Marching Men | Page 8

down the hill and sat on the log upon the hillside. A clump
of elders had grown about the log since his visits there with Cracked
McGregor so that the place was closed and shaded like a room. The
woman took off her hat and laid it beside her on the log. A faint colour
mounted to her pale cheeks and a flash of anger gleamed in her eyes.
"He probably lied to you about me," she said, "I didn't give him that
ring to wear. I don't know why I gave it to him. He wanted it. He asked
me for it time and again. He said he wanted to show it to his mother.
And now he has shown it to you and I suppose told lies about me."
Beaut was annoyed and wished he had not mentioned the ring. He felt
that an unnecessary fuss was being made about it. He did not believe
that the black-haired boy had lied but he did not think it mattered.
He began talking of his father, boasting of him. His hatred of the town
blazed up. "They thought they knew him down there," he said, "they
laughed at him and called him 'Cracked.' They thought his running into
the mine just a crazy notion like a horse that runs into a burning stable.
He was the best man in town. He was braver than any of them. He went
in there and died when he had almost enough money saved to buy a
farm over here." He pointed down the valley.
Beaut began to tell her of the visits to the hillside with his father and
described the effect of the scene on himself when he was a child. "I
thought it was paradise," he said.
She put her hand on his arm and seemed to be soothing him like a
careful groom quieting an excitable horse. "Don't mind them," she said,
"you will go away after a time and make a place for yourself out in the
world."
He wondered how she knew. A profound respect for her came over him.
"She is keen to guess that," he thought.
He began to talk of himself, boasting and throwing out his chest. "I'd
like to have the chance to show what I can do," he declared. A thought
that had been in his mind on the winter day when Uncle Charlie
Wheeler put the name of Beaut upon him came back and he walked up

and down before the woman making grotesque motions with his hands
as Cracked McGregor had walked up and down before him.
"I'll tell you what," he began and his voice was harsh. He had forgotten
the presence of the woman and half forgotten what had been in his
mind. He sputtered and glared over his shoulder up the hillside as he
struggled for words. "Oh to Hell with men!" he burst forth. "They are
cattle, stupid cattle." A fire blazed up in his eyes and a confident ring
came into his voice. "I'd like to get them together, all of them," he said,
"I'd like to make them----" Words failed him and again he sat down on
the log beside the woman. "Well I'd like to lead them to an old mine
shaft and push them in," he concluded resentfully.
* * * * *
On the eminence Beaut and the tall woman sat and looked down into
the valley. "I wonder why we don't go there, mother and I," he said.
"When I see it I'm filled with the notion. I think I want to be a farmer
and work in the fields. Instead of that mother and I sit and plan of the
city. I'm going to be a lawyer. That's all we talk about. Then I come up
here and it seems as though this is the place for me."
The tall woman laughed. "I can see you coming home at night from the
fields," she said. "It might be to that white house there with the
windmill, You would be a big man and would have dust in your red
hair and perhaps a red beard growing on your chin. And a woman with
a baby in her arms would come out of the kitchen door to stand leaning
on the fence waiting for you. When you came up she would put her arm
around your neck and kiss you on the lips. The beard would tickle her
cheek. You should have a beard when you grow older. Your mouth is
so big."
A strange new feeling shot through Beaut. He wondered why she had
said that and wanted to take hold of her hand and kiss her then and
there. He got up and looked at the sun going down behind