Louisiana Lou. A Western Story

Solange seized him by the arm.

“You are the man with the dogs?” she cried.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Then – you keep the mine – all of it, I do not want it. But you will let us have the dogs that we may take Monsieur de Launay to the hospital? We must have the dogs. The mine – that is yours if you agree!”

Snake Murphy broke into a grin. “Why, ma’am, shore you’re welcome to the dogs. This here Louisiana shot me up once – but damned if I stands fer no one shootin’ him from behind a woman that a way. Come on, and we’ll fix the sled!”

A few minutes later Solange had resumed her watch beside De Launay while, outside, Sucatash and Murphy were busy unloading the sled and getting it ready for the wounded man.

De Launay slept, apparently. Solange sat patiently as the long hours passed. At intervals he muttered in his sleep and she listened. Fragments of his life formed the subject of the words, incoherent and disconnected. She caught references to the terrible years of existence as a légionnaire and later snatches of as terrible scenes of warfare.

Once he spoke more clearly and his words referred to her.

“Morgan la fée! – promised to be something interesting – more than that – worth living, perhaps, after all.”

She dropped her hand over his and he clutched it, holding fast. After that he was quiet, sleeping as easily as could be expected.

In the morning the doctor examined him again and said that the trip might be taken. De Launay awoke, somewhat dazed and uncertain but contented, evidently, at finding Solange at his side. He had fever but was doing very well.

Solange gave him broth, and as he sipped it he looked now and then at her. Something seemed to be on his mind. Finally he unburdened himself.

“I was planning to save you the divorce,” he said. “But I probably will get well. It is too bad!”

“Why too bad?” asked Solange, with eyes on broth and spoon.

“After this even a Nevada divorce will mean notoriety for you. And you’ve lost the mine.”

“I have not lost it,” said Solange. “Monsieur Murphy gave me half of it – but I traded it away.”

“Traded it?”

“For a team of dogs to take you out. As for a divorce, Monsieur de Launay, there is a difficulty in the way.”

“A difficulty! What’s that? All you have to do is establish a residence. I’m still an American citizen – at least I never took steps to be naturalized in France. Perhaps that’s why they demoted me. Anyhow, such a marriage of form wouldn’t hold a minute if you want to have it annulled.”

Solange blushed a little.

“But you forget. I cannot blame you for I hardly recalled it myself until recently. I am a Catholic – and divorce is not allowed.”

“But – even a Catholic could get an annulment – under the circumstances, if she wished it.”

“But – ” said Solange, and stopped.

“But what?”

“Be quiet, please! If you twist that way you will spill the broth. If I wished – yes, perhaps.”

“Solange!”

“But I – do not wish!”

De Launay lay still a moment, then:

“Solange!”

“Monsieur?”

“Why don’t you wish it?”

She stole a glance at him and then turned away. His face was damp and the fever was glittering in his eyes but behind the fever was a great hunger.

“Husbands,” said Solange, “are not plentiful, monsieur.”

He sank back on the bed, sighing a little as though exhausted. Instantly Solange bent over him, frightened.

“Is that all?” she heard him mutter.

Slowly she stooped until her glimmering hair swept around his face and her lips met his.

“Méchant!” she breathed, softly. “That is not all. There is also – this!”

Her lips clung to his.

Finally she straightened up and arranged her hair, smiling down at him, her cheeks flushed delicately and her eyes wonderfully soft.

“Morgan la fée!” said De Launay. “My witch – my fairy lady!”

Solange kissed him lightly on the forehead and rose.

“We must be getting ready to go,” she said. “It will be a hard trip, I am afraid. But we shall get you down to the town and there is enough money left to keep you in the hospital until you are well again. And I shall find work until everything is all right again.”

De Launay stared at her. “Hasn’t Sucatash given you that note?”

“But what note?”

He laughed out loud.

“Call him in.”

When the cow-puncher came in he held the note in his hand and held it out to Solange.

“I done forgot this till this minute, ma’am. The boss told me to give it to you to-day – but I reckon it ain’t needed yet.”

“Open it,” said De Launay.

Solange complied and took out the two inclosures. The first she read was the will and her eyes filled at this proof of De Launay’s care for her, although she had no idea that his estate was of value. Then she unfolded the second paper. This she read with growing amazement.

“But,” she cried, and stopped. She looked at him, troubled. “I did not know!” she said, uncertainly.

His hand groped for hers and as she took it, timidly, he drew her closer.

“Why,” he said, “it makes no difference, does it, dear?”

She nodded. “It makes a difference,” she replied. “I am not one that – ”

“You are one that traded a mine worth millions that I might have dogs to take me out,” he interrupted. “Now I will buy those dogs from you and for them I will pay the value of a dozen gold mines. If you will kiss me again I will endow you with every oil well on my father’s ancestral acres!”

Solange broke into a laugh and her eyes grew deep and mysterious again as she stooped to him while the embarrassed Sucatash sidled out under the tent flap.

“You will make yourself poor,” she said.

“I couldn’t,” he answered, “so long as Morgan la fée is with me in Avalon.”

Sucatash called from outside, plaintively:

“I got the dogs fed and ready, mad’mo’selle – I mean, madame! Reckon we better carry the gen’ral out, now!”

Solange threw back the flap to let him enter again.

“We are ready – for Avalon,” she said.

“Wallace’s ranch, you mean, don’t you?” asked Sucatash.

“Yes – and Avalon also.”

Then, as the stalwart Sucatash gathered the wounded man and lifted him, she took De Launay’s hand and walked out beside him.