The Moving Finger | Page 6

distance. Never before,
it seemed to her, had so much fuss been made about the cattle. The
ghost trick had stood them in good stead for some time, and now
apparently these men saw through it.
Two ideas she had firmly grasped. Ben Fisher was a man of his word,
and Ben Fisher was a good shot.
Her brothers and her lover were down in the creek bed. One of the four
would ride through the sleeping cattle to-night and that man would pay
for his temerity with his life. The casual mention of her own name with
that of the outlaw had sealed his fate. She was as sure of that as she was
sure that the sun would set to-night in the west and would rise again
to-morrow in the east. It did not occur to her simple soul to inquire the
reason why; only she felt that it was so, and her heart was full of one
passionate prayer, that the man who rode forth on that perilous errand
should not be her lover. Her brothers were dear to her naturally, but her
nearest and her dearest were as nothing when weighed in the scale with
the love she bore this stranger. He must be saved at any cost--he must,
he must. She walked slowly along with down-bent head, till she stood
on the top of the bank overlooking the waterhole, and then, hearing
footsteps behind her, looked up quickly to see Ben Fisher standing
beside her.
"Nellie," he said awkwardly, "Nellie, I--I--mean did that brute hurt

you?"
"What? Oh, Ned Kirton. Oh, it's no matter."
"It's dull here for you, Nell, out on the plains, isn't it?" he asked still
more awkwardly.
If her heart was full of another man, his was full of a strong man's
longing for her.
He saw her position, he knew her helplessness, he felt how much she
stood in need of care and guardianship. If she would only give him the
right to care for her. His very eagerness made him stupid and awkward,
and she, looking up at him in the hot afternoon sunlight, read none of
his thoughts, and only saw in him the man who held her lover's life in
his hands and would mercilessly take it.
She answered his question sullenly with a shrug of her shoulders.
"No, no."
"But Nellie--oh, Nellie, Nellie--poor little girl, don't you see
that--that--"
"What?" she asked, for even she, indifferent as she was, could not fail
to see that the man was shaken by strong emotion. "I 'm all right."
"All right, with a devil like that after you, a brute who--Nellie, Nellie,
for God's sake give me the right to take care of you."
She looked at him stupidly and then a light dawned on her.
"Do you mean Jim?" she said. "Why, Jim--" and for a moment a tender
smile broke about her lips, and a light was in her eyes such as would
never be there for the man beside her.
"Oh, Nellie," he groaned, "am I too late after all? I only want to take
care of you, Nellie--only to take care of you."

He stepped forward and caught her hands, holding them fiercely as Jim
Newton himself might have done.
"Nellie, if you won't let me do anything else, let me help you; for your
own sake let me help you."
Clearly outlined they stood against the summer sky; if there should be
anybody in the creek-bed, lurking among the rushes and scrub round
the waterhole, they would be plainly visible to him. Their attitudes
were significant, and their speech was inaudible. If Jim should be there,
thought Nellie, and then dismissed the thought. Rash as he was, he
would never be so foolhardy as that. And yet she might have noticed a
slight movement among the reeds--might have remembered that
Gentleman Jim found no companionship in her brothers, and would be
pretty sure to find his way to the water-hole at any risk, if it were only
to vary the monotony and to see how the land lay. And so after one
vain effort to free her hands, she stood still and listened, while Fisher
poured into her unwilling, uncomprehending ears the story of his love
for her, and then, since that made no impression, he warned her again
and again against Gentleman Jim. Foolishly warned her--for was ever
woman yet warned against the man she loved. An angry gleam flashed
into Nellie's eyes, and she stamped her feet and strove to draw away her
hands again.
"I hate you--I hate you. He is good, I tell you--good--good--good! He
loves me an'"--oh, the unanswerable argument all the world over--"I
love him."
Fisher dropped her hands.
"Oh Nell! Nell! My God! it is too hard."
She looked