She dropped her face on her knees and shook in a paroxysm of weeping. All the emotional side of her nature—so carefully repressed throughout these weeks and months of struggle—swept away their barriers. Now that she had spoken the fear that was in her heart, the reality of the danger that threatened their happiness crushed her down. Jim threw his arm around her. "Belle, Belle, I can't see you cry that way. Belle, don't! We are not going to part."
It was long before she found her voice. In broken sounds she sobbed: "I can't give you up now," and she leaned toward him though still she hid her face.
"Belle, why do you talk of such a thing? You won't give me up, because I won't let you. I won't go, Belle, that's settled."
Her only answer was to cling to him passionately. After a long silence, during which the ponies dropped to a walk, she said half questioningly:
"Jim, we can't—give up all and—and—separate now."
"Belle darling," and Jim suddenly became calm and clear in thought, and a strange new sense of power came on him as he gripped himself, "there are times when a man must just take the bit in his teeth and break through everything, and I'm going to do that now. There's just one way out of this; we're half-way to Deadwood. Let's go right on and get married. The college and everything else can go to the divil so long as I can be with you.
"Will you agree to that?" he asked, lifting her head from his shoulder and looking into her eyes.
"Jim," she said, pushing him gently away from her and leaning back so that they occupied the sides of the wide seat, "let's be fair with each other. For a long time you've had your fling at the hardship of going back to Coulter while I have urged you to go. This is my fling at it"—she smiled at him through her tears—"my rebellion, so perhaps we're quits. But the problem still remains. I thought about it all last night and I decided I could not let you go—that it meant the end of our hopes. When you first asked me, up the road, I doubted my right to tell you the fears I had. But, oh, Jim, it is our happiness, ours, not yours or mine alone. If we have that we can make the rest come right. If we lose that——"
"But we're not going to lose it," he cried, "if you'll only answer my question, Will you marry me to-day if we go on to Deadwood?" He put out his arms to her and she yielded with a happy sob to his ardour. Holding her and pressing his lips to hers, he said simply: "I am very happy."
After a little while she took his head between her palms and looking into his face with eyes that sought his spirit, as though she would pledge her faith to his, she said: "You will never be sorry for this, darling."
At Lookout Mountain was the half-way house. They fed their horses, rested an hour, and then sped on. At four o'clock they reached Deadwood. Jim put up the horses at the little inn, whose parlour he remembered; together they went to the jeweller's shop, purchased a ring, and then to the mayor's office.
The great man was busy with affairs of State, but the world has a kindly heart for lovers and the experienced official can recognize them afar. He glanced over a crowd of many men advancing various claims, and said, with a knowing smile, "Hello!"
"License," was all Jim said, and a subdued "Ha, Ha!" was the amused response.
The mayor pulled out a drawer, produced a form, and rattled off the usual questions: Name? Age? Married before? etc., filling it in; then did the same for Belle. "Now stand up. You swear to the truth of each and all of the statements?" Each of them raised a hand and swore.
"Want to finish it up now?" said the mayor.
"Yes."
"Put on the ring and hold her hand." Jim did so. The mayor stood up, holding their clasped hands in his left. He raised his right and said: "James and Belle, in accordance with the laws of the United States and of the State of Dakota, I pronounce you man and wife." He signed the paper, gave each in turn the pen to sign, and said, "Now I want another witness."
"Sure, I'd like to be in on that there dokiment," said a rough voice.
"Can you write?"
"Bet your life I can."
A big heavy man came forward; the mayor handed him the pen; and, after the word "Witness" he wrote, "Pat Bylow, of Cedar Mountain"; and then with a friendly grin he offered his hand to the Preacher, and they gripped hands for the first time.
"Two dollars, please," said the mayor.
Jim paid it, and he and Belle stepped forth as man and wife.
CHAPTER XLVI
What Next?
According to an ancient custom, the newly wed should cease from their calling in life and disappear for a time, and the practice has long been well honoured by observance. But Mr. and Mrs. Hartigan had large and immediate problems to face. They breakfasted at Aunt Collins's and set out at once for Cedar Mountain. Belle was quite aware, reasonably and instinctively, that she must expect a reaction in Jim after the emotional outburst that had led him so far from their sober plan of a week before; and she exerted herself to fill every minute with the interests of this new life they had begun. But she was not prepared for something which did begin. From that hour of the great decision Jim seemed bigger and stronger. She had been thinking of him as a promising child. Now he was her equal in the world of affairs. He was growing faster than she. They were near the edge of the town when she saw a cottage with the sign up, "To let." It was very attractive in its fresh paint and obviously it had just been finished.
"Jim, maybe that was made for us. Let's see it." They tied up the horses and entered. It was indeed small. The Preacher had to stoop at the front doorway and turn side-wise to enter the cellarway, but it was clean and prettily placed with a view to the south, and had four rooms and cellar.
Belle gazed from the window through the gap between the hills and said, "I wish I knew some things that I will know within a week"; then, after a pause, "but I don't; let's go."
As they were getting into the buckboard Jim remembered having left behind a package which Aunt Collins wished to send to her sister, Mrs. Boyd. As they drove hastily back they met a new, strange sight in Deadwood. A man in a sort of military uniform was marching along carrying a big drum which he pounded rhythmically; behind him were a dozen men and women in poke bonnets and blue skirts. Above them was a flag inscribed "Salvation Army." They stopped to sing a hymn, and were soon surrounded by a crowd of people who made scoffing remarks. The leader prayed, and all joined in a warlike hymn punctuated by the thunderous drum.
There can be no question of the power of the drum on simple and primitive natures. Something in Jim responded to it at once. The commonplace words of the commonplace leader were without power to move, and the droning hymn was soporific rather than inspiring; but the rhythmic thump, thump, thump, seemed to strike the chords of his being; and a hypnotic tensity began. He gazed at the sad face of the fanatic, and forgot everything else, till Belle roused him with a businesslike, "Let's go, Jim."
Arrived at Cedar Mountain, they knew at once from the smiles and greetings of a few friends whom they met that the town had heard the news. They went to the Boyd home where Ma Boyd wept and feebly scolded, then wept some more. Pa Boyd said "Humph!" Loading his pipe he smoked in silence for five minutes and then began to laugh quietly. At length, clapping Hartigan good-naturedly on the back, he observed: "Well, boys will be boys. But I did think Belle was too level-headed and businesslike to go off on a panicky proposition like this. Howsomever, it's done; now the question is, what next? I can forgive; folks can forgive, but the Church won't. Now what's next?"
Seeing that the home folks were well enough disposed, Jim didn't wait to discuss details but set out alone to call on the Rev. Dr. Jebb. Mrs. Jebb opened the door herself and looking up at the handsome face she laid her hand on his arm with a pleased laugh and said: "Good for you!"