Salomy Jane's Kiss Page #5

"Salomy Jane's Kiss" is a short story by Bret Harte that explores themes of love, identity, and social dynamics in the American West during the Gold Rush era. The narrative centers on Salomy Jane, a strong-willed and independent woman, and her romantic encounter with a charming stranger. Through rich descriptions and vivid characterizations, Harte captures the tension between societal expectations and personal desires, ultimately leading to a poignant and memorable conclusion that highlights the complexities of human emotions amidst the rugged backdrop of frontier life.

• Short story

								

again. Then they stood embraced as they had embraced two days before,
but no longer the same. For the cool, lazy Salomy Jane had been
transformed into another woman--a passionate, clinging savage. Perhaps
something of her father's blood had surged within her at that supreme
moment. The man stood erect and determined.

"Wot's your name?" she whispered quickly. It was a woman's quickest way
of defining her feelings.

"Dart."

"Yer first name?"

"Jack."

"Let me go now, Jack. Lie low in the woods till to-morrow sunup. I'll
come again."

He released her. Yet she lingered a moment. "Put on those things," she
said, with a sudden happy flash of eyes and teeth, "and lie close till I
come." And then she sped away home.

But midway up the distance she felt her feet going slower, and something
at her heartstrings seemed to be pulling her back. She stopped, turned,
and glanced to where he had been standing. Had she seen him then, she
might have returned. But he had disappeared. She gave her first sigh,
and then ran quickly again. It must be nearly ten o'clock! It was not
very long to morning!

She was within a few steps of her own door, when the sleeping woods and
silent air appeared to suddenly awake with a sharp "crack!"

She stopped, paralyzed. Another "crack!" followed, that echoed over to
the far corral. She recalled herself instantly and dashed off wildly to
the woods again.

As she ran she thought of one thing only. He had been "dogged" by one
of his old pursuers and attacked. But there were two shots, and he was
unarmed. Suddenly she remembered that she had left her father's gun
standing against the tree where they were talking. Thank God! she may
again have saved him. She ran to the tree; the gun was gone. She ran
hither and thither, dreading at every step to fall upon his lifeless
body. A new thought struck her; she ran to the corral. The horse was not
there! He must have been able to regain it, and escaped, AFTER the shots
had been fired. She drew a long breath of relief, but it was caught up
in an apprehension of alarm. Her father, awakened from his sleep by the
shots, was hurriedly approaching her.

"What's up now, Salomy Jane?" he demanded excitedly.

"Nothin'," said the girl with an effort. "Nothin', at least, that I can
find." She was usually truthful because fearless, and a lie stuck in her
throat; but she was no longer fearless, thinking of HIM. "I wasn't abed;
so I ran out as soon as I heard the shots fired," she answered in return
to his curious gaze.

"And you've hid my gun somewhere where it can't be found," he said
reproachfully. "Ef it was that sneak Larrabee, and he fired them shots
to lure me out, he might have potted me, without a show, a dozen times
in the last five minutes."

She had not thought since of her father's enemy! It might indeed
have been he who had attacked Jack. But she made a quick point of the
suggestion. "Run in, dad, run in and find the gun; you've got no show
out here without it." She seized him by the shoulders from behind,
shielding him from the woods, and hurried him, half expostulating, half
struggling, to the house.

But there no gun was to be found. It was strange; it must have been
mislaid in some corner! Was he sure he had not left it in the barn? But
no matter now. The danger was over; the Larrabee trick had failed;
he must go to bed now, and in the morning they would make a search
together. At the same time she had inwardly resolved to rise before him
and make another search of the wood, and perhaps--fearful joy as she
recalled her promise!--find Jack alive and well, awaiting her!

Salomy Jane slept little that night, nor did her father. But towards
morning he fell into a tired man's slumber until the sun was well up the
horizon. Far different was it with his daughter: she lay with her face
to the window, her head half lifted to catch every sound, from the
creaking of the sun-warped shingles above her head to the far-off
moan of the rising wind in the pine trees. Sometimes she fell into a
breathless, half-ecstatic trance, living over every moment of the stolen
interview; feeling the fugitive's arm still around her, his kisses on
her lips; hearing his whispered voice in her ears--the birth of her new
life! This was followed again by a period of agonizing dread--that he
might even then be lying, his life ebbing away, in the woods, with her
name on his lips, and she resting here inactive, until she half started
from her bed to go to his succor. And this went on until a pale opal
glow came into the sky, followed by a still paler pink on the summit of
the white Sierras, when she rose and hurriedly began to dress. Still so
sanguine was her hope of meeting him, that she lingered yet a moment to
select the brown holland skirt and yellow sunbonnet she had worn when
she first saw him. And she had only seen him twice! Only TWICE! It would
be cruel, too cruel, not to see him again!

She crept softly down the stairs, listening to the long-drawn breathing
of her father in his bedroom, and then, by the light of a guttering
candle, scrawled a note to him, begging him not to trust himself out of
the house until she returned from her search, and leaving the note open
on the table, swiftly ran out into the growing day.

Three hours afterwards Mr. Madison Clay awoke to the sound of loud
knocking. At first this forced itself upon his consciousness as his
daughter's regular morning summons, and was responded to by a grunt of
recognition and a nestling closer in the blankets. Then he awoke with a
start and a muttered oath, remembering the events of last night, and his
intention to get up early, and rolled out of bed. Becoming aware by this
time that the knocking was at the outer door, and hearing the shout of
a familiar voice, he hastily pulled on his boots, his jean trousers,
and fastening a single suspender over his shoulder as he clattered
downstairs, stood in the lower room. The door was open, and waiting
upon the threshold was his kinsman, an old ally in many a
blood-feud--Breckenridge Clay!

"You ARE a cool one, Mad!" said the latter in half-admiring indignation.

"What's up?" said the bewildered Madison.

"YOU ought to be, and scootin' out o' this," said Breckenridge grimly.
"It's all very well to 'know nothin';' but here Phil Larrabee's friends
hev just picked him up, drilled through with slugs and deader nor a
crow, and now they're lettin' loose Larrabee's two half-brothers on you.
And you must go like a derned fool and leave these yer things behind you
in the bresh," he went on querulously, lifting Madison Clay's dust-coat,
hat, and shotgun from his horse, which stood saddled at the door.
"Luckily I picked them up in the woods comin' here. Ye ain't got more
than time to get over the state line and among your folks thar afore
they'll be down on you. Hustle, old man! What are you gawkin' and
starin' at?"

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