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Bingham.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; text-indent: 0; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + + blockquote {display: block; margin: .75em 5%; font-size: 90%;} + h1 {font-size:1.4em;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em;} + h3 {font-size:1.0em;} + hr.p5 {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 5%;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align:center;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .smcaplc {text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: small-caps;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + p.cg {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-align: left; width: 101%;} + p.ralign {text-align: right !important;} + span.indent2 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 0.8em; display: block; float: left;} + span.rindent2 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 0.8em; display: block; float: right;} + span.rindent4 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 1.6em; display: block; float: right;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + td.chalgn {text-align:right; margin-top:0; padding-right:1em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Heart of Thunder Mountain, by Edfrid A. Bingham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Heart of Thunder Mountain + +Author: Edfrid A. Bingham + +Illustrator: Anton Otto Fisher + +Release Date: August 15, 2009 [EBook #29697] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEART OF THUNDER MOUNTAIN *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='319' height='498' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“He tried to shoot once more, into the very face<br /> +of the oncoming brute.”––FRONTISPIECE. <i>See Page 245.</i><br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:40px;font-size:2.2em;margin-top:40px;'>The Heart of<br />Thunder Mountain</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:30px;'>By EDFRID A. BINGHAM</p> +<div style='margin:40px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.png' /> +</div> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:40px;'>With Frontispiece in Colors<br />By ANTON OTTO FISHER</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;'>A. L. BURT COMPANY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>Publishers New York</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:40px;'>Published by Arrangements with <span class='smcap'>Little, Brown & Company</span></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='font-size:smaller'> +<p class='tp' ><i>Copyright, 1916,</i></p> +<p class='tp' style='font-variant:small-caps;'>By Edfrid A. Bingham.</p> +<hr class='p5' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;margin-bottom:40px;'><i>All rights reserved</i></p> +<p class='tp' >Published, March, 1916<br />Reprinted, March, 1916 (twice)</p> +<p class='tp' >July, 1916; August, 1916<br />April, 1917</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'><span style='font-size:0.8em'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right'><span style='font-size:0.8em'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>I</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Forbidden Pasture</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_THE_FORBIDDEN_PASTURE'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>II</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Road to Paradise</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_THE_ROAD_TO_PARADISE'>15</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>III</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Seth Huntington’s Opportunity</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_SETH_HUNTINGTONS_OPPORTUNITY'>26</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Highest Bidder</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_THE_HIGHEST_BIDDER'>37</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>V</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>“He Shall Tell Me!”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_HE_SHALL_TELL_ME'>50</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Story of the Scar</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_THE_STORY_OF_THE_SCAR'>60</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Way of a Maid With a Man</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_THE_WAY_OF_A_MAID_WITH_A_MAN'>71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The End of Her Stratagem</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_THE_END_OF_HER_STRATAGEM'>86</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Hearts Insurgent</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_HEARTS_INSURGENT'>99</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>X</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Strictly Confidential</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_X_STRICTLY_CONFIDENTIAL'>112</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Avalanche</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XI_AVALANCHE'>121</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Sunnysides</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XII_SUNNYSIDES'>133</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Hillyer’s Dilemma</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIII_HILLYERS_DILEMMA'>144</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Coals of Fire</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIV_COALS_OF_FIRE'>155</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Valley of the Shadow</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XV_THE_VALLEY_OF_THE_SHADOW'>166</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Questions and Answers</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVI_QUESTIONS_AND_ANSWERS'>176</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Interlude</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVII_INTERLUDE'>186</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Challenge of the Brute</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_CHALLENGE_OF_THE_BRUTE'>193</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Smythe’s Last Budget</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIX_SMYTHES_LAST_BUDGET'>202</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>“The Trail Held True”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XX_THE_TRAIL_HELD_TRUE'>215</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>In the Hollow of the Storm</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXI_IN_THE_HOLLOW_OF_THE_STORM'>228</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Narrow Passage</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXII_THE_NARROW_PASSAGE'>238</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Miracle</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIII_THE_MIRACLE'>252</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Haig’s Argument</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIV_HAIGS_ARGUMENT'>264</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Diana</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXV_DIANA'>278</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXVI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Snow</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVI_THE_SNOW'>288</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXVII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Voice in the Hurricane</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVII_THE_VOICE_IN_THE_HURRICANE'>302</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXVIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Man Who Did Not Forget</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVIII_THE_MAN_WHO_DID_NOT_FORGET'>316</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Ghosts</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIX_GHOSTS'>330</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Lamp Relighted</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXX_THE_LAMP_RELIGHTED'>344</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXXI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Sangre De Cristo</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXI_SANGRE_DE_CRISTO'>359</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div> +<h1>THE HEART OF THUNDER MOUNTAIN</h1> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_THE_FORBIDDEN_PASTURE' id='CHAPTER_I_THE_FORBIDDEN_PASTURE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>THE FORBIDDEN PASTURE</h3> +</div> +<p>She sat hunched up in the middle of the silent pasture, +where the tall, thin grass ran ripening before +the breeze in waves the hue of burnished bronze. Her +cow pony grazed greedily a few yards away, lifting his +head now and then to gaze inquiringly at her, and then +returning to his gluttony with a satisfied snort, commendatory +of this long rest. The girl had removed her +small sombrero to adjust the masses of tawny hair that +had become disordered in her morning ride; and the +breeze now played with it, and the sun sought out its +glints of gold. She was fair, of a curiously rich complexion +with soft golden tints beneath the skin, as if the +rusty gold in her hair was just the outcropping of what +ran in solution in her veins. And there was a certain +air about her that contrasted strangely with the scene +upon which she now gazed intently, with her head bent +forward, and her hands clasped round her upthrust +knees.</p> +<p>It was a little valley she had come upon by chance, +snugly tucked away among the hills. Below the bronze-colored +slope there were lush meadows of a brilliant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +green, and a shallow, swift stream that flashed over +black bowlders and white sand; beyond the meadows lay +more shining pastures rising to pale-green aspen groves +and then to dark-green pines; and above all these the +foothills climbed swiftly to the mountains, and the +mountains more swiftly to the sky. There were faint +blue mists in the foothills, fainter violet shadows on the +distant fields, an icy whiteness on the peaks; and in the +sky no more than two small puffs of cloud like eiderdown +adrift in the depths of blue. What at first had +seemed an utter silence laid upon that summer landscape +had now become, as she looked and listened, a +silence full of sound; of that indefinable humming +undertone of nature maturing in the sun; of insects +busy at their harvest; of birds in the distance calling; +of grasses rustling in the breeze; of pines on the long +ridge droning like an organ in the Recessional.</p> +<p>Yes, it was very beautiful, she thought. And sweet. +And peaceful. She had come a long way––halfway +across the great continent––to find that peace. But +why should there be a touch of sadness in all that +beauty? And why should there be need to search for +her handkerchief to press against her eyes? For the +first time since she had come to Paradise Park she felt +a little lonely, a little doubtful about the wisdom of her +brave revolt.</p> +<p>She sank back at last, and lay curled up in the grass +with her head pillowed on one bent arm. There, to her +half-closed eyes, the grass seemed like a fairy forest, +soon peopled by her fancy, the fancy of a girl who still +retained the quick imagination of a child. An Indian +paintbrush flamed at her with barbaric passion; nodding +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +harebells tinkled purple melodies; and a Mariposa lily +with a violet eye seemed like a knight in white armor, +bowing himself into her outstretched hand. Her eyelids +drooped more and more. The music of the pines +and the murmur of the pasture blended in a faint and +fading lullaby....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Tuesday’s shrill neigh awakened her. She sat up +shivering, for the warm air was underlaid with cold; +and quivering, for the alarm had fallen pat upon the +climax of her dream. She rubbed her eyes, a little +blinded by the sunlight, and saw that Tuesday stood +with head high and nostrils distended, gazing past her +toward the upper end of the pasture. She was not surprised, +being yet under the spell of her dream-fairyland, +to see a horseman galloping straight toward her. If not +the white knight, then––For some seconds she stared, +awakening slowly; and smiled at length at her childish +fancy. It was only a cowboy, doubtless, riding upon his +own prosaic business. And yet––She became gradually +aware of something unusual, something disquieting +in the manner of the man’s approach. The horse was +leaping under the spurs; the rider sat upright and alert +in the saddle; and suddenly, as she watched him, the +man’s hand went to his hip, and there was a gleam of +metal in the sun.</p> +<p>She was not afraid. Seth Huntington had assured +her there was nothing to be feared in Paradise Park. +But for all that, it was not without uneasiness that she +hastily arranged the meager folds of her divided skirt, +and passed her hands quickly over the still disordered +masses of her hair. And then he was fairly upon her, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +reining up with a jerk that brought the sweating pony +back upon its haunches.</p> +<p>There was an angry glitter in the man’s dark eyes, his +face was black with passion, and the bright object she +had seen flashing in his hand was the twin brother +of Huntington’s six-shooter. He was roughly, even +meanly, dressed. His coarse blue flannel shirt was unbuttoned +at the throat; his soiled brown corduroy +trousers were thrust unevenly into dusty and wrinkled +boot tops; his old, gray hat was slouched over one side +of his forehead, shading his eyes. But the face beneath +that faded and disreputable hat, as Marion saw with a +slight thrill of curiosity, belonged to no ranch hand or +cow-puncher. Whoever he might be, and whatever he +might be doing there scowling at her, she felt at once +that he was as foreign as herself to that neighborhood. +But there was no time at that moment to analyze her +feeling, to formulate her thought. And her next impression, +following very swiftly, was one of vague antagonism. +She felt that she was going to hate him.