Peninsula Enterprise

WHY JEAN WAS BLUE
(by D. J. Walsh.)

JEAN LEMAN was blue as indigo. As a matter of fact, she was jealous—hopelessly, heart-breakingly jealous. She stood at the ranch house window, watching Perry ride off with Phyllis Sharmon, the baby-faced eastern girl, who had arrived to be "Pa" Leman's paying guest for a month. Phyllis was clad absurdly in a smartly tailored broadcloth habit and was riding Jean's own special pony. Moreover Jean had not been consulted in the matter, so it was simply adding insult to injury. Phyllis was, or pretended to be, a novice at riding, and seemed to require considerable instruction from her escort.

Perry had been Pa Leman's right-hand man at the ranch for six months now, and had spent most of his spare hours during that time with Jean. And yet he appeared to Jean's hurt and bewildered eyes to be absolutely delighted with his new role of guide and instructor to the pertly attractive stranger.

Jean's eyes grew misty with tears and her heart felt pitifully heavy as she thought of the difference between her present depression and her excited happiness just twenty-four hours earlier. The evening before she had gone with Perry, as she had gone dozens of times, to see that the horses were safe for the night. Just before they returned to the house Jean had stumbled and was suddenly held tight in Perry's strong arms. The very remembrance of the kiss that followed made Jean's heart beat faster even now. It was her first kiss, and though no words had been spoken, Jean had lain awake far into the night, thrilled with vision of a wedding and a possible honeymoon in that far visionary city of New York. And now, this—Perry had gone to meet the eastern girl before Jean was up that morning and had been with her constantly ever since. He had no right to take it for granted that Jean's pony should be the one for Phyllis Sharmon to ride. She wished the girl had stayed in the East, where she belonged.

Jean went to bed before the riders returned. Perry's laugh and a giggle from Phyllis floated up to her just as she was dropping off to sleep and kept her miserably awake for hours.

Perry stopped her next morning to ask: "Not angry, are you, Jean?" And such a lump came into Jean's throat that she was helpless to answer and turned back to hide her tears. Then Phyllis claimed his attention, and Jean didn't see him alone all day.

And so it went on for days, until Jean was just an aching bit of hopeless misery. Wanting desperately to conceal her unhappiness from Perry, yet utterly unable to be her old natural self, she answered him so shortly when he did speak to her that he soon avoided her altogether. Sometimes she fancied she saw a hurt, questioning look in his eyes, but always became convinced later that it must have been her imagination. Certainly he seemed to get along famously with Phyllis, and Jean's resentment toward the other girl grew into a bitterness that was more than dislike.

One evening Perry had ridden over to a neighboring ranch on some business for Pa Leman. Jean was just feeling a grim satisfaction in the thought that at least Phyllis couldn't be with him, when the eastern girl came in, dressed for riding. She spoke to Jean, coolly patronizing.

"Saddle my pony, will you, Jean. I'm going to ride over to meet Perry."

The rage that suddenly surged into Jean's heart frightened her. She went out of the house to the stable. She hated the pretty eastern girl with her plucked eyebrows and her too-red lips—what right had she to steal away Jean's whole life's happiness?

"My pony," she said. It was Jean's pony. Phyllis had appropriated the pony as coolly as she had the man.

Jean's eyes fell on the little horse that Pa Leman had recently brought home for Perry to break in. It was almost a counterpart in size and color of Jean's own pony. He was becoming accustomed to the saddle, but Pa Leman had forbidden Jean to ride him. Jean's lips were set in a determined line, and her eyes gleamed dangerously. Phyllis would never know the difference between the two ponies in the dusky light of approaching darkness. Let the patronizing little eastern heartbreaker ride the forbidden pony and test the value of the riding lessons that Perry had given her. She saddled the horse without much difficulty and led him with beating heart to the house, where she helped Phyllis to mount and stood watching her ride off. She was all right while the pony was walking, but let her try to keep her seat once the horse broke into gallop.

Then when the waves of anger which had enveloped her had subsided Jean was simply overwhelmed with remorse. She thought she had suffered before, but her former misery was nothing compared to the despair that filled her heart as a succession of pictured disasters passed before her mental vision. How could she have been so utterly insane? Phyllis would be killed and Jean would be responsible. Should she saddle her own pony and ride after her? But that would be a confession. There was nothing else she could do. It was quite dark now and she stood in the doorway, straining her eyes to see across the sage brush, just waiting and waiting—for what, she hardly dared to think.

When, at last, she heard some one riding toward the house she turned cold with apprehension. It was Perry—Perry, holding a limp figure on the saddle before him! Jean could scarcely force herself to walk down the steps to meet him as he came toward her with Phyllis in his arms. Her voice was faint with terror.

"Oh, Perry! She's not—killed?"