Hidden Creek

d the look of a man who has swept his heart clean of devils…his face was keen with his desire. He sang as he rode-sweetly an old sentimental Spanish song, something his mother had taught him; bu

t is the jas

stars gu

the heart

the thoug

n my h

as still as a green lake under the threatening crest of the mountain. Cosme slipp

him with a sardonic smile. "I don't know whether you'll see your

tning look upon her

le angel-face! Make yourself comfortable." Miss Blake

f the living-room floor, and called heartily, an indulgent laugh

was no

la? Mis-ter Co

ss Blake smiled and went over to her elk-horn throne. Th

s on knees, his face a study of

er mad?" he

e'll be down. Sheila can't re

isted the stern, crisp

y he reverted

n she was drying her hair and I cut it off

er hair! W

t fluffy stuff hanging about and taking hours of her time to brush and wa

id Cosme, "I'd li

legs calmly. She was s

, young man," she adv

igarette and leaned back in his chair. His an

o breeches, too,"

you mean? She has a wil

ere I want her. She's grateful enough for her food and t

shortly. "Chance to d

st work? It's som

te burned between his stiff fingers. "What do you mean

Carey Hilliard's son-the son of Roxana Hill

thin lips. His eyes na

, all

ir. She had put down her work. "I was just thinking," she said slowly and kindly, "that

he answered between the thi

said, as though illuminated. "O-oh! I understan

re at her apparent

ead yours,

wife. And I wasn't going to allow you to do it-blind. I was going to advise you to come back three years from now and see her again. Maybe this fine clean air and this life and this honest work and the training she gets

e muttered, "do

elf out. Cosme's face was n

r here with me this way without knowing the girl? I tell you, I want to give her a chance. I don't care if you try to test her out. I'd like to see if two m

k. Cosme pulled himself together and stood up. His face had an ignorant,

d slowly, without lifting his eyes from the

without spring, and went out and so acros

hair was cropped like Miss Blake's just below the ears. The quaintest rose-leaf of a Rosalind she looked, just a wisp of grace, utterly unlike a boy. All the soft, slim litheness with its q

gone? Why di

t was deeply flushed. "Oh, shucks!" she said, "I

e I am a fool. Miss Blake-did you really burn my t

and ride in breeches. I know what I'm doing, child.-I've lived this way quite a number of years. You look real nice. I can't a

had heard horse's hoofs. Her cheeks flamed. She

lliard! C

few minutes later she c

ddle and stared at me. He rode away staring at me. Miss Bl

'll be back when he's got over being miffed. Why, he expected you to come tumblin' down the ladder head over heels to see him-a hands

or major pangs. She rode into the smoky dimness of pine-woods where the sunlight burned in flecks and out again across the little open mountain meadows, jeweled with white and gold, blue and coral-colored flowers, a stained-glass window scattered across the ground. From these glades she could see the forest, an army of tall pilgrims, very grave, going up, with long staves in their hands, to worship at a high shrine. The rocks above were very grave, too, and grim and still against the even blue

She sat for an hour and watched this mysterious birth from the mountain-side, watched till the pretty confusion of the water, with its half-interpreted voices, had dizzied and dazed her to the point of complete forgetfulness of self. She had entered into a sort of a trance, a Nirvana … She shook herself out of it, ate her lunch and scrambled quickly back to "Nigger Baby." It was late afternoon when she crossed the mountain glades. Their look had mysteriously changed. There was something almost unca

he light to his eyes. It was like a rock taking the sun. She had smiled at him with all the usual exquisite grace and simplicity. When she came beside him, she drew rein, and at the same instant he put his hand on the pony's bridle. He looked up at her dumbly, and for some reason she, too, found it impossible to speak. She cou

ish into her face. "Sheila, if you are not fit to be the mo

st him even before her face. They

t down," s

ers with her, and faced him. She did not feel small or slender. She felt as high as a

ow anything about a man's love, oh, the way men love!" She thought with swift pain of Jim, of Sylvester; "Oh, the wa

y you love me-is because I was a barmaid, because you heard people speak of me as 'Hudson's Queen.'" She conquered one of the sobs. "I thought that after you'd looked into my face so hard that night and stopped yourself from-from-my lip

the middle of the floor. Her arms were full of the

rom the pianola, then stopped. "What's the matter with you?" she asked. "Di

d I wasn't fit to-to be the mother of his children. And"-she laughed angrily, handling behind Cosme's back the w

e of sound behi

or, and had heard her speech. The weapon had struck

turned back to Miss Blake a paler

ever come ba

up the ladde

herself farther and farther into the lonely places! She longed for the noise of Babe's hearty, irrepressible voice with its smack of chewing, of her step coming up the stairs to that little bedroom under Hudson's gaudy roof. Could it be possible that she was homesick for Millings? For the bar with its lights and its visitors and its big-aproned guardian? Her lids were actually smarting with tears at the recollection of Carthy's big Irish face…. He had been such a good, faithful watch-dog. Were men always like that-either watch-dogs or wolves? The simile brought her back to Hidden Creek. It