</p> +<p>“What new trick is this?” he demanded angrily, +when he had looked from the girl to her pony, and at +her again, with unconcealed suspicion.</p> +<p>For a moment she was undecided whether to answer +him sharply or to rebuke his incivility with silence.</p> +<p>“I don’t know!” she replied at last, by way of compromise +between her two impulses, with a half-playful +emphasis on the “I,” accompanied by a very solemn, +shaking of the head and a very innocent widening of +the eyes.</p> +<p>There was a pause while he searched her face with a +distrustful scrutiny.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span></div> +<p>“You’re not just the person I was looking for,” he +said finally, with a touch of irony.</p> +<p>“How fortunate!” she replied, in a tone that was +like a mocking echo of his own.</p> +<p>Her eyes met his unflinchingly, a little impudently, +telling him nothing; then they slowly fell, and rested on +the revolver in his hand. With a shrug he thrust the +weapon into its holster.</p> +<p>“Thank you!” she said sweetly. “You really won’t +need it.”</p> +<p>He jerked his head impatiently.</p> +<p>“How did you get in here?” he demanded, quite as +roughly as before.</p> +<p>There was no reason in the world why she should not +have answered him simply and directly; but she did not. +She was exasperated, not so much by his words as by +his manner, and not so much by his manner even as by +something provocative in the man himself. He was +rude, but it was not his rudeness that most annoyed her. +She scarcely knew what it was,––perhaps a certain indifference, +a certain cold contempt that she detected +underlying all his anger, a certain icy and impenetrable +reserve that, for all his hot words, and for all his lowering +looks, she resented most as being in some way +personal to her. And instantly the minx in her rose up +for mischief.</p> +<p>“By aeroplane, of course!” she said tartly.</p> +<p>It was a silly speech, and she regretted it almost before +it had left her lips.</p> +<p>A faint flush came into the enemy’s face.</p> +<p>“Spoken like a woman!” he retorted. “Always +tragic over little things and flippant over big ones.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span></div> +<p>That brought the color up into her face. But she was +not subdued; for the cat in woman also has nine lives––at +least.</p> +<p>“There’s my horse,” she said, with a toss of her head. +“You saw him.”</p> +<p>“True! But cow ponies don’t easily jump four-wire +fences.”</p> +<p>“Why should they when the fences are down?”</p> +<p>“Good! We arrive by the devious ways that women +love. Perhaps you’ll give me the answer now that you +should have given in the first place. <i>How did you get +in here?</i>”</p> +<p>She bit her lip, reflected a moment, and attempted a +flank movement.</p> +<p>“My name is Marion Gaylord.”</p> +<p>“I knew that.”</p> +<p>“But you have never seen me before!”</p> +<p>“No. But that’s one of Huntington’s horses, and +Miss Gaylord is a guest at his house. You see, I am +more courteous than you after all. I answer your questions.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps I’ll answer yours when I know what right +you have to ask them.”</p> +<p>A light began to dawn upon him.</p> +<p>“Do you mean––you don’t know where you are?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>He gave her a long, searching look before he spoke +again.</p> +<p>“My name is Philip Haig,” he said, leaning forward +with a curious smile.</p> +<p>The result was all that he could have wished for. +Until that moment she had remained seated, firm in her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +determination not to be disturbed by him. But now +she rose slowly to her feet, her face reddening, her lips +parted, a frightened look in her eyes. The shoe was on +the other foot, with a vengeance.</p> +<p>He saw all this, and without compunction, seized his +advantage. With a grim smile he threw the reins over +the pony’s head, swung himself out of the saddle, and +stepped toward her. As he came on he removed his +dilapidated hat with a gesture that made her forget it +was dilapidated,––a mocking, insolent gesture though it +was. In spite of her embarrassment she let none of his +features escape her quickening interest. She saw that +he was tall, erect, alert; handsome in some strange and +half-repellent way, with his pale dark face, rather long +in contour, and with his black, curly hair matted on the +broad forehead. But she almost recoiled when, on his +drawing nearer, she saw for the first time––it had been +hidden by the shadow of his slouched hat––an ugly scar +that ran from the outer corner of his left eye down to the +jawbone below the ear. It gave to one side of his face a +singularly sinister expression that vanished when he +turned and disclosed a profile that was not without +nobility and charm.</p> +<p>Then suddenly her mystification was complete. +Their eyes met, not as before, but very near, so close had +he come to her, still smiling. And instantly, instinctively, +she lowered hers; for she felt as if she had been +caught peering through a window at something she had +no right to see. Yet the next instant she was looking +again, half-guiltily, but irresistibly drawn. The eyes +were of a curious color,––smoky black, or dark gray-blue, +or somber purple,––liquid and deep like a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +woman’s, but with a steady, dull glow in their depths +that was unlike anything she had ever seen or imagined. +What was it that burned there? Suffering? Hunger? +Evil? Sorrow? Shame? It gave her something to +think about for many a day and night. Meanwhile––</p> +<p>“I see you have heard of me,” he said mockingly.</p> +<p>She had no reply. She was realizing slowly that she +had trespassed, that she had perhaps seriously compromised +her cousin, and, most humiliating of all, that she +had assumed quite the wrong attitude toward the man.</p> +<p>“You really didn’t know you were on my land?” he +demanded, with a little less offensiveness in his tone.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered weakly.</p> +<p>“And Huntington didn’t send you here?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“I believe you, of course. But it’s rather queer. +How did you happen––if you don’t mind––”</p> +<p>She did not mind in the least––was eager, indeed, to +explain her presence there.</p> +<p>“I’m just learning to ride,” she began impulsively.</p> +<p>“This was my first venture off the valley road, and +I––”</p> +<p>“And you came straight to me!” he exclaimed, +chuckling.</p> +<p>At that a strange thing happened. He had meant +only that she, the guest and cousin of Seth Huntington, +his bitter foe, had blundered straight into the camp of +the enemy; and that was a rare joke on Huntington. +But she was a girl; her little adventure was already rosy +with romance; and the effect of his careless speech was +as if he had looked into her heart, and read aloud for +her something she had not known was there. To his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +surprise and wonder the girl’s fair face turned red to the +roots of her tawny hair, and a look of helpless confusion +came into the clear, blue eyes that until now, for all +her embarrassment, had frankly met his own. She +looked suddenly away from him.</p> +<p>“You make me ashamed,” she said at length, stealing +a look at him.</p> +<p>“If you know anything about my difficulty with +Huntington,” he began, “you’ll understand that––”</p> +<p>“I do. I do understand!” she interrupted eagerly. +“I don’t know much about it––the trouble. They +haven’t told me. I’ve only overheard some talk––and +I didn’t ask. I rode down the valley this morning trying +to do it like a cowboy. And there was a branch road––and +then the break in the fence––and before I knew +it I’d fallen asleep. That’s all––except––” She shot +a half-mischievous glance at him “––you spoiled a very +beautiful dream.”</p> +<p>But this was all lost upon him. His face was clouding +again.</p> +<p>“Where is it––the break in the fence?”</p> +<p>Chagrined at the failure of her bit of coquetry, she +merely pointed in the direction whence she had come.</p> +<p>“Thank you!” he said. “At last!”</p> +<p>With that he went swiftly to his pony, mounted, and +started to ride away. But suddenly he reined up again, +whirled his horse savagely around, and faced Marion +with the sunlight full upon the scarred side of his face, +now ugly with menace.</p> +<p>“If that fence has been cut,” he said, in a hard and +level tone, “it’s been cut by Huntington or his men. +You tell him for me, please––and you’ll be doing <i>him</i> a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +favor not to forget it––tell him that he’s a fool to anger +me. I’ve been very patient in this business, but I don’t +claim patience as one of my virtues. Do you hear? +Tell him he’s a fool to anger me!”</p> +<p>She watched him gallop to the gap in the barb-wire +fence; she watched him dismount to examine the severed +wires; she watched him leap on his horse again, and ride +furiously down the road until he was lost to view below +the dip in the slope toward the valley. And still for +some minutes she stood staring at the place where he +had disappeared. Then, left alone with her pent-up +emotions, she no longer resisted them. Tears of vexation +started in her eyes; chagrin, resentment, anger +swept over her in turn. She dug the heel of one small +boot into the unoffending soil––his soil––and thrust +her clenched hands down at her side.</p> +<p>“Oh! Oh! Oh!” she cried, over and over again, striding +forward and back across some yards of pasture, +trampling lilies and harebells under her heedless feet, +turning her flaming face at intervals toward the spot in +the smiling landscape that had last held the figure of +Philip Haig.</p> +<p>The shame of it! She had never––never––never +been treated so outrageously. It was unendurable––and +she had endured it! She flung herself down on +the ground and wept.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Marion was now facing life alone. Her nearest +remaining relative was her cousin, Claire Huntington. +Her mother––a Southern girl who might have stepped +out of a panel by Fragonard, so fine and soft and Old-World-like +was her beauty––had died when she was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +still a child. Her father, Doctor Gaylord, was the +antithesis of the sprite-like creature he had married,––a +big, athletic, outdoor sort of man, with truly violent red +hair and beard, whose favorite expression about himself +had been that a very capable pirate had been sacrificed +to make a tolerable physician. But he had prospered +in his profession; and then had died with amazing +suddenness, leaving his estate in an almost hopeless +mess.</p> +<p>Robert Hillyer had tackled the problem,––Robert, +the alert, the busy, the supremely confident, the typical +money-getter of the money-worshipping metropolis. He +had long been deeply in love with Marion, but he had not +made great headway in his suit, despite the advantage +of Doctor Gaylord’s approval. Now, having saved +enough out of the estate (for so he said, though he never +told Marion the details of that miracle) to provide her +with an income barely sufficient to keep her in comfort +but not in the luxury to which she had been accustomed, +he plainly expected his reward. And this was to +Marion an intolerable situation. She did not love Robert. +She liked him, admired him, trusted him; no more. +Knowing her father’s wishes, she saw the way marked +straight before her; for Robert already had wealth, and +could and would give her all the material things she +desired. Time and again she was on the point of yielding, +but something checked her, held her back, as if a +voice had whispered in her ear, and strong arms had +seized her. She grew restless, discontented, melancholy. +And suddenly, on a moment’s inspiration, the +strangest impulse she had ever known, she had revolted +and fled from the scene of her unhappiness, telling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +Robert (by letter) only that she must have time to +think, and that for six months he must leave her to +herself. She had fled to Claire, that cousin on her +father’s side, who some years before, to the wonder and +chagrin of many Gaylords east and west,––to all except +the Viking physician, who had rejoiced in her spirit,––had +eloped with a cowboy, since turned successful cattleman, +whom she had met at the Denver Carnival. Ten +days now had Marion been in Paradise Park, rejoicing +in her freedom, rejoicing in the half-wild life, rejoicing +in the tonic air and the tonic beauty of this Rocky Mountain +valley, shut in, isolated, and so aptly named. And +only to-day had there come any emotions that disturbed +her peace.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When she looked up again her eyes were sharply +arrested by a scene that seemed curiously to picture her +own mood. Far up at the head of the valley a cloud that +was scarcely heavier than a mist came stealing out of a +gulch to take its shining way along the range of mountains. +Dropping in its flight a shower as light as a +bridal veil, it sped glistening across the face of mountain +after mountain, softening the stark grays and reds, while +above it the peaks gleamed white. On and on it came +until at last it arrived at the mouth of a deep, dark gorge +in the side of a mountain that, in its strange and forbidding +aspect, differed notably from all the others in the +majestic range. There it paused as if arrested by some +stern command, hung for a moment in palpable agitation, +and was swiftly swallowed up in the gorge. And +again she had a vague and uneasy feeling, as she had +when first she saw it, that Thunder Mountain,––but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +she could not fit that feeling into thought, could find no +words to frame it. Yet she was fascinated.