American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American
Tappan never had been much of a talker. But he could listen. The woman
unburdened herself this day. She wanted freedom, happiness, a home away
from this lonely country, and all the heritage of woman. She confessed
it broodingly, passionately. And Tappan recognized truth when he heard
it. He was ready to do all in his power for this woman and believed she
knew it. But words and acts of sentiment came hard to him.
“Are you goin’ to buy Jake’s ranch?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Is there any hurry?” returned Tappan.
“I reckon not. But I think I’ll settle that,” she said, decisively.
“How so?”
“Well, Jake hasn’t got any ranch,” she answered. And added hastily, “No
clear title, I mean. He’s only homesteaded one hundred an’ sixty acres,
an’ hasn’t proved up on it yet. But don’t you say I told you.”
“Was Jake aimin’ to be crooked?”
“I reckon.... An’ I was willin’ at first. But not now.”
Tappan did not speak at once. He saw the woman was in one of her
brooding moods. Besides, he wanted to weigh her words. How significant
they were! To-day more than ever she had let down. Humility and
simplicity seemed to abide with her. And her brooding boded a storm.
Tappan’s heart swelled in his broad breast. Was life going to dawn rosy
and bright for the lonely prospector? He had money to make a home for
this woman. What lay in the balance of the hour? Tappan waited, slowly
realizing the charged atmosphere.
Madge’s somber eyes gazed out over the great void. But, full of thought
and passion as they were, they did not see the beauty of that scene.
But Tappan saw it. And in some strange sense the color and wildness and
sublimity seemed the expression of a new state of his heart. Under him
sheered down the ragged and cracked cliffs of the Rim, yellow and gold
and gray, full of caves and crevices, ledges for eagles and niches for
lions, a thousand feet down to the upward edge of the long green slopes
and canyons, and so on down and down into the abyss of forested ravine
and ridge, rolling league on league away to the encompassing barrier of
purple mountain ranges.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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