock to-morrow, Miss Jameson?''
``If you will be so kind.''
The Harvester stepped aside and she passed him and crossing the
rifled ginseng patch went toward a low brown farmhouse lying in
an unkept garden, beside a ragged highway. The man sat on the log
she had vacated, held his head between his hands and tried to think,
but he could not for big waves of joy that swept over him when he
realized that at last he had found her, had spoken with her, and
had arranged a meeting for the morrow.
``Belshazzar,'' he said softly, ``I wish I could leave you to protect
her. Every day you prove to me that I need you, but Heaven knows
her necessity is greater. Bel, she makes my heart ache until it
feels like jelly. There seems to be just one thing to do. Get that
fool debt paid like lightning, and lift her out of here quicker
than that. Now, we will go and see Doc, and call off the watch-dogs
of the law. Ahead of them, aren't we, Belshazzar? There is a better
day coming; we feel it in our bones, don't we, old partner?''
The Harvester started through the woods on a rush, and as the exercise
warmed his heart, he grew wonderfully glad. At last he had found
her. Uncertainty was over. If ever a girl needed a home and care
he thought she did. He was so jubilant that he felt like crying
aloud, shouting for joy, but by and by the years of sober repression
made their weight felt, so he climbed into the wagon and politely
requested Betsy to make her best time to Onabasha. Betsy had been
asked to make haste so frequently of late that she at first almost
doubted the sanity of her master, the law of whose life, until recently,
had been to take his time. Now he appeared to be in haste every
day. She had become so accustomed to being urged to hurry that she
almost had developed a gait; so at the Harvester's suggestion she
did her level best to Onabasha and the hospital, where she loved
to nose Belshazzar and rest near the watering tap under a big tree.
The Harvester went down the hall and into the office on the run,
and his face appeared like a materialized embodiment of living joy.
Doctor Carey turned at his approach and then bounded half way across
the room, his hands outstretched.
``You've found her, David!''
The Harvester grabbed the hand of his friend and stood pumping it
up and down while he gulped at the lump in his throat, and big tears
squeezed from his eyes, but he could only nod his proud head.
``Found her!'' exulted Doctor Carey. ``Really found her! Well that's
great! Sit down and tell me, boy! Is she sick, as we feared? Did
you only see her or did you get to talk with her?''
``Well sir,'' said the Harvester, choking back his emotions, ``you
remember that ginseng I told you about getting on the old Jameson
place last night. To-day, I learned I'd lost that hand-made mattock
I use most, and I went back for it, and there she was.''
``In the country?''
``Yes sir!''
``Well why didn't we think of it before?''
``I suppose first we would have had to satisfy ourselves that she
wasn't in town, anyway.''
``Sure! That would be the logical way to go at it! And so you found
her?''
``Yes sir, I found her! Just Belshazzar and I! I was going along
on my way to the place, and he ran past me and made a stiff point,
and when I came up, there she was!''
``There she was?''
``Yes sir; there she was!''
They shook hands again.
``Then of course you spoke to her.''
``Yes I spoke to her.''
`` Were you pleased?''
``With her speech and manner?----yes. But, Doc, if ever a woman
needed everything on earth!''
``Well did you get any kind of a start made?''
``I couldn't do so very much. I had to go a little slow for fear
of frightening her, but I tried to get her to come here and she
won't until a debt she owes is paid, and she's in no condition to
work.''
``Got any idea how much it is?''
``No, but it can't be any large sum. I tried to offer to pay it,
but she had no hesitation in telling me she preferred owing a man
she knew to a stranger.''
``Well if she is so particular, how did she come to tell you first
thing that she was in debt?''
The Harvester explained.
``Oh I see!'' said the doctor. ``Well you'll have to baby her along
with the idea that she is earning money and pay her double until
you get that off her mind, and while you are at it, put in your
best licks, my boy; perk right up and court her like a house afire.
Women like it. All of them do. They glory in feeling that a man
is crazy about them.''
``Well I'm insane enough over her,'' said the Harvester, ``but I'd
hate like the nation for her to know it. Seems as if a woman couldn't
respect such an addle-pate as I am lately.''
``Don't you worry about that,'' advised the doctor. ``Just you make
love to her. Go at it in the good old- fashioned way.''
``But maybe the `good old-fashioned way' isn't my way.''
``What's the difference whose way it is, if it wins?'' ``But Kipling
says: `Each man makes love his own way!' ''
``I seem to have heard you mention that name be fore,'' said the
doctor. ``Do you regard him as an authority?''
``I do!'' said the Harvester. ``Especially when he advises me after
my own heart and reason. Miss Jameson is not a silly girl. She's
a woman, and twenty-four at least. I don't want her to care for
a trick or a pretence. I do want her to love me. Not that I am worth
her attention, but because she needs some strong man fearfully,
and I am ready and more `willing' than the original Barkis. But,
like him, I have to let her know it in my way, and court her according
to the promptings of my heart.''
``You deceive yourself!'' said the doctor flatly. ``That's all bosh!
Your tongue says it for the satisfaction of your ears, and it does
sound well. You will court her according to your ideas of the conventions,
as you understand them, and strictly in accordance with what you
consider the respect due her. If you had followed the thing you
call the `promptings of your heart,' you would have picked her up
by main force and brought her to my best ward, instead of merely
suggesting it and giving up when she said no. If you had followed
your heart, you would have choked the name and amount out of her
and paid that devilish debt. You walk away in a case like that,
and then have the nerve to come here and prate to me about following
your heart. I'll wager my last dollar your heart is sore because
you were not allowed to help her; but on the proposition that you
followed its promptings I wouldn't stake a penny. That's all tommy-rot!''
``It is,'' agreed the Harvester. ``Utter! But what can a man do?''
``I don't know what you can do! I'd have paid that debt and brought
her to the hospital.''
``I'll go and ask Mrs. Carey about your courtship. I want her help
on this, anyway. I can pick up Miss Jameson and bring her here if
any man can, but she is nursing a sick woman who depends solely
on her for care. She is above average size, and she has a very decided
mind of her own. I don't think you would use force and do what you
think best for her, if you were in my place. You would wait until
you understood the situation better, and knew that what you did
was for the best, ultimately.''
``I don't know whether I would or not. One thing is sure: I'm mighty
glad you have found her. May I tell my wife?''
``Please do! And ask her if I may depend on her if I need a woman's
help. Now I'll call off the valiant police and go home and take
a good, sound sleep. Haven't had many since I first saw her.''
So Betsy trotted down the valley, up the embankment, crossed the
railroad, over the levee across Singing Water, and up the hill to
the cabin. As they passed it, the Harvester jumped from the wagon,
tossed the hitching strap to Belshazzar, and entered. He walked
straight to her door, unlocked it, and uncovering, went inside.
Softly he passed from piece to piece of the furniture he had made
for her, and then surveyed the walls and floor.
``It isn't half good enough,'' he said, ``but it will have to answer
until I can do better. Surely she will know I tried and care for
that, anyway. I wonder how long it will take me to get her here.
Oh, if I only could know she was comfortable and happy! Happy! She
doesn't appear as if she ever had heard that word. Well this will
be a good place to teach her. I've always enjoyed myself here. I'm
going to have faith that I can win her and make her happy also.
When I go to the stable to do my work for the night if I could know
she was in this cabin and glad of it, and if I could hear her down
here singing like a happy care-free girl, I'd scarcely be able to
endure the joy of it.''