</p> +<p>It was half-hidden now in surging, black storm-clouds, +while all the sharp and snow-clad peaks around it glittered +in the sun. Even in those rare moments when it +was freed from clouds and mists it stood alone in its +peculiar grandeur. Unlike all the others it wore no +diadem of snow. Some terrible convulsion of nature, +some cataclysm at its birth or in the fiery days of its +youth, had left it bald-headed, ugly, and deformed. But +for that catastrophe it would have been far loftier than +any of its fellows; and even now the hunchback towered +among them, its flat head level with their pointed peaks, +the most conspicuous figure in the imposing pageant +raised against the western sky.</p> +<p>And its deformity was not the whole of its misfortune. +It bore the brunt of every tempest that broke upon that +massive barrier of mountains. Its granite head was the +very breeding-place of storms. The peaks around it had +their days of calm, but Thunder Mountain never. An +hour or two perhaps––no more. It knew no peace. +The elements were, and are now, and forever will be +quarreling upon its worn and battered head; lightning +and rain and snow and wind are forever hammering and +beating it turn by turn. It is the Quasimodo and the +Lear and the Gray Friar of mountains, all in one. And +if, on some still and perfect day, its tonsured head +emerges from the clouds, the watcher in the Park has +but to turn his head a moment, and look again, and lo! +it wears its gray cowl as before, and stoops growling and +grumbling under its endless punishment.</p> +<p>Suddenly, as Marion looked, the silence was rudely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +shattered. Roll on roll of thunder swept across the valley, +crashed against the hills, rebounded from wall to +wall of mountains, until all the Park was filled with the +sullen bellowing. And then, amid all the tumult, +Marion heard something more,––a voice that mingled +with the voice of the mountain, and thrilled her while it +filled her with a singular disquietude. She had dismissed +Haig from her thoughts. She was sure of that. +And yet through all the uproar, and in the tense silence +that ensued, she heard his taunting voice:</p> +<p>“And you came straight to me!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_THE_ROAD_TO_PARADISE' id='CHAPTER_II_THE_ROAD_TO_PARADISE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>THE ROAD TO PARADISE</h3> +</div> +<p>The gap in the fence remained exactly as it had been +when it invited her to adventure. But now she +halted there, dismounted, and picked up the end of a +wire that lay trailing on the ground. With new-found +interest she examined the fracture, and stared at it in +wonder. Dropping it, and kneeling excitedly in the +grass, she searched another, and still another wire, and +with the same result. Even to her unpractised eye the +facts were plain: the four wires had not been broken; +they had been cleanly cut, and very recently, as shown +by the absence of rust on the severed ends. By whom? +And why? Seth Huntington, Haig had said. Impossible! +Absurd! True, she had heard Seth denouncing +him; Claire also; and without knowing the cause of the +feud, or caring, she had learned that Huntington and +Haig were bitterly at odds about something,––cattle, she +thought, or was it land? But that Seth could have +stooped to the low trick implied in these cut wires! +And yet––</p> +<p>She looked down the half-made road by which Haig +had disappeared. It was quite empty now, save for +Tuesday and herself. Nor was there sight of man or +beast in all the valley. Haig’s cattle, like Seth’s and +the other ranchmen’s, were grazing in the summer +pastures, no doubt in little shut-in valleys far up among +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +the pines yonder, where the violet mists were deepening.</p> +<p>She mounted her horse again, and rode slowly up the +hill. But just where the road entered the woods at the +summit of the ridge she stopped once more, and turned +for a last look at her lost valley. Her gaze swept it +lovingly from where, at her left, the long ridge shut off +the view, to where, far at her right, the valley narrowed +into a pine-screened gulch; and back again almost to the +spot where the road dipped and disappeared. There +her eyes were suddenly caught by something she had not +seen before,––a thin spiral of blue smoke that mounted +slowly until it was struck and dissipated by the breeze +from across the ridge. Haig’s ranchhouse, surely, nestling +below the hill! The house would be visible, +doubtless, from the place where Haig had vanished from +her sight. What would it be like? she wondered.</p> +<p>The next instant she had pulled her pony half-around +toward the valley. But Tuesday turned his head, and +looked at her; and she felt the blood rushing into her +face.</p> +<p>“Go on, Tuesday!” she cried, jerking him back into +the road. “What are you doing?”</p> +<p>She rode on into the pines, embarrassed beyond all +belief.</p> +<p>In a few minutes she had emerged again from the +woods, descended the hill, and regained the main-traveled +road along the Brightwater. Still she rode +slowly, forgetting that she had learned at last to ride +like a cowboy. She was reluctant to return to Huntington’s, +reluctant to relate her experiences as she had +always related them until to-day. Haig had sent a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +warning to Huntington. It was her duty to deliver it. +But how could she tell just so much and no more? +There would be questions. She would be cross-examined, +kindly enough but relentlessly. And in some +strange way this meeting had become a private matter; +Haig’s warning was inextricably mixed with other things +that did not concern Huntington. Just what these +were, and why they were so very private, she could not +quite explain to herself; and for the moment she did not +try. They were things to be thought about later, when +she could think more clearly. She knew only that she +should never be able to endure either the banter or the +disapproval of Huntington. What did Claire see in +him anyhow,––the soft and sensitive Claire, with her +blue eyes and her pretty face always upturned so trustfully +to him? For the first time she realized that she +had distrusted Seth from the beginning.</p> +<p>In the midst of these confused and disconcerting +thoughts, she became aware that she was no longer alone +in the highway. Slowly as she rode, she was steadily +overtaking a group of horsemen that appeared to be in +difficulties. At intervals there was a commotion in the +group, and clouds of dust from time to time concealed +it from her sight. She reined up Tuesday, and hesitated, +having had her fill of adventure for one day. +Then, as the men seemed to be quite oblivious to her +presence, and deeply absorbed in their own affair, curiosity +drew her onward; and all her scruples were +forgotten when she had ridden near enough to see the +cause of the disturbance.</p> +<p>Three men on cow ponies were leading, driving, and +avoiding a fourth horse, which was not a cow pony by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +any possible extension of the word. This horse, which +wore neither saddle nor bridle, but only a rope around +his neck, maintained an almost uninterrupted struggle +with his guards. At the first near glimpse she caught +of him through the dust, Marion uttered an exclamation +of surprise and admiration. He was larger than the +ponies ridden by the men, larger than any cow pony, +yet not a big horse measured by any standard with which +she was familiar. His lines were like those of a thoroughbred, +and in his movements, for all his fury, there +was a lightness, a daintiness, an eloquence that suggested +nothing so much as the airy grace of a young girl +skipping and dancing across a playground.</p> +<p>But it was his color especially that drew the cry from +Marion’s lips. This was pale yellow, not the cream color +of the familiar buckskin breed, but something golden; +of a brilliant luster like gold leaf, but softer; rather +like cloth-of-gold, with a living, quivering sheen. All +the horse’s body was of this uniform, strange tint, but +his mane and tail were a dull, tawny yellow deepening +at the extremities into the hue of rusty gold. Though +his hide was streaked with the sweat of his rebellion, +and caked in places with the dust of the long road he +had come, and welted by the whips of his tormentors, +the color and the gloss shone out as undimmed as his +proud spirit was undaunted by the hard knocks of his +captivity.</p> +<p>The three men clearly were hard pressed. Their +faces were coated thick with dust; their eyes were red-rimmed, +bulging, and bloodshot; their movements were +heavy with fatigue. Scarcely a sound escaped their lips +as they watched for every fresh manœuver of their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +prisoner, and fought doggedly to gain a yard or two +along the road. In the silence and intensity of the +struggle there was something savage, elemental, and +incomparable, heightened by the extraordinary beauty +of the animal and the uncouth appearance of the men. +Between them, the captive and his captors, Marion’s +sympathy was about equally divided. At every gallant +sally made by the horse her heart leaped, and she hoped +instinctively that he would go free. But then, the next +instant, she was thrilled by the bold and shrewd counter-play +of the cow-punchers that blocked the horse’s +strategy.</p> +<p>Marion had scarcely comprehended all this, and imperfectly, +when a terrifying thing occurred. The +golden horse seemed to have paused and gathered all +his forces for an effort that should make his best +previous performance look like the silly antics of a colt. +Suddenly, and without any warning manœuver, he +charged the full length of his rope straight at the man +who held it coiled in his hand, with the end looped +around the horn of his saddle. At the final bound, he +reared as if to fall upon the cowboy and mangle him with +his forefeet. But instead of finishing this attack, he +whirled on his hind legs with incredible swiftness; and +before the man could gather up the slack of the rope, or +brace himself for the shock, the wild horse dashed across +the road with all the strength and fury there was in him.</p> +<p>Marion screamed, and closed her eyes. There were +dreadful sounds of falling bodies, of bodies dragged on +the ground, with grunts and groans and smothered +cries. Then silence. When she dared to look she could +see at first only a welter of men and horses half-hidden +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +by the dust. Near her lay the gold horse with his head +twisted backward by the taut rope, which choked him +until his eyes bulged, and foam dripped from his lips. +The man who had held the lariat lay half under his +fallen pony, whose efforts to rise were checked by the +tightened rope still tied to the saddlebow. The two +other men were on their feet, one clutching the straightened +halter, the second deftly slipping a lariat around +the prisoner’s pawing hind legs.</p> +<p>It was all over in a minute. The taut rope was cut +near the saddle of the fallen pony, which then scrambled +to its feet; the leader rose, shook himself, and proceeded +phlegmatically to adjust the turned saddle, and to climb +stiffly into it; the leading-rope was passed to him again, +the second lariat was loosed from the outlaw’s feet, +permitting him to rise; the other men remounted; and +the procession moved on again in silence, scarcely a word +having been spoken from the time the horse made his +mad charge for liberty. And now he seemed to have +had enough of the conflict, for he stepped forward +obediently and, Marion fancied, as demurely as a child +that has finished a naughty tantrum.</p> +<p>Then at last there was speech. One of the men had +dropped back a few paces to be in the rear of the +prisoner. He sat heavily in the saddle, leaning forward +as if he would fall on the pony’s neck. But his eyes +never left the golden horse, and when he spoke it was +not to the girl, who had ridden close up to his side, but +to himself, in a kind of hoarse and guttural soliloquy.</p> +<p>“But he ain’t done. He’s foolin’,” the man said +again and again, as if he had started the words and +could not stop them. “He ain’t done. He’s foolin’.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span></div> +<p>Marion looked at him curiously. He was the typical +cow-puncher, in blue flannel shirt and leather chaps, +with the inevitable revolver hanging loosely at his hip, +and a long quirt suspended from his right wrist. The +dust on his face was stained with blood that had flowed +from a raw bruise on his temple, and Marion now noticed +that his left arm hung limp at his side.</p> +<p>“You’re hurt!” she said softly.</p> +<p>The man turned, and stared at her blankly, and she +saw that his face was distorted into a set expression of +pain.</p> +<p>“Arm busted,” he said, after a moment, as if surprised +by her question; and then renewed his watch.</p> +<p>“How did it happen?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Throwed me.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean you tried to ride him!”</p> +<p>“Jerked me. Th’ man ain’t born’t c’n ride ’im.”</p> +<p>“You were leading him?”</p> +<p>“No, just thought I was,” he said grimly. “He +drug me.”