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On Sunday Antoine Beeson came to pay his respects to Madame, the mamma. He surely could not be considered a young girl's ideal, short, stout, red-faced from exposure to wind and water and sun, his thick brown hair rather long, though he had been clean shaven the evening before.
Silver Jack resolved to make the rounds of the camps sure that the investment of a few jugs of whiskey would bring down to Beeson Lake at least thirty or forty woods-wearied men. Accordingly he donned many clothes, and drove out into the wilderness a cutter containing three jugs and some cigars in boxes. He anticipated trouble.
Beeson's shoulder, the latter so far forgot himself as to look up with an appearance of no small astonishment; whomever he may have been expecting, he had evidently not counted on meeting anyone like this. Nevertheless, the sight of this unexpected guest produced in Mr. Beeson the following sequence: a feeling of astonishment; a sense of gratification; a sentiment of profound good will.
In fact, I consider you a pair of damned body-snatchers. Good-evening." "Mr. Beeson." It was not My Lady; her I had not glimpsed. The gentle English girl Rachael had intercepted me. She stood between two wagons, whither she had hastened. "You will be careful?" "How far, madam?" "Of yourself, and for her. Oh, be careful. You can gain nothing." Her face and tone entreated me.
But this little man, in some mysterious way of his own, could get in the logs. There was none like him. About once in three months he would suddenly appear, worn and haggard, at Beeson Lake, where he would drop into an iron bed, which the Company maintained for that especial purpose. Tim Brady, the care-taker, would bring him food at stated intervals.
"Antoine Beeson has a good record, and she will do well," returned Pani briefly. "But I think it would not be easy to love him," protested Jeanne. "Child, you are too young to talk about love. It is the parents who decide such matters." "And I have none. You could not make me marry anyone, Pani. And I do not like these common men." "Heaven forbid! but I might advise."
Within it sat Mr. Beeson himself, before a roaring fire, staring into its hot heart as if he had never before seen such a thing in all his life. He was not a comely man. He was gray; he was ragged and slovenly in his attire; his face was wan and haggard; his eyes were too bright.
I shall tell M'sieu Beeson how long we have cared for each other." "You like him?" hesitatingly. "He is very kind. And girls cannot choose. I wish he were younger, but it will be gay at Christmastide, and my own home will be much to me. Yes, we will wait until then. Jeanne, kiss me for good luck. You are quite sure you are not angry?" "Oh, very sure."
Beeson groaned, and again spread his hands upon his face. A mild odor of opium pervaded the place. The phantom, clad only in a short blue tunic quilted and silken but covered with grave-mold, rose slowly, as if pushed by a weak spiral spring.
But you'll do better to wait for the train at Bridger, Mr. ? I don't believe I have your name?" "Beeson," I informed, astonished. "And the lady's? Your sister? Wife?" "Mrs. Montoyo," I informed. And I repeated, that there should be no misunderstanding. "Mrs. Montoyo, from Benton. No relative, sir." He passed it over, as a gentleman should. "Well, Mr. Beeson, you have business with the train?"
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