CHAPTER XX.A ConfessionJohn came into the room. “The outfit is back, or most of it,” he said. “Darn their souls! Curiosity, nothing else. But for this, they wouldn’t have shown up for two days yet. I think the women went into the kitchen just now, Mary.”There they were, Belle, Sadie and Goldie, all huddled up together like a bunch of something, near the back door. As I came into the room, they jumped and screeched. The only thing that makes me madder than being scared myself is to scare somebody else. I spoke to them right sharply.I told them that I expected them to go about their work, and to act like sensible girls while so doing. I told them that we had enough to put up with, just now, without adding a parcel of jumping, squealing girls to our load.Sadie, the sauciest of the lot, on account of imagining that being married made her more independent than the other girls, spoke up.“We haven’t decided yet that we want’a go workin’ in a house where a murderer, and maybe moren’ one, is livin’.”“If that’s the way you feel about it,” I said, “the sooner you leave the better. It is an honor to work in the Desert Moon ranch-house, and you know it.”“Maybe ’tis. Maybe ’tain’t.” Sadie sauced back. “You’ll not get girls as easy to-day as you would of yesterday. Murders and suicides—if it was a suicide—don’t do much in makin’ a ranch pop’lar for help.”“Very well,” I said. “If you are going, go now. If not, put on your aprons and get to work.”I could scarcely believe my eyes. The three of them skedaddled out through the door. I felt sort of sick, watching them go. Not because I’d have to teach new girls the work and my ways, but because their leaving gave me my first realization that the Desert Moon Ranch was darkened by the shadow of sin, that the eclipse I had feared was upon us.When I telephoned to Sam, down in his office in the outfit’s quarters, I tried to keep the truth from him; saying, only that the girls and I had had a spat, and asking him to find some new girls for me.He came up, in about half an hour, with an Indian girl, not more than fifteen years old, trailing along behind him. Answering his nod, I went with him into the living-room.“She is the only one I could get,” he said. “We’ll have to send to Reno or Salt Lake. None of the outfit want their women folks working here. I don’t blame them. The Desert Moon Ranch is disgraced——” He stopped short.I thought that it was because he could not bear to go on with what he had begun to say; until, following his eyes, I saw that he was looking at a piece of paper on the writing desk just in front of him. It had been propped up against a vase; but it had slithered down into a curve. He reached for it; read it, and handed it to me.“I killed her. Chadwick Caufield. P. S. Sorry to put you to the trouble of disposing of me. Make it cheap and snappy. I haven’t a relative in the world. P. G.”“A lie,” Sam said.“I think so.”“I know damn well it is. I tell you, she had been dead two or three hours, anyway—probably longer—when we found her. Listen, Mary. Between four and five o’clock—we all saw her alive at four—Chad sat right there at that piano, and he never left it once. Did he?”“No, he didn’t. I kept thinking he would, to join Gaby. But he didn’t.”“Between five and six o’clock,” Sam went on, “he was with me, every minute of the time, down in the barn, and coming up to the house. Never out of my sight. Between six and seven he was with us all at supper. If he’d been gone all afternoon, I’d know that note was a lie; know it just as well as I know it now——”“But, why did he shoot himself, then, Sam?”“God knows. He thought he loved her.”“But this note! A confession! Why would he die in disgrace, when we know he was innocent?”“God knows. To shield someone else, I reckon.”“Who?”Sam dropped his pipe.I heard him stamping the sparks out. I did not look down. I did not want to look down.
John came into the room. “The outfit is back, or most of it,” he said. “Darn their souls! Curiosity, nothing else. But for this, they wouldn’t have shown up for two days yet. I think the women went into the kitchen just now, Mary.”
There they were, Belle, Sadie and Goldie, all huddled up together like a bunch of something, near the back door. As I came into the room, they jumped and screeched. The only thing that makes me madder than being scared myself is to scare somebody else. I spoke to them right sharply.
I told them that I expected them to go about their work, and to act like sensible girls while so doing. I told them that we had enough to put up with, just now, without adding a parcel of jumping, squealing girls to our load.
Sadie, the sauciest of the lot, on account of imagining that being married made her more independent than the other girls, spoke up.
“We haven’t decided yet that we want’a go workin’ in a house where a murderer, and maybe moren’ one, is livin’.”
“If that’s the way you feel about it,” I said, “the sooner you leave the better. It is an honor to work in the Desert Moon ranch-house, and you know it.”
“Maybe ’tis. Maybe ’tain’t.” Sadie sauced back. “You’ll not get girls as easy to-day as you would of yesterday. Murders and suicides—if it was a suicide—don’t do much in makin’ a ranch pop’lar for help.”
“Very well,” I said. “If you are going, go now. If not, put on your aprons and get to work.”
I could scarcely believe my eyes. The three of them skedaddled out through the door. I felt sort of sick, watching them go. Not because I’d have to teach new girls the work and my ways, but because their leaving gave me my first realization that the Desert Moon Ranch was darkened by the shadow of sin, that the eclipse I had feared was upon us.
When I telephoned to Sam, down in his office in the outfit’s quarters, I tried to keep the truth from him; saying, only that the girls and I had had a spat, and asking him to find some new girls for me.
He came up, in about half an hour, with an Indian girl, not more than fifteen years old, trailing along behind him. Answering his nod, I went with him into the living-room.
“She is the only one I could get,” he said. “We’ll have to send to Reno or Salt Lake. None of the outfit want their women folks working here. I don’t blame them. The Desert Moon Ranch is disgraced——” He stopped short.
I thought that it was because he could not bear to go on with what he had begun to say; until, following his eyes, I saw that he was looking at a piece of paper on the writing desk just in front of him. It had been propped up against a vase; but it had slithered down into a curve. He reached for it; read it, and handed it to me.
“I killed her. Chadwick Caufield. P. S. Sorry to put you to the trouble of disposing of me. Make it cheap and snappy. I haven’t a relative in the world. P. G.”
“A lie,” Sam said.
“I think so.”
“I know damn well it is. I tell you, she had been dead two or three hours, anyway—probably longer—when we found her. Listen, Mary. Between four and five o’clock—we all saw her alive at four—Chad sat right there at that piano, and he never left it once. Did he?”
“No, he didn’t. I kept thinking he would, to join Gaby. But he didn’t.”
“Between five and six o’clock,” Sam went on, “he was with me, every minute of the time, down in the barn, and coming up to the house. Never out of my sight. Between six and seven he was with us all at supper. If he’d been gone all afternoon, I’d know that note was a lie; know it just as well as I know it now——”
“But, why did he shoot himself, then, Sam?”
“God knows. He thought he loved her.”
“But this note! A confession! Why would he die in disgrace, when we know he was innocent?”
“God knows. To shield someone else, I reckon.”
“Who?”
Sam dropped his pipe.
I heard him stamping the sparks out. I did not look down. I did not want to look down.