</p> +<p>“When was that?”</p> +<p>“This morning––about seven miles back.”</p> +<p>“Where did he come from?”</p> +<p>“San Luis.”</p> +<p>“Where is that, please?”</p> +<p>“Over yander,” he answered, nodding toward the +western mountains.</p> +<p>Marion stared.</p> +<p>“You haven’t brought him over the mountains!”</p> +<p>“’Round by Pinto Pass, an’ up through the canyon.”</p> +<p>“I’ve never seen a horse like that before,” she said, +after a brief silence.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span></div> +<p>“Nor anybody else has,” he replied, with a note of +pride.</p> +<p>“But he’s no cow pony––surely.”</p> +<p>“You ain’t never heard o’ Sunnysides?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>He looked at her curiously.</p> +<p>“Of course not,” he said apologetically. “You’re +f’m the city. East, maybe?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m from New York.”</p> +<p>“Then it’s natch’ral. Everybody in these parts has +heard o’ Sunnysides, though it’s not many that’s seen +him.”</p> +<p>“Please tell me about him.”</p> +<p>The man’s eyes brightened a little.</p> +<p>“He’s got some strange blood in him,” he began. +“Nobody knows what it is, but th’ ain’t another one o’ +that color, nor his devil spirit, in the whole bunch. The +rest of ’em’s just ordinary wild horses runnin’ up an’ +down the sandhills of the San Luis. There’s people’t +say he’s a ghost horse. Fact! An’ they say’t he’ll +never stay caught. I don’t know. It’s certain’t he’s +been caught three times,––not countin’ the times cow-punchers +an’ others has thought they’d caught him, but +hadn’t. The first time he was caught actual he broke +out o’ the strongest corral in the San Luis––at night––an’ +nobody sees hide nor hair of ’im––not so much as a +flicker o’ yellow in the moonlight. An’ back he was, +headin’ the herd again.</p> +<p>“Nex’ time Thad Brinker ropes him. Thad’s the +topnotch cow-puncher between the Black Hills an’ the +Rio Grande, an’ he comes all the way f’m Dakoty when +he hears the yarn about Sunnysides. Thad gits fourteen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +men to help him round up the bunch, an’ then he ropes +the gold feller after a fight that’s talked about yit in the +San Luis. He ropes him. An’ then what does Brinker +do?”</p> +<p>He looked at Marion as if he dared her to make as +many guesses as she wished. She shook her head.</p> +<p>“You ain’t the only one that’d never hit it,” he went +on with satisfaction. “Thad ropes him, an’ while they +lay there restin’, Sunnysides all tied up so he can’t move, +an’ Brinker rubbin’ some bumps he’d come by in the +fracas, just then the red comes up onto Sangre de +Cristo. Brinker sees it––Ever seen the sunset color +on Sangre de Cristo? No? That’s a pity, Miss. Indeed, +that’s a pity. But you’re f’m Noo York, you +said.”</p> +<p>He paused again, and Marion began to realize the full +degree of her provinciality and ignorance. She was +from New York. What a pity!</p> +<p>“Well,” said the cowboy, as if resolved to do the best +he could in the circumstances, “sometimes––maybe +three or four times a year––it’s weird. It’s religious. +The white peaks turn red as blood––that’s why they’re +called Sangre de Cristo. It’s Spanish for Blood of +Christ. It makes you feel queer-like”––He paused a +moment thoughtfully, watching the golden horse as it +stepped quietly, lightly, with head high, just ahead of +them. “The red comes onto Sangre de Cristo, an’ +Brinker sees it. He looks at the blood on the peaks, an’ +then at the gold horse lyin’ there all torn an’ dirty, an’ +this is what Brinker does, an’ maybe he couldn’t help it. +He ups an’ cuts the ropes, an’ Sunnysides’s off to his +waitin’ bunch, an’ they all go snortin’ down the valley.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span></div> +<p>There was a touch of awe in the man’s voice, and +Marion felt a little of it too. She looked toward the +serrated barrier of mountains, in the very middle of +which stood old Thunder under his pall of cloud. Beyond +lay San Luis––Sangre de Cristo––and what +romance! Would she ever––Her eyes rested for a +moment on the black pile that now, as always, fascinated +and yet disturbed her.</p> +<p>“And you?” she said at length, turning to the cowboy.</p> +<p>“There wasn’t no red sunset this time,” the man +answered, with a grim smile. “But we ain’t slep’ +since,” he added, with a return of weariness.</p> +<p>“You caught him?” she asked admiringly.</p> +<p>“Us three.”</p> +<p>“But what are you doing with him here?”</p> +<p>“He’s sold, if we c’n find the man’t offered a thousand +for him a year ago.”</p> +<p>“Who was he?”</p> +<p>But she knew already. Some swift flash of intuition +told her there was but one man in Paradise Park who––</p> +<p>“His name’s Haig, an’ he’s––”</p> +<p>“Philip Haig!” she murmured.</p> +<p>“You know him?”</p> +<p>“Yes––no. That is, I’ve heard of him.”</p> +<p>It was on her lips,––the explanation that the men +had passed the branch road leading to Haig’s ranch, +that they were now riding away from it. But she hesitated. +And why? She did not know then; but an hour +later she would be reproaching herself bitterly for that +moment’s indecision. The words were almost spoken, +but something checked them; and before she could make +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +up her mind to follow her first natural impulse it was +too late.</p> +<p>The leader of the party turned in his saddle, and +called to the man at Marion’s side, who rode quickly +forward and joined his companions. There was a conversation +inaudible to her ears, and while she still +pondered over her inexplicable hesitation the cowboys +and the golden horse, followed by Marion, approached +the group of squat, unpainted houses that bore without +apology the name of Paradise.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_SETH_HUNTINGTONS_OPPORTUNITY' id='CHAPTER_III_SETH_HUNTINGTONS_OPPORTUNITY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>SETH HUNTINGTON’S OPPORTUNITY</h3> +</div> +<p>It was Thursday, the one day of the week when Paradise +needed no apologist. For on Thursdays the +stage arrived from Tellurium, bringing the mail and, +now and then, a passenger, and always a whiff of the +outside world. No resident of Paradise Park would +willingly have missed the arrival of the stage; and on +this occasion fully two-thirds of the male population, +with nine-tenths of the female, had already assembled. +But the stage was not due for an hour or more. The +women bargained and gossiped in Thompson’s store; +the men, most of them, were gathered around a stiff +game of freeze-out in the Square Deal Saloon; and only +the score or more of saddle horses hitched in front of the +store, and the dozen or so of buckboards and road +wagons parked in the rear of it, showed that Paradise +was in its weekly state of mild and patient expectancy.</p> +<p>So the three cow-punchers, the yellow horse, and +Marion rode into Paradise without being seen or heard, +and halted in front of the post-office.</p> +<p>“Hal-lo! Hallo!” sang out the leader of the cowboys. +And then, with the petulance of one that is “all in”: +“Is this a dam’ graveyard?”</p> +<p>A thin man in his shirt sleeves, with a whisky glass +in one hand and a towel in the other, came to the door +of the Square Deal Saloon. His pallid face had the look +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +of settled weariness that is characteristic of keepers of +such oases. Slavin had never, within the recollection of +the oldest frequenter of his establishment, betrayed the +slightest interest in anything. If there was a certain +change in his expression as he looked out between narrowed +eyelids into the garish sunlight it was one indicative +of mild resentment at having been disturbed in +his methodic occupation behind the bar. He saw with +neither interest nor anticipation the three strangers, +who ought to have had enough sense to dismount and +walk in if they wanted anything.</p> +<p>“Well,” he began in a drawling and sarcastic tone, +“what––”</p> +<p>It probably would have been a cautious and covered +insult to the presumed intelligence of the strangers, if +he had finished the question. But it died away on his +thin lips. His fishy, blue eyes had caught at last the +gleam of Sunnysides, half in eclipse behind the dull-hued +cow ponies. For a few seconds he stared, while +his mouth stood open, and his features slowly responded +to the first emotion he had felt in years.</p> +<p>“Hell’s bobcats!” he yelled.</p> +<p>The glass slipped from his hand, and fell tinkling in +pieces on the floor as he lunged out into the road.</p> +<p>In the saloon there was a moment of tense silence +as the men there slowly realized that a phenomenon +had occurred. Slavin was excited! The silence was +followed by a hubbub of raised voices and a racket of +overturned chairs and the scrape and thud of boots on +the sanded floor. At that instant a woman in a pink +calico dress, drawn by Slavin’s yell, came to the door of +Thompson’s, and promptly screeched. The poker game +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +was never finished; Thompson’s trade was ruined for the +day; and the strange group in the roadway became the +center of a jostling, uproarious crowd of men and +women, who alternately bombarded the three cow-punchers +with questions and stared at Sunnysides in +silent wonder. But they were careful to maintain a +respectful distance between themselves and the formidable +captive, though he stood motionless amid all the +uproar, like a golden statue of a horse, with his head +raised proudly, his yellow-black eyes flashing defiance +and suspicion, and his lustrous hide gleaming in the sun.</p> +<p>Marion’s enjoyment of this exciting scene was tinged +with a vague uneasiness. She had watched the men +come tumbling out of the Square Deal Saloon and the +women swarming from Thompson’s store, and had felt +a curious relief at seeing neither Seth nor Claire among +them. Though she could not have given any reason for +her satisfaction, their absence, and Seth’s especially, +seemed to her a piece of rare good fortune. Haig’s +warning––“Tell him he’s a fool to anger me!”––was +still echoing at the back of her brain; her recent act of +incomprehensible errancy still troubled and perplexed +her; and try as she would, she was unable to suppress +the feeling that she had become inextricably entangled +in the feud between Haig and Huntington. She was +not yet ready to face Huntington. Thank Heaven, he +was not there!</p> +<p>But at the very instant of her self-congratulation, and +when she was just turning her attention again to the +hubbub around the golden outlaw, her eye was suddenly +caught, across the heads of the crowd, by a figure that +caused her to stiffen in the saddle.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></div> +<p>“Seth!” she gasped.</p> +<p>He came striding rapidly from the direction of the +blacksmith’s, the most distant of the group of buildings,––a +large and heavy but well-built man, whose black, +short-cropped beard and bushy, overhanging eyebrows +gave him a somewhat truculent expression, which was +heightened by his rough and domineering demeanor. +He was better dressed, or more carefully at least, than +any of the other men. He wore a coat and trousers of +dark-brown corduroy, a light-gray flannel shirt with a +flowing black tie, and a wide-brimmed Stetson hat. His +belt, under the unbuttoned coat, was of elaborately +stamped leather, with a pocket at one side from which a +heavy, gold watch chain was looped to a silver ring, and +with an ornate holster at the other where the black butt +of a revolver was visible as he moved.</p> +<p>He shouldered his way through the crowd in the heedless +manner of most bulky men, who seldom realize how +much space they take that properly belongs to others. +At six feet from the golden horse he halted, and surveyed +him with shining eyes.</p> +<p>“Sunnysides, eh?” he said, turning toward the nearest +of the strangers.</p> +<p>“The’s only one,” replied the cow-puncher.</p> +<p>“Who caught him this time?”</p> +<p>“Us three. That’s Jim Raley, with the busted arm. +That other is Jud Smith, My name’s Larkin. We +belong to the X bar O outfit on Lost Soldier Creek.”</p> +<p>“Second outfit below Forty-Mile,” said Huntington, +familiarly.</p> +<p>“Right!”</p> +<p>“Sanders still foreman?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></div> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then what are you doing with that horse up here?”</p> +<p>The cow-puncher grinned.</p> +<p>“I ketch your meanin’,” he replied. “It’s like this. +Sanders chased Sunnysides three seasons, an’ thought +he’d roped him. But all he gits ’s a cracked leg, an’ +not a yeller hair of the slippery beast. Then us three +takes on the job––not presumin’ to be better’n Sanders, +but hopin’ for luck. It comes our way, an’ there +you are. We offer him to Sanders––for a price, +natch’rally––but he says he don’t believe in ghosts, an’ +we c’n go to hell with him.”</p> +<p>“You must have missed the road. This is Paradise,” +said Huntington.</p> +<p>The crowd roared its appreciation.</p> +<p>“The’ ain’t much in names,” observed Larkin testily.</p> +<p>The crowd laughed again, though, of course, less +heartily.</p> +<p>“Well, Heaven or Hell,” said Huntington, “is the +horse for sale?”</p> +<p>“He is––if he ain’t sold already.”</p> +<p>“How’s that?”</p> +<p>“We’re offered a price for him––if it still holds +good. That’s why we’ve come to Paradise––an’ no +other reason, believe me!”</p> +<p>“How much?”</p> +<p>“Thousand.”</p> +<p>There was a stir in the crowd.</p> +<p>“That’s some price for a bronco,” said Huntington, +with an assumed indifference.</p> +<p>“It sure is––if you’re talkin’ about a <i>bronco</i>,” retorted +the cow-puncher.