After that night, there began a sort of persecution, skillfully
conducted by Jasper and Betty, against the ferocity of Jane. It was a
persecution impossible to imagine in any other setting, even the social
simplicity of Lazy-Y found itself a trifle amused. For Jasper, the
stately Jewish figure, would carry pails of water for Jane from the
well to the kitchen, would help her in the vegetable garden, and to
straighten out her recalcitrant stove-pipe; Betty would put on an apron
a mile too large, to wash dishes and shell peas. She would sit on the
kitchen table swinging her long, childlike legs and chatter amiably.
Jasper talked, too, to the virago, talked delightfully, about horses
and dogs,--he had a charming gift of humorous observation,--talked
about hunting and big-game shooting, about trapping, about travel, and,
at last, about plays. Undoubtedly Jane listened. Sometimes she laughed.
Once in a while she ejaculated, musically, "Well!" Occasionally she
swore.
One afternoon he met her riding home from an errand to a neighboring
ranch, and, turning his horse, rode with her. In worn corduroy skirt,
flannel shirt, and gray sombrero, she looked like a handsome, haggard
boy, and, that afternoon, there was a certain unusual wistfulness in
her eyes, and her mouth had relaxed a little from its bitterness.
Perhaps it was the beauty of a clear, keen summer day; without doubt,
also, she was touched by the courteous pleasure of his greeting and by
his giving up his ride in order to accompany her. She even unbent from
her silence and, for the first time, really talked to him. And she
spoke, too, in a new manner, using her beautiful voice with beautiful
carefulness. It was like a master-musician who, after a long illness,
takes up his beloved instrument and tentatively tests his shaken
powers. Jasper had much ado to keep his surprise to himself, for the
rough ranch girl could speak pure enough English if she would.
"You and your wife are leaving soon?" she asked him, and, when he
nodded, she gave a sigh. "I'll be missing you," she said, throwing
away her brusquerie like a rag with which she was done. "You've been
company for me. You've made use of lots of patience and courage, but I
have really liked it. I've not got the ways of being sociable and I
don't know that I want ever to get them. I am not seeking for friends.
There isn't another person on the ranch that would dare talk to me as
you and Mrs. Morena have talked. They don't know anything about me
here and I don't mean that they should know." She paused, then gave
way to an impulse of confidence. "One of the boys asked me to marry
him. He came and shouted it through the window and I caught him with a
pan of water." She sighed. "I don't know rightly if he meant it for a
joke or not, but the laugh wasn't on me."