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Updated: August 10, 2024
Treading softly, Maxine entered and crept into a seat opposite the trio, realizing, with an indifference that surprised her, that the woman was Lize of the Bal Tabarin and the Café des Cerises-jumelles. The music poured forth, a glittering stream of sound.
The fences, the occasional farms in the valleys could not subdue its outspread, serene majesty to prettiness. It was still of desert sternness and breadth. From all these impersonal considerations the girl was brought back to the vital phases of her life by the harsh voice of one of the men. "Lize Wetherford is goin' to get jumped one o' these days for sellin' whiskey without a license.
Her one anxiety now was born of a deepening sense of his danger, but against this she bent the full strength of her will. "He shall not die," she declared beneath her breath. "God will not permit it." There was a touch of frost in the air as they went to their beds, and, though she shivered, Lize was undismayed. "There's nothing the matter with my heart," she exulted.
You look like the rose of Sharon." "My name is Lee Wetherford," she answered, with childish directness, for there was something compelling in the man's voice and eyes. "And this is my mother." She indicated Lize, who was approaching. "You are not out here for your health," he stated, rather thoughtfully. "How happens it you're here?" "I was born here in the Fork."
Both prisoners rose to their feet as Cavanagh again stood alert. The feet halted; a sharp rap sounded on the door. "Who's there?" demanded Lize. "The law!" replied a wheezy voice. "Open in the name of the law!" "It's old Higley," announced Lize. "Open the door, Ross." "Come in, Law," she called, ironically, as the justice appeared.
A sense of mental sickness seized upon Max; while the woman Lize suddenly braced herself, changing from the inert, half-hypnotized creature of a moment before into a being of fury. "Sapristi!" she cried aloud. "A pretty lover to come wooing!" And she added a phrase that had never found place in Max's vocabulary, and at which the surrounding people laughed.
"What! you, Lize!" he was saying easily, and with only the faintest shadow of surprise. "Well, if I have been dead, I am now resurrected! Let's toast old times, since you are alone. Garçon! Garçon!" Out of the crowd a waiter answered his call. Wine was brought, three glasses were brought and filled, while Max watched the performance watched the ease and naturalness of it with absorbed wonder.
Once the old man looked up with wide, dark, unseeing eyes and murmured, "I don't seem to know you." "I'm a friend my name is Cavanagh." "I can't place you," he sadly admitted. "I feel pretty bad. If I ever get out of this place I'm going back to the Fork; I'll get a gold-mine, then I'll go back and make up for what Lize has gone through. I'm afraid to go back now."
"'Scuse me, Miss M'ree," said Lize, "I didn' mean no ha'm to you, but I ain' a trustin' ol' Brothah Simon, I tell you." "I'm not blaming you, Eliza; you are sensible as far as you know." "Ahem," said Mr. Marston. Eliza went out mumbling to herself, and Mr. Marston confined his attentions to his dinner; he chuckled just once, but Mrs. Marston met his levity with something like a sniff.
Lize said: "Don't you figure on me in any way, Reddy. I'm nothing but the old hen that raised up this lark, and all I'm a-livin' for now is to make her happy. Just you cut me out when it comes to any question about your wife and Virginia. I'm not in their class." It was hot and still in the town, but no sooner was the car in motion than both heat and dust were forgotten.
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