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></div> +<p>There was a brief silence, in which all eyes were +turned again upon the golden horse, standing motionless +but alert, as if keenly alive to all that passed. The common +ponies around him stamped, and champed their +bits, and moved restlessly in their places, but Sunnysides +remained calm and observant, with all the dignity and +contempt of a captive patrician in a crowd of yokels.</p> +<p>Marion saw admiration and desire growing in Seth’s +eyes, and knew that her foreboding had not been without +reason.</p> +<p>“And who’s paying a thousand dollars for him?” +asked Huntington.</p> +<p>“Haig’s his name, Philip Haig,” answered Larkin. +“Know him?”</p> +<p>If Larkin had been a little nettled by the levity of the +Paradisians he now had his revenge, though much to his +surprise, in the extraordinary effect produced by his +simple announcement. The smiles faded from the faces +assembled around him; significant glances were exchanged; +and there followed a silence so deep that the +murmur of the Brightwater could be heard quite clearly +across the meadows. Then there was a rustling movement +in the crowd, and every face, as if by a common +impulse, or at a given signal, was turned toward Huntington.</p> +<p>Marion was not sure of the feelings of the others, but +there could be no mistake in what she read in Huntington’s +black countenance. She was not only frightened, +but surprised and pained. For all his coarseness and +crudity, she had until to-day believed him to be innately +gentle, with only a rough and ungracious exterior. She +had seen him always tender with Claire, whom undoubtedly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +he loved with all the best there was in him. But +now she perceived the other side of his character, which +she had indeed divined at first, but which she had firmly, +on account of Claire, refused to acknowledge. An unworthy +passion glowed in his eyes; his features were +distorted by an expression of mingled cunning and hate; +and his head somehow seemed to sink lower between his +shoulders as he leaned slightly forward, studying the +face of the cow-puncher. Then swiftly he took himself +in hand, and masked his passions under an air of careless +badinage that was, for the moment, suited to his +purpose.</p> +<p>“But I don’t just understand,” he drawled insinuatingly. +“Haig hasn’t been away from the Park lately––unless +he’s gone an’ come by night.”</p> +<p>A snicker or two, and one loud guffaw rewarded him +for this insult to his absent foe. But Marion felt the +color rising to her cheeks.</p> +<p>“It’s a year ago he’s seen him, ’way off, shinin’ in +the sun,” explained Larkin. “He stops at the X bar O, +an’ says he’ll give a thousand for him.”</p> +<p>“So that’s all you’ve got to go on, is it?” sneered +Huntington.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Larkin uneasily.</p> +<p>“An’ you think he’ll make good, do you?”</p> +<p>“If a man’s word ain’t good he don’t stay in this +country long, does he?”</p> +<p>“That’s right––he won’t stay long!” replied Huntington, +with a savage laugh.</p> +<p>“You mean to say––” queried Larkin pointedly, +leaning across the neck of his pony, and looking keenly +into Huntington’s eyes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></div> +<p>“Nothing,” answered Huntington, lifting his huge +shoulders.</p> +<p>“That’s sayin’ a lot an’ sayin’ nothing,” retorted +Larkin.</p> +<p>“You’ll know more when you try to collect that +thousand.”</p> +<p>“All right,” responded Larkin, gathering up the reins +as if to terminate the interview. “Where’s his place––if +it ain’t a secret?”</p> +<p>“It’s over beyond that ridge,” said Huntington, +pointing toward the west. “You go back about +three miles the way you came, an’ there’s a branch +road––”</p> +<p>“Hell!” snorted the cowboy whose arm hung limp +at his side.</p> +<p>The three men exchanged glances. They were very +weary; they had used almost the last of their powers to +bring the outlaw this far; and they were plainly reluctant +to undertake another tussle with the tireless +animal, now ready, without doubt, to renew his struggle +for liberty.</p> +<p>Huntington watched them narrowly.</p> +<p>“I’m all in!” grumbled Raley.</p> +<p>“You look it,” said Huntington. Then he added +lightly: “Still, you ought to fetch up at Haig’s place +before morning.”</p> +<p>Marion felt disgust and resentment rising in her at +this misrepresentation of the distance to Haig’s ranch. +Whatever Haig had done, this was cowardly and unfair. +She looked eagerly at the other men, expecting to hear +some one correct the gross exaggeration. But the faces +were all blank, and no one spoke.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></div> +<p>Something like a groan escaped from the lips of the +injured cowboy. He looked as if he might tumble from +the saddle at any instant.</p> +<p>“Sure we can!” said Larkin doggedly. “Come, +men! Let’s move on.”</p> +<p>“Well, good luck!” said Huntington carelessly. +And then, as if on second thought: “But see here! +You fellows look all right to me, and if Haig’s changed +his mind, or hasn’t got the cash handy, bring the horse +back here, and I’ll talk business with you.”</p> +<p>“Talk business now!” Smith blurted out, averting +his eyes from Larkin.</p> +<p>“Very well. I’ll give you five hundred for him––if +you don’t want to go any farther. He ain’t worth it, +but he’s a kind of a curiosity, and––”</p> +<p>“That ain’t talkin’ business worth a dam’!” cried +Larkin. “Come along, men!”</p> +<p>He turned his pony’s head, and took a fresh grip on +the halter that held the prisoner. Smith moved also, +though slowly, but Raley did not budge.</p> +<p>“I’m damned if I go any further!” he growled.</p> +<p>Smith stopped, and looked uncertainly from Raley to +Larkin, from Larkin to Huntington, who was studying +him craftily.</p> +<p>“The five hundred isn’t wind,” said Huntington +sneeringly. “It’s over there in Thompson’s safe, if +you want it.”</p> +<p>“We’ll see Haig first,” said Larkin, compressing his +lips, and speaking more to his companions than to +Huntington.</p> +<p>Smith shifted uneasily in his saddle, while Raley +avoided Larkin’s eyes, and looked appealingly at Huntington. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +The ranchman, in his turn, took a sidelong +glance, furtive and questioning, at the faces of his +neighbors. The moment was critical, and much more +was involved in the crisis than the possession of the +golden outlaw. For a long time Huntington had assumed +a certain leadership in the Park, but it had not +always been unquestioned. His qualifications for leadership +were not as apparent to all his neighbors as they +were to himself, and there were some who even resented +his pretensions. Nevertheless he had, in a way, succeeded; +and he had been permitted to represent the +entire valley as far as he liked in the war with Philip +Haig. One and all, indeed, regarded Haig as an +intruder; many of them had more than once threatened +violence against him; and there was not among them +one whom Haig, if he had wanted a defender, could +have counted on. Yet, for all that, Huntington was +practically alone in the depth of his hatred and the violence +of his methods. If Haig had no friends in the +Park, he had only a few, perhaps no more than two or +three, inveterate enemies, of whom Huntington was the +active representative.</p> +<p>Huntington now saw in the faces of the men around +him that they were doubtful of him, and that the time +was opportune to turn their passivity into energetic +support of his plans. Moreover, he had already “put +his foot in it,” had gone too far to withdraw without discredit. +Having openly insulted the absent enemy, and +having clearly revealed his intention to cheat him of this +prize, to weaken now would be to abandon forever all +hope of ascendency. For an instant he regretted what +he had done, and cursed himself under his breath. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +Then, taking a new grip on himself, he returned to the +attack.</p> +<p>“Seven hundred and fifty, then!” he said with a +swagger. “And it’s cash, not words.”</p> +<p>There was a moment of suspense. The three men, +who were moving slowly away, turned in their saddles. +Not a muscle quivered, not a foot stirred in the expectant +crowd. Marion felt that in another minute she would +cry out, shrieking at Seth, shrieking the warning Haig +had sent by her.</p> +<p>“That’s good enough, for me!” declared Raley, throwing +the reins over his pony’s head, and preparing painfully +to dismount.</p> +<p>“No, Jim!” cried Smith. “Let him say a thousand, +an’ I’m with you. ’Tain’t exactly on the square, but +the’s no use killin’ ourselves for––”</p> +<p>His speech was cut short by a shrill cry from a woman +who stood on a horse block at the outer edge of the +crowd.</p> +<p>“Look! Look!” she called, pointing a finger toward +the long white road.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_THE_HIGHEST_BIDDER' id='CHAPTER_IV_THE_HIGHEST_BIDDER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>THE HIGHEST BIDDER</h3> +</div> +<p>Far up the road appeared a little cloud of dust with +a black speck in its center.</p> +<p>A murmur ran through the crowd; a name was passed +from mouth to mouth; and the men nearest Huntington +began to edge away instinctively, leaving a larger and +larger space clear around him and the three cow-punchers.</p> +<p>Marion too looked, and understood. She had not dismounted, +but still sat her pony within ten feet of the +outlaw, at the side of the roadway, in about the middle +of which stood Huntington. With an effort she drew +her eyes away from that ominous black spot in the distance, +and turned toward Seth. A shiver ran through +her body, but her cheeks burned, and there was a voice in +her ears that shouted, “Tell him he’s a fool to anger +me!” For a moment she was on the point of rushing +upon Seth, and shrieking that warning into his face. +But now it was too late.</p> +<p>Like all the others Huntington stood for a few seconds +fascinated by that figure in the puff of dust. And for +just those few seconds there was a certain unsteadiness +in his attitude, irresolution in the black eyes beneath +their bushy brows. But the blue-whiteness under the +dark beard was not the pallor of fear, so called. Seth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +Huntington was as incapable of physical cowardice as +he was of moral courage. He was not afraid of Philip +Haig, but he was dreadfully afraid of being thought +afraid of him. There was yet time to avoid a clash with +Haig, to withdraw from an undertaking in which he +knew he was wholly in the wrong. But he was not equal +to that test of character. He would sooner tackle all the +Haigs in Christendom than face the derision of his +neighbors, whom he had assiduously taught to expect +great things of him on the first occasion. Here was +the occasion; he had seized it, blinded by passion; and +there was no way for him now but to see it through. +He straightened up, and faced the three cow-punchers.</p> +<p>“All right!” he cried defiantly. “It’s a thousand.”</p> +<p>But the three had heard the name murmured by the +crowd, had seen the distant horseman. Larkin was +plainly elated. Raley and Smith, as plainly abashed, +looked this way and that, avoiding the eyes of their +leader, and every other eye as well. Huntington, seeing +the game about to slip from his hands, whirled on his +heel and looked swiftly toward the store.</p> +<p>“Thompson!” he yelled.</p> +<p>“Here!” was the answer, as a small, gray-bearded +man in shirt sleeves advanced a step or two from the +door.</p> +<p>“Fetch me that roll from your safe, will you?”</p> +<p>“Right!”</p> +<p>As Thompson disappeared within the store, Huntington +turned again toward the cowboys.</p> +<p>“A thousand dollars––cash!” he repeated.</p> +<p>Larkin leaned forward on his horse, and looked at him +shrewdly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span></div> +<p>“Seems to me it’s not the horse you’re after so much +as him,” he said, with a grin and a nod toward the +road.</p> +<p>“That’s as may be,” retorted Huntington. “Money +talks.”</p> +<p>“An’ it says mighty funny things sometimes,” replied +Larkin, who now made no concealment of his dislike +of Huntington and his “game.”</p> +<p>“We’ll see!” cried Huntington angrily. “How +does twelve hundred sound to you two?”</p> +<p>He looked steadily at Raley and Smith, who exchanged +glances.</p> +<p>“What’s your awful hurry?” Larkin demanded, in a +drawling tone, but with an anxious eye for the galloping +figure now in plain view. “We’ll give Haig a chance +to bid––eh, men?”</p> +<p>Smith shot an angry but uneasy look at the leader. +Huntington saw it, and guessed that there was more +than weariness and greed in the willingness of Smith +and Raley to combine against Larkin. Probably, he +thought, there had been differences of opinion, disputes +even, on the road to Paradise. He turned impatiently +toward the store.</p> +<p>At that instant Thompson ran out, broke through the +ring of men, and handed a roll of “yellowbacks” to +Huntington, who hurriedly peeled off several of the bills, +and thrust them at arm’s length toward the wavering +cow-punchers.</p> +<p>“Haig talked about a thousand dollars!” he cried. +“There’s fifteen hundred. Do you want it?”</p> +<p>For a moment it was heads or tails. Even Larkin +eyed the money hungrily. Then his teeth clicked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +together, and he turned upon his partners, whose +faces showed plainly the answer that was upon their +lips.</p> +<p>“An’ what’ll you say to <i>him</i>?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“Eighteen hundred!” shouted Huntington.</p> +<p>“That’s good enough for me!” cried Raley. “Say +it, Jud!”</p> +<p>There was a distant thunder of hoofs as Haig’s +horse took the short bridge over the Brightwater. The +crowd backed still farther away from Huntington, who +was again fingering his roll of bills.