The Hand of the Mighty, and Other Stories — John Shaqi
The Hand of the Mighty, and Other StoriesKester, Vaughan
General
The Hand of the Mighty, and Other Stories
Kester, Vaughan
American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American
“Say, it was a man named Brown—” said he weakly.
Johnny and his rescuer moved rapidly off in the direction of the trail.
“It was awful unexpected the way you showed up,” said Johnny. He glanced at Brown, dazed and wondering. “Why, I didn't think you were within thirty miles of here... you've got the full use of your two hands! You've been considerable of a man in your day,—and I wouldn't recommend no one to fool with your remains——”
“Was you hunting trouble, Johnny? I seen that fellow with the tied-up leg sentenced two years ago for a hold-up he'd pulled off in Alvarado. Incidental I'd like to ask you did you believe what they told you about his wife and child? They were aimin' to use you in a kidnaping scheme. Young man, they say a fool's born every minute. I reckon you arrived punctual on the clock tick all right.”
“You don't think I believed 'em, Mr. Brown—honest?” protested Johnny.
“They weren't taking chances—they were willin' to pass them along to you. It looked like you'd feed right out of their hands, sonny!”
“I couldn't see no other way out of it. Where are we going now, Mr. Brown?”
“To Sunset.”
“I can't go back there,—honest, I can't!”
“Why not?”
“Well,—just because I can't. She—Mollie—” began Johnny doggedly, and paused abruptly.
“Naturally she's feeling some annoyed the way you've acted, but if you go back humble... Look here,—you don't know the first thing about a woman's love. It don't go by merit. Just look at a woman,—take her as a mother,—it's a boy, or a girl, or it's twins,—and she's there with her love. She never makes a kick, not she! That boy, or that girl, or them twins, suit her apparently down to the ground. It's pretty much the same when it's a case of man. You come along and you're what she loves; not because you're any good—which you ain't—but you're what life's offerin' her and it's up to her to make the best of her chances. Does she notice any rake-off when she sizes you up? Nope, she don't. It's her nature to make mistakes and have poor judgment. She just loves you because you happen to be you. That there's a sixty dollar a month limit to the game you'll play, don't bother her none, for she's got a heap more courage than sense; she takes her fightin' chance. She's ready to believe in the luck you'll never taste, and through it all think you're a good man but unfortunate.”
“I wonder feeling that way about women, you ain't never married,” said Johnny.
“I respect 'em too highly. But if I ever had any idea of that kind, I wouldn't be like you, young man! I'd never go further than the Mountain House,—M. Ferguson, Proprietor.”
It was a week later. A crescent moon swung low in the heavens and lighted up the trail that led past Brown's cabin. Its faint radiance showed Johnny and his Mollie walking very close together, as was their wont, while they talked in ecstatic whispers in the intervals of tender silences that brought them dim night sounds from the valley below.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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