The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains by Owen Wister (children's ebooks online .txt) 📕

“My!” said the Virginian. “Ain't that strange!”

She looked at him, puzzled by his tone. “It's not strange when you know Bob,” she said.

“It's very strange,” drawled the Virginian. “Knowin' Bob don't help it any.”

“I don't think that I understand you,” said Molly, sticky.

“Well, it is mighty confusin'. George Taylor, he's your best scholar, and poor Bob, he's your worst, and there's a lot in the middle—and you tell me we're all born equal!”

Molly could only sit giggling in this trap he had so ingeniously laid for her.

“I'll tell you what,” pursued the cow-puncher, with slow and growing intensity, “equality is a great big bluff. It's easy called.”

“I didn't mean—” began Molly.

“Wait, and let me say what I mean.” He had made an imperious gesture with his hand. “I know a man that mostly wins at cyards. I know a man that mostly loses. He says it is his luck. All right. Call it his luck. I know a man that works hard and he's gettin' rich, and I know another that works hard and is gettin' poor. He says it is his luck. All right. Call it his luck. I look around and I see folks movin' up or movin' down, winners or losers everywhere. All luck, of course. But since folks can be born that different in their luck, where's your equality? No, seh! call your failure luck, or call it laziness, wander around the words, prospect all yu' mind to, and yu'll come out the same old trail of inequality.” He paused a moment and looked at her. “Some holds four aces,” he went on, “and some holds nothin', and some poor fello' gets the aces and no show to play 'em; but a man has got to prove himself my equal before I'll believe him.”

Molly sat gazing at him, silent.

“I know what yu' meant,” he told her now, “by sayin' you're not the wife I'd want. But I am the kind that moves up. I am goin' to be your best scholar.” He turned toward her, and that fortress within her began to shake.

“Don't,” she murmured. “Don't, please.”

“Don't what?”

“Why—spoil this.”

“Spoil it?”

“These rides—I don't love you—I can't—but these rides are—”

“What are they?”

“My greatest pleasure. There! And, please, I want them to go on so.”

“Go on so! I don't reckon yu' know what you're sayin'. Yu' might as well ask fruit to stay green. If the way we are now can keep bein' enough for you, it can't for me. A pleasure to you, is it? Well, to me it is—I don't know what to call it. I come to yu' and I hate it, and I come again and I hate it, and I ache and grieve all over when I go. No! You will have to think of some other way than just invitin' me to keep green.”

“If I am to see you—” began the girl.

“You're not to see me. Not like this. I can stay away easier than what I am doin'.”

“Will you do me a favor, a great one?” said she, now.

“Make it as impossible as you please!” he cried. He thought it was to be some action.

“Go on coming. But don't talk to me about—don't talk in that way—if you can help it.”

He laughed out, not permitting himself to swear.

“But,” she continued, “if you can't help talking that way—sometimes—I promise I will listen. That is the only promise I make.”

“That is a bargain,” he said.

Then he helped her mount her horse, restraining himself like a Spartan, and they rode home to her cabin.

“You have made it pretty near impossible,” he said, as he took his leave. “But you've been square to-day, and I'll show you I can be square when I come back. I'll not do more than ask you if your mind's the same. And now I'll not see you for quite a while. I am going a long way. But I'll be very busy. And bein' busy always keeps me from grievin' too much about you.”

Strange is woman! She would rather have heard some other last remark than this.

“Oh, very well!” she said. “I'll not miss you either.”

He smiled at her. “I doubt if yu' can help missin' me,” he remarked. And he was gone at once, galloping on his Monte horse.

Which of the two won a victory this day?