</p> +<p>“Two thousand!” he roared, shaking the handful +of “yellowbacks” at the wavering Smith.</p> +<p>Raley leaned from his saddle, and grabbed Smith’s +arm.</p> +<p>“Quick, Jud!” he pleaded hotly. “Don’t be a +fool!”</p> +<p>“All right! We’ll take it!” answered Smith.</p> +<p>“No!” said Larkin firmly, pulling his horse around +between Huntington and the two partners.</p> +<p>“Yes!” the two cried out together.</p> +<p>Huntington stepped forward, and thrust both handfuls +of bills almost into Larkin’s face.</p> +<p>“Name your price then!” he bellowed.</p> +<p>Larkin looked at the money,––smelt it,––as he said +afterwards, grimly confessing his weakness at the sight +of more than he could save in years of riding the range +and branding mavericks. If there had been ten seconds +more––</p> +<p>Haig galloped into the crowd, which gave him plenty +of room, and reined up his pony just in front of the +golden outlaw. For some instants he saw only the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +horse; and his eyes kindled. Then he faced the cowboys +and Huntington.</p> +<p>They were fixed in almost the very attitudes in which +he had come upon them. Huntington’s outstretched +hands had indeed fallen to his side, but they still +clutched the crumpled bills. Raley’s blood-stained +face was purple with anger and chagrin, while Smith’s +wore a sullen, hangdog look. As for Larkin, he met +Haig’s questioning scrutiny with a look of mingled triumph +and guilt.</p> +<p>“Well, why don’t you go on?” asked Haig, with a +smile.</p> +<p>There was no response. The silence was again so +complete that the music of the Brightwater was heard +across the meadows.</p> +<p>Haig slowly swept the crowd with an inquiring +glance. All these men were hostile toward him, of +course; but how far would they support Huntington? +No matter! He swung himself suddenly out of the +saddle, and addressed himself to the leader of the cowboys.</p> +<p>“You’re Larkin, aren’t you?” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered the embarrassed cow-puncher.</p> +<p>“And the others are Smith and––”</p> +<p>“Raley,” prompted Larkin.</p> +<p>“And here, of course, is my good friend Huntington, +looking like Fortune with both hands full.”</p> +<p>Several men in the crowd laughed, whereupon Huntington, +who had evidently forgotten the money, made +matters worse for himself by hastily and clumsily +thrusting it into the pockets of his coat, while his face +flushed angrily.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></div> +<p>“That’s right, Cousin Seth,” Haig said lightly. +“You may need it.”</p> +<p>Marion, at these words, quivered with alarm. Was +he going to tell Huntington, there in that crowd, of +the incident in the pasture? His next speech, however, +reassured her.</p> +<p>“Now, Larkin,” he said, “let’s understand things. +That’s my horse, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“That’s what I’ve been sayin’ some time back,” +answered Larkin, in a tone of relief.</p> +<p>“And you, Smith?”</p> +<p>“I suppose so,” was the sullen reply.</p> +<p>“And Raley?”</p> +<p>“No, it ain’t!” answered that one with a sudden +flare-up of courage.</p> +<p>“Then whose horse is it?”</p> +<p>“It belongs to Larkin an’ Smith an’ me.”</p> +<p>“Of course. But why did you bring him to Paradise +Park?”</p> +<p>“To sell him.”</p> +<p>“To whom, please?”</p> +<p>Raley, caught in the trap, looked appealingly toward +Smith, but got no help from him.</p> +<p>“To whom?” repeated Haig sharply.</p> +<p>“To you––if you wanted him!” Raley blurted out +at last.</p> +<p>“If I wanted him!” retorted Haig ironically. “I +bargained for him with you, didn’t I?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” growled Raley.</p> +<p>“And you went and caught him <i>for me</i>?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And you brought him to Paradise Park <i>for me</i>?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></div> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Very well. Don’t be downhearted!” he said cheerfully. +“A good name is more to be desired than great +riches. Isn’t that so, Cousin Seth?”</p> +<p>The ranchman’s face flamed.</p> +<p>“If you’ve got anything to say to me, say it quick!” +he jerked out.</p> +<p>“I have several things to say to you, one at a time,” +replied Haig smoothly. “To begin with, these men +told you the horse was mine, didn’t they?”</p> +<p>“No, they didn’t. They said you’d offered a thousand +dollars for him.”</p> +<p>Haig laughed.</p> +<p>“All right, if that suits you better! They told you +they had brought him here to deliver him to me for a +thousand dollars, and you thought it would be a fine +joke to buy him yourself. Is that it?”</p> +<p>Huntington did not respond to this, but watched +Haig narrowly, a little puzzled by his manner.</p> +<p>“How much did he offer you?” Haig asked Larkin.</p> +<p>“Two thousand dollars––and then he said name our +price.”</p> +<p>Haig whistled.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m damned if you haven’t got some sporting +blood in you!” he said, smiling at Huntington. +“How much was in your roll?”</p> +<p>Huntington’s first impulse was to tell Haig that it +was none of his business. But he was deceived by +Haig’s manner, having expected his enemy to fall upon +him like a thunderbolt. His surprise was shared, indeed, +by most of the men, who had expected gun-play +on the jump. Only Marion, sitting still and watchful +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +on her pony, was not misled. She felt that Haig was +playing with Huntington, and biding his time.</p> +<p>Huntington’s vanity completed his self-delusion.</p> +<p>“Four thousand, two hundred dollars” he replied +boastfully, glancing around at his neighbors.</p> +<p>“Whew!” uttered Haig, between pursed lips. +Then to Larkin: “You were hard pressed, weren’t +you? But never mind, boys, I’ll do better than I promised––and +charge it up to Cousin Seth.”</p> +<p>Another laugh flickered around the crowd. It was +evident that there was no great objection to seeing +Huntington baited.</p> +<p>“My name’s Huntington!” he snorted. “What’s +this damned cousin business, anyhow?”</p> +<p>Haig raised his eyebrows.</p> +<p>“Does it annoy you?” he asked, in a tone of exaggerated +politeness.</p> +<p>Huntington merely glared. He was one of those +self-made wits who enjoy their own jokes immensely +but grumble at plucking barbed shafts out of their own +skins. He began to wish for the thunderbolt.</p> +<p>“But it’s your own fault, you know,” Haig added.</p> +<p>“What in hell are you talking about?” Huntington +growled.</p> +<p>“I’m talking about your last visit to my ranch.”</p> +<p>“My last––What do you mean, damn you!” the +ranchman thundered, his right hand moving to his belt.</p> +<p>There was a hurried movement among those of the +crowd who, absorbed in the dialogue, had half-consciously +crept nearer. But Haig appeared to have +noticed neither Huntington’s motion nor the backing +away of the spectators.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></div> +<p>“And wouldn’t it have been reckless extravagance +to pay good money for Sunnysides when you might just +have come and taken him out of my corrals?”</p> +<p>For a few seconds Huntington, as if he could scarce +believe that he heard aright, was speechless with amazement +and rage.</p> +<p>“Say it, damn you!” he said chokingly. “What do +you mean?”</p> +<p>“Don’t get so excited, or you may break a blood vessel, +Cous––I beg your pardon, <i>Mister</i> Huntington.”</p> +<p>“Say it!” roared the ranchman.</p> +<p>Then Haig dropped his mask.</p> +<p>“I will say it,” he began in a voice that rang ominously. +“I’ll say it so that even you cannot fail to understand +me. I mean that I’m tired of your threats +and persecutions. I mean that you have harassed me +and my men at every opportunity. I mean that you +drove that bunch of my cattle off the cliff last September. +I mean that within twenty-four hours another fence has +been cut, and that you know who did it. I mean that +your attempt to buy my horse was only another of the +contemptible and cowardly tricks you have played on me. +I mean, Huntington, that you are a bully, a liar and a +thief!”</p> +<p>Huntington’s hand had slipped to the butt of his revolver +at the beginning of this intolerable speech; but +he had waited, as if fascinated, as if unable to move +under the torrent of denunciation. Then to the onlookers +it appeared that the bold young man, who had +not yet made the slightest motion toward his own +weapon, would be slain in his tracks. But Haig was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +as much the quicker in action as he was the nimbler in +wit.</p> +<p>The two revolvers cracked, it seemed, as one, but +with very different results. Haig’s battered old hat, +lifted as if by a sudden gust of wind, slid from his +head, and fell to the ground with a bullet hole through +it. But Huntington threw up his hands, pitched forward, +and fell in a heap in the dusty road.</p> +<p>There was a single shrill, short-cut shriek as a +woman near the door of the post-office slipped down +in a faint; and then a chorus of quavering cries as +other women clutched the arms of the men nearest +them.</p> +<p>Marion swayed in her saddle, her head drooping on +her breast. A young cowboy darted from the crowd, +and grabbed her as she fell. He started to lift and +carry her away, but, with a desperate effort, she recovered, +and stood erect, trying to thrust him from +her. He held her nevertheless, supporting her with +an arm under one of hers.</p> +<p>Haig had quickly turned and faced the group of +men at the left of the road.</p> +<p>“Is there anybody else here that wants to buy my +horse?” he demanded coolly.</p> +<p>There was no response, no movement. He whirled, +and confronted the silent row of men on the other side.</p> +<p>“Is there anybody else here who thinks he can drive +me out of Paradise Park?”</p> +<p>Still no one replied; and Haig, with a shrug, thrust +his revolver back in its holster.</p> +<p>“Thompson!” he called out.</p> +<p>“Here!” was the answer, in the same tone of readiness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +with which he had responded to Huntington. By +keeping his mouth shut, and never taking sides in any of +the occasional disagreements and disputes that enlivened +the tedium of life in that community, Thompson +had established a reputation for neutrality and trustworthiness, +and was permitted to be everybody’s friend.</p> +<p>“Look after Huntington, please!” said Haig. +“He’s not badly hit––you’ll find the bullet under the +left shoulder blade. It’ll do him good.”</p> +<p>Thompson and some others lifted Huntington, and +carried him into the store; and at that moment the +stage, its approach unnoticed, rattled up, and stopped +with shrieking brakes and creaking harness. There +was a sudden outbreak of speech on all sides, as if +the tension had been relaxed by the recurrence of +a familiar and orderly event. In the confusion Haig +turned toward Sunnysides and the three cow-punchers.</p> +<p>“Now, Larkin,” he began briskly, “we’ll finish this +business, and then––”</p> +<p>He stopped short, and stared.</p> +<p>By the side of the golden horse stood Marion. Still +shocked and bewildered, yet strangely thrilled, she had +stretched out one trembling arm, and rested her hand +on the neck of the wild creature, from which every +other person in the crowd around––and she too in +her right senses––had kept away, in full appreciation +of his reputation. Whether it was that the outlaw had +for the time given up all notion of resistance and hostility, +or that he felt the difference between the girl’s +gentle touch and the rough handling he had undergone, +he did not stir. But this docility, this understanding, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +was only a part of the sight that brought +Haig to a standstill.</p> +<p>He had left many things behind him, but there was +one thing he had not been, able to destroy as he would +have destroyed it, root and branch and flower. He +would always have a weakness––he called it that––for +beauty in whatever form it appeared to him. Sunsets +and twilights, the shadows of trees in still waters, +flowers and reeds, old ruins in the moonlight, sometimes +even faces moved him until he was ashamed, and +berated himself for a sentimental weakling. And +now––</p> +<p>The girl was tawny as a leopard. Her hair was +almost exactly the color of the outlaw’s dull yellow +mane, but finer, of course, and softer; and her complexion––he +wondered that he had not noticed it before––had +a peculiar richness and brilliancy that +seemed to reflect the luster of Sunnysides’ golden hide. +They stood there entrancing his artist-eye with their +perfect harmony of line and color; and the last thin +rays of the setting sun bathed horse and girl in a golden +light––an atmosphere in which they glowed like one +of Titian’s mellowed canvases.</p> +<p>“Don’t move, please!” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>But Marion did not hear, or did not heed. She +dropped her hand, and glided toward him, while he +watched her, curious and rapt. Perhaps it was because +he saw her through that golden glow, perhaps +because his nerves were a little unsteady in the reaction +from the strain they had undergone, that she made a +singular appeal to his imagination. He fancied that +for all the fineness of her figure, the exquisite poise of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +her small head, the cameo-like delicacy of her face, +there was something in her as wild, untamed, and elemental +as the heart of Sunnysides.</p> +<p>Thus she moved slowly past him, and passing gave +him a long and steady look, with an unfathomable expression +in her eyes,––an expression neither of anger +nor of bitterness nor of disgust nor of anything he +might have expected after all he had done that day. +He turned, and watched her until she had disappeared +in the crowd around the stagecoach; and with her went +out the last rays of the sun.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll be damned!” said Philip Haig.</p> +<p>With a shake of his shoulders, as if to throw off some +unwelcome weight upon them, he turned again to take +up his business with the gaping cow-punchers.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_HE_SHALL_TELL_ME' id='CHAPTER_V_HE_SHALL_TELL_ME'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>“HE SHALL TELL ME!”</h3> +</div> +<p>Doctor Wilson, arriving from Tellurium on +the third day after the encounter at Paradise, +found Huntington in a bad way, due not so much to +the wound in his left shoulder as to the state of his +mind. Haig’s bullet was extracted without difficulty +or serious complications, but Haig’s words were encysted +too deep for any probe. Huntington’s self-love +had been dealt a mortal blow; and somebody must pay +for it.</p> +<p>First of all it was Claire that paid; then Marion. +He did not mean to be disagreeable to them, but never +having cultivated self-restraint he had none of it now +to ease the days of his convalescence. He filled the +house with his clamor, and required as much attention +as an ailing child. There were just two ways to keep +him quiet. Claire soothed him when she sat at his bedside, +with one of his huge “paws” held in her tiny +hands; and Marion found, somewhat to her surprise, +that Seth liked music. The piano was one of the wonders +of the Huntington house, for pianos are not essential +instruments in the equipment of cattle ranches, +and this was the only one in all that region of cattledom.</p> +<p>In music Seth’s tastes were sentimental. “Lost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +Chords” and “Rosaries” subdued him almost to tears; +and if Marion only brought him tuneful violets every +morn he tried his best to be good. So when Claire +was not on duty at the bedside Marion must needs be +on duty at the piano,––an ordeal that Claire endured, +of course, more patiently than Marion.</p> +<p>Claire was almost comically unfit to be a ranchman’s +wife, and she too had been a trial on occasions. She +was small and delicate, but vivacious, amiable, bright. +Her blue eyes always had a childlike wonder in them, +and she was fond of wearing her fluffy, golden hair in a +girlish knot low on her neck, or even in a long, thick +braid down her back, with a blue ribbon bow at the +end. She flitted about the house like a butterfly, and +yet she had managed somehow to make her home the +marvel of Paradise Park.</p> +<p>To begin with it was the ordinary, one-story, rambling +house of pine, with spruce-clad hills rising behind +it, and a little stream, rollicking down between it +and the corrals. But a wide veranda had been constructed +on three sides of it, furnished with wicker +chairs, and half-screened with boxes of growing flowers. +All around the house flowers grew,––old-fashioned garden +flowers, roses and geraniums; beds of them everywhere, +and blossoming shrubs along the stream.</p> +<p>The house contained, besides the kitchen and the +bedrooms, just one big room. This, with its low ceiling, +unpainted timbers, and small windows, was not unlike +the hall of some old manor house. The floor was +covered with Navajo rugs in rich and barbaric colors; +the walls were draped with burlap in dull red dyes; +and the windows were curtained with chintz in bright +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +yellows and reds. Above the windows and doors hung +many heads of deer and elk and mountain sheep, and +rifles on racks of horn. Between the two front windows +stood the upright piano, and near it a small bookcase +filled with novels and volumes of poetry. The big oak +table at mealtime was made to look very inviting with +white napery and modest china and silver, and a bouquet +always in its center. At other times it was a library +table, heaped with books and magazines, and in +the evening, when the kerosene lamps were lighted, and +the piñon was blazing in the great fireplace, the room +seemed as remote from Paradise Park as Claire herself.</p> +<p>There was an occasional visitor at Huntington’s in +the period of his convalescence, usually a ranchwife +eager for another glimpse at Claire’s wonderful housekeeping, +or a young cow-puncher drawn by the attraction +of two very pretty and unusual women in one +house. But the ranchmen themselves, with two or +three exceptions, were content to be solicitous at long +range––an abstention that relieved and at the same +time troubled Huntington. He was not eager to talk +with his neighbors about that episode at the post-office, +but their aloofness filled him with uneasiness. Well, +let them wait! They would hear from him again, and +so should Haig!</p> +<p>There was, among the visitors, one whose coming perceptibly +lightened the tedium of those days. Marion +had the good fortune to see him in time not to be taken +by surprise. Seated on the veranda after an exhausting +recital for the benefit of Huntington, she perceived the +figure of a horseman––yes, it was a horseman––riding +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +out of the pines toward the corrals. She stared. +He was so little and so lost between his pony, which +seemed extraordinarily big, and his sombrero, which undoubtedly +was enormous, that she remained for a moment +dumb, and then, choking with laughter, fled into +the house.</p> +<p>“Look, Claire, look!” she cried, grabbing her +cousin’s arm.</p> +<p>Claire, dragged to the door, looked and giggled.</p> +<p>“Haven’t you seen that before?” she asked.</p> +<p>“No! Never!” answered Marion, her hand upon +her mouth.</p> +<p>“Of course. He’s just arrived––for the season. +He was here last year, and the year before.”</p> +<p>“And they let him?” demanded Marion, thinking +of the irrepressible cow-punchers.</p> +<p>“Oh, he’s all right!” Claire assured her. “That is, +after you get used to him. The men had all sorts of +fun with him the first summer he was here. But he +took all their fun good-naturedly, and showed them he +had pluck too. They began to like him. Everybody +likes him, and so will you.”</p> +<p>“But in the name of––who is he?”</p> +<p>The little man had descended like a parachute from +his pony, and was now bobbing rapidly up the graveled +walk.</p> +<p>“Smythe,” explained Claire hurriedly. “But +he’s here now––I’ll let him tell you––he likes to +talk.”</p> +<p>At the foot of the steps he caught sight of the two +women in the doorway; removed his wonderful headgear +with an eighteenth-century gesture; ducked his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +head in a twentieth-century bow; and smiled. Claire +stepped quickly out on the veranda.</p> +<p>“Oh, Mr. Smythe!” she cried gaily. “I’m so glad +to see you. Come in!”</p> +<p>He was an undersized young man, immaculately +dressed in brown tweeds and shining boots, a very high +white collar and a sky-blue tie. The sombrero swinging +in his hand was quite new, ornamented with a broad +band of stamped leather, and it had the widest brim obtainable +at the shop in Denver where a specialty is made +of equipping the tenderfoot for life in the cattle country.</p> +<p>Smythe took Claire’s proffered hand, and bent over +it as if he had thought of kissing it, but lacked the courage +of his gallantry. Claire introduced him to Marion, +answered his questions about Seth, and then fluttered +away to the kitchen, where she had an angel cake in the +oven not to be entrusted to the cook.</p> +<p>“I arrived only yesterday, Miss Gaylord,” Smythe +chirped. “But I’ve heard of you already.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know whether to thank you or not,” answered +Marion.</p> +<p>“Oh, if you please! What I heard made me very +solicitous about Huntington’s health.”</p> +<p>He smiled knowingly at her, and Marion loosed some +of her pent-up laughter. Truly, Smythe was going to +be a treat! She studied him stealthily while he chattered +on. He wore a pointed beard of reddish hue; his +head was quite bald on top, and bulging at the brow; +and the contour of that head, with its polished dome, +and the narrow face tapering down to the pointed beard, +was comically suggestive of a carrot. But it was an intelligent, +even intellectual countenance, and his blue +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +eyes were honest and bright. He might be laughed at, +but he could not be flouted, she thought.</p> +<p>“Then you’ve been here before, Mr. –––” she began, +and hesitated.</p> +<p>“Smythe,” he prompted her generously. “J. Hamerton +Smythe. S-m-y-t-h-e. I didn’t change it from +Smith, and I don’t know what one of my esteemed ancestors +did. But I’m glad he did. It gives me a touch +of artificiality, don’t you think? I fear being too natural.”</p> +<p>Marion laughed, and that pleased him. She led the +way to chairs near an open window where a black and +yellow butterfly hovered over a honeysuckle blossom that +had nodded its friendly way into the room.</p> +<p>“I’m from New York too,” Smythe rattled on. +“Columbia. Doing a little tutoring and a little postgraduate +work. This is my third summer in the Park. +Found it by chance. Wanted to go somewhere, and was +tired of the old places––Maine and Adirondacks and +the rest. Looked at a map in a railroad office, and there +it was, sticking right out at me, the first name I lighted +on. In small type too––curious, wasn’t it? Clerks in +office hadn’t heard of it, but I started out to find it. +Thought I’d better get to Paradise when I could. And +now I’m glad. I feel like an old settler, and I believe +the cow-punchers have ceased to regard me as a tenderfoot. +That’s as flattering as a Ph.D.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid they laugh at me,” said Marion.</p> +<p>“On the contrary. Believe me, these cowboys have +taken to reading poetry since you came.”</p> +<p>“Please be natural, Mr. Smythe!”</p> +<p>“Fact! I’d hardly got my things unpacked before +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +one of them was riding over to ask me if I had a book +about Lady Clara Vere de Vere. It seems he’d heard +the poem recited somewhere. I asked him why he +wanted it, but he looked so flustered that I let him off. +Didn’t have a Tennyson with me, unfortunately, but I +gave him my Byron, and I think that will hold him for +a while.”</p> +<p>“Charming!” exclaimed Marion. “But what has +all that to do with me?”</p> +<p>“He’s the chap that grabbed you in his arms when +you were falling from your horse after that little business +at Thompson’s the other day.”</p> +<p>Marion blushed, and then laughed.</p> +<p>“But how did you come to hear about that?” she +demanded.</p> +<p>He chuckled.</p> +<p>“Oh, I hear everything!” he replied. “My friends +say I’ve a nose for news.”</p> +<p>“Well, I shall be very careful what I say to you.”</p> +<p>“Please, no!” he protested. “I’m a safety vault +when it comes to secrets.”</p> +<p>She glanced quickly toward the door of Seth’s bedroom, +then toward the kitchen, before she spoke.</p> +<p>“So you’ve heard all about that day at the post-office?” +she said in a low voice.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Terrible!”</p> +<p>“But not unexpected.”</p> +<p>“Why not unexpected?”</p> +<p>“Well,” he replied, lowering his voice, and leaning +nearer to Marion, “I’m afraid Huntington was looking +for it.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></div> +<p>“You mean––he deserved it?”</p> +<p>“I won’t say that. You see––I’m neutral, like +Thompson. I like Huntington, and I like Haig. I +look at this fight without prejudice, even though I’ve a +reason to be prejudiced.”</p> +<p>“In favor of––?”</p> +<p>“Huntington.”</p> +<p>“Why, please?”</p> +<p>“Huntington accepts my friendship, after a fashion.”</p> +<p>“But––the other?”</p> +<p>“Nothing doing!”</p> +<p>Marion stared at him, wondering.</p> +<p>“Fact!” he assured her, with a sheepish smile.</p> +<p>“But why?”</p> +<p>“Don’t know. I’d like to, but he lives like a hermit. +Latchstring never hangs outside his door.”</p> +<p>There was a certain evidence of feeling in Smythe’s +speech.</p> +<p>“You speak as if you––”</p> +<p>“As if I knew!” He took the words out of her +mouth. “I do.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“I tried it.”</p> +<p>“And then?”</p> +<p>“Kicked out!” he replied with a grimace.</p> +<p>Marion laughed in spite of her burning eagerness to +hear more.</p> +<p>“Not exactly kicked,” Smythe explained. “But I’d +rather have been. He was as polite as––he’s a gentleman, +you see, so he knew how to do it without using his +hands or his feet.”</p> +<p>“But why?” insisted Marion.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></div> +<p>“Why did I try? Curiosity. Simple, elemental, +irresponsible curiosity.”</p> +<p>She laughed again at his frank confession.</p> +<p>“No, I mean why did he kick you out, as you call +it?”</p> +<p>“That’s what I want to know. And I will know, too. +I tell you, Miss Gaylord, I admire the man immensely. +His secretiveness only makes me like him the more, +probably because I myself am so garrulous. Most persons, +though, cannot tolerate a man who minds his own +business. Those who have no reason to hate Haig dislike +him because he does not ask them to like him. His +affairs are his own. Did you notice that scar?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Marion, scarcely above a whisper.</p> +<p>“Well, you can build any sort of romance you like +around that. He has had his romance or tragedy or +something, you may be sure. But he’s no ordinary man, +whatever he may be doing in Paradise Park. I have +heard that he’s surrounded with books and pictures in +his cottage. He’s got a Chinaman for a valet, and an +Indian for his man Friday, and their mouths are as +tight as his. What’s more, he must be all right in the +main things, for his foreman and cowboys stick to him +through thick and thin, and say nothing. I tell you, +Miss Gaylord, I’d like to be a friend of his, if only he +gave a––”</p> +<p>“A damn, I believe they say,” she prompted demurely.</p> +<p>“By Jove!” he said with enthusiasm. “You are +a––”</p> +<p>She held up a warning finger.</p> +<p>“We’re going to be friends, you know,” she said. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +“And friends understand each other––without words.”</p> +<p>“Done!” he agreed, reaching for her hand, and +shaking it.</p> +<p>“But this mystery,” she said. “Doesn’t anybody +know––”</p> +<p>“You know as much as all of us. Of course,” he +added banteringly, “there’s no denying a woman, when +she starts. He might tell you!”</p> +<p>The speech startled her, and she blushed.</p> +<p>“Now, that’s sheer impudence!” she retorted.</p> +<p>But he continued to look at her with a curious expression. +How much had he guessed? In her confusion +an impulse seized her. She leaned suddenly +toward him, with flushed face and sparkling eyes.</p> +<p>“You dare me?” she demanded, her voice quivering.</p> +<p>“I dare you!” he answered gleefully.</p> +<p>“Well then, he shall tell me!”</p> +<p>“Good!” he exclaimed. “And I’ll be around to +take the kicks if he––”</p> +<p>“Oh, Cousin Seth!” cried Marion, leaping to her +feet.</p> +<p>The bedroom door had opened, and Huntington came +out, dressed in his familiar corduroy suit, but with his +left arm still bandaged to his side, Smythe hastened +forward to greet him.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI_THE_STORY_OF_THE_SCAR' id='CHAPTER_VI_THE_STORY_OF_THE_SCAR'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>THE STORY OF THE SCAR</h3> +</div> +<p>She was awakened by the shrill chatter of the magpies +in the tall pine near her window. Often she +had resented their quarrelsome dialogue at dawn, but +now she slipped eagerly out of bed, and hurried to the +window. There had been rain in the night, but when +she had pulled apart the chintz curtains and opened the +wooden shutters the air was sweet and clean in her face, +and the thin light showed the world rising joyously to +the day.</p> +<p>She dressed hastily in her oldest clothes, stole on tiptoe +to the kitchen for a biscuit and a glass of milk, +found fishing tackle on the veranda, and was soon +running breathlessly past the corrals toward the banks +of the Brightwater. And all this was a deliberate +deception. She purposed to fish, of course––a little, +to justify the clandestine expedition; but what she +really sought was solitude.</p> +<p>It was half in jest that she had said to Smythe, “He +shall tell me!” But in the night, by some strange +alchemy, that jest had been transmuted into a purpose +of which she was still doubtful, if not afraid. And yet +to go forward seemed less difficult than to go back. For +she had let the days of Seth’s recovery and convalescence +slip by without telling Claire of her experience in the +Forbidden Pasture and on the road to Paradise. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +duel at the post-office, she argued, surely had made it +unnecessary to warn Huntington of Haig’s anger. And +yet, as their guest, as Claire’s cousin––But had they +been quite fair to her? They had not warned her of the +hostility across the Ridge; they had let her go blundering +into the Forbidden Pasture; not that it mattered so +much, though it might have been worse––</p> +<p>Her thoughts were becoming very much confused. +She had permitted a man to treat her most offensively, +and she had seen him shoot down another without compunction; +and that other was her cousin, in whose house +she was a guest. And yet she felt no resentment, no +detestation, no censure, no rebuke. Instead, here she +was running away to think out a plan whereby she might +hear the whole story of the feud, and more, from Haig +himself.</p> +<p>The morning advanced in rose and pearl nuances. A +hundred tantalizing perfumes filled the air; field-spiders’ +webs sparkled in the dew like silver gossamer; meadow +larks rose at her feet, and wove delicate patterns in the +air with threads of melody. Who could think amid +such diverting beauty? She lifted her head, and went +singing through the meadows, knee-deep in the wet and +clinging grass, and laughing when the parted branches +of the willows splashed her face and drenched her. +And then, at the first cast she made into a still, deep +pool, where the night loitered under the very eye of day, +an imprudent trout took the gray hackle fly, and made +off with it. The splash, and the “zip” of the tightening +line through the water; and then the fight, and the +capture––Well, if they were going to rise like that––</p> +<p>The sun was high before she became aware that she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +was very hot and tired and hungry. Her shoes were +soaking wet, her skirts and stockings splashed with mud; +one shoulder was being sunburned where a twig had +caught and ripped her white flannel waist; and Seth’s +red silk handkerchief around her neck was scarcely a +deeper crimson than her face.</p> +<p>“But I can’t catch them all in one day!” she exclaimed +reluctantly, leaning wearily against a tree.</p> +<p>At that instant, under her very eyes, a trout leaped +in the nearby pool.</p> +<p>“Impudence!” she cried. “I’ll just get you, and +then quit.”</p> +<p>But it was one pool too many; for at the second cast +her hook caught in the rough bark of a log that projected +far out into the stream.</p> +<p>“Oh! Now I’ve done it!” she groaned.</p> +<p>Several smart tugs at the line, with a whipping of the +rod to right and left of the log, convinced her that the +hook was too deeply embedded to be released by any such +operation. Sinking down on a heap of driftwood on +the bank, she gloomily contemplated the consequences +of her greed. There were two ways to go about it now,––to +break the line and leave the hook to its fate, or to +crawl out on the log and rescue it. The first was +unsportsmanlike, the second was very likely to be dangerous.</p> +<p>“Um-m-m!” she muttered, with a grimace. “It’s +not easy.”</p> +<p>The log ran out, at a slight inclination upward, from +the center of the heap of driftwood, and its free end, +where the hackle fly reposed at a distance of fully twenty +feet from the bank, was suspended barely two feet above +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +the middle of the pool. She leaned forward, and gazed +into its dark depths, which appeared to be scarcely +stirred by the current, though five yards away the stream +was making a merry racket over the shallows.</p> +<p>She stood up, and looked around her. Through the +screen of willows and cottonwoods on each sloping bank +she saw the meadows lying green and silent in the sun. +There was no sound except the prattle of the Brightwater +and the murmur of the breeze in the foliage. +She assured herself that she was quite alone.</p> +<p>Next she folded and pinned up her skirt so that it +hung just to her knees, and after a final glance in all +directions, stepped cautiously out to the edge of the +driftwood, knelt down on the fallen trunk, and began to +creep warily out toward the embedded hook. The log +was round, and none too large; her knees, protected only +by thin stockings, were bruised by the rough and partly-loosened +bark; and she scarcely dared to breathe lest she +should lose her balance, and tumble into the yawning +pool. Once she incautiously looked down, and saw her +image waving dizzily on the slow-moving surface of the +water.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she gasped, as she drew back her gaze, and +dug her nails into the log.</p> +<p>But for all her fears, and because of them, it was +tremendously exciting, and she became deeply absorbed +in her task. Now clinging close to the log in sudden +panic, now laughing tremulously at her trepidation, she +forgot everything except her goal, and the inches by +which she was approaching it. She had arrived within +two feet of the hook, and was just about to reach a +trembling hand to detach it, when she received a shock +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +that was near to ending her expedition in an ignominious +splash.</p> +<p>“Wait!” called out a voice, somewhere behind her. +“I’ll help you!”</p> +<p>The fright first nearly caused her to lose her grip on +the log, and then left her cold and shivering. After +that a wave of heat swept over her, and the blood tingled +in her flushed and perspiring face.</p> +<p>Who was it? Philip Haig, by all the ill luck in the +world? Who else could have had the effrontery? She +dared not turn to look, both in fear of falling, and in +shame at being caught in that absurd predicament. +What a sight! she thought. Her skirt was above her +knees, and one stocking, caught by a projection of bark, +had slipped down to her ankle. And that was not all!... +With a desperate effort, she lifted one hand from +its hold on the log, and tried to adjust her skirt; but the +movement only unbalanced her. With a shriek she +flattened herself, and lay there panting and miserable.</p> +<p>“Wait!” the voice cried, more sharply than before. +“No move––for minute!”</p> +<p>She was arrested by the words. “No move for +minute!” It was not the voice of Philip Haig, but in +that assurance there was only a doubtful consolation. +If not Haig––who? There was something oddly foreign +in that heavy, harsh, and yet not displeasing voice. +A new fear presently mingled with the others. It was +a wild country after all; and she had taken no note of +the distance she had come, and little of her surroundings. +But she could only obey, and wait.</p> +<p>There came the sound of quick splashing in the water, +and a few seconds later a man’s head and shoulders +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +appeared in the stream at her side. At sight of the +strange, dark countenance suddenly upturned to her, +within a foot of her own, she almost fainted. It was +a face she had never seen before, solemn, stolid, with a +copper-colored skin, high cheek bones, and deep-set, black +eyes in which there was no more expression than there +was on the thin, straight lips. She closed her eyes.</p> +<p>But that was only for an instant, since nothing terrible +was happening. When she dared to look again the man +was quietly releasing the offending fly. He tossed it +back in the direction of the bank, then stood for a +moment regarding her, still without the trace of an expression +on his dark face.</p> +<p>“Don’t be ’fraid!” he said. “Hold still!”</p> +<p>She obeyed him, though his next move was one to have +brought a scream to her lips if she had not become +incapable of utterance. Standing in the water, which +came almost up to his armpits, he had kept his arms +high above the surface of the pool. Now he stretched +them out toward her, clasped both her ankles with one +huge hand, slipped the other under her waist, and with +what seemed incredible strength and assurance, lifted +her off the log. Then, without so much as wetting the +edge of her skirt, he bore her to the bank, and seated her +gently on the heap of driftwood from which she had +ventured so bravely only a little while before.</p> +<p>Should she weep, or laugh, or rage at him? Through +eyes half-blinded by tears, she searched his face; but he +met her troubled and fiery gaze with the most perfect +calm. Then, after a moment, he deliberately turned, +and stood facing squarely away from her,––an act of +stoicism that at once removed her fears and completed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +her discomfiture. She took the hint implied in his +movement, and bent down, blushing furiously, to pull +up the fallen stocking, and let down her skirt.</p> +<p>When she sat erect again the man had not changed +his position; and she seized the opportunity to study +him. His figure, though she had just had proof of his +strength, was lean almost to thinness, very straight, and +borne, she fancied, with a certain dignity and even +majesty in its erectness. The straight, black hair under +the sombrero was touched with gray. He was not +young, past middle age perhaps; but she could hazard +no nearer guess at his age. No matter! Looking at +him thus, she began to feel her resentment falling away, +as if every shaft from her angry eyes had broken harmlessly +on that serene and unoffending back. Even her +embarrassment began to seem inexcusable. The man +had carried her ashore in much the manner he would +have used if she had been a sack of oats to be saved from +wetting.</p> +<p>“You are very strong!” Marion said at last.</p> +<p>He turned slowly toward her. His face was grave +and expressionless, but by no means dull; and his eyes +were very black and bright.</p> +<p>“You––are––all––right––now?” he asked, ignoring +her praise.</p> +<p>There was a curious slowness and lack of emphasis +in his speech, with a pause after each word, that gave a +singular impressiveness to all he said.</p> +<p>“But why did you do it?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“’Fraid you fall,” was his simple answer.</p> +<p>“But I don’t mind getting wet.”</p> +<p>“Easy drown in little water,” he said laconically.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span></div> +<p>She laughed at the idea of her drowning in a pool like +that––she who had battled triumphantly with the +breakers at Atlantic City, Newport, and Bar Harbor.</p> +<p>“But I can swim!” she assured him.</p> +<p>“I not know that,” he replied, unmoved.</p> +<p>True. And she must have appeared to be greatly in +need of assistance.</p> +<p>“Anyhow, I thank you!” she said sincerely. “But +who am I thanking, please?”</p> +<p>“Pete.”</p> +<p>“Pete! Pete who?”</p> +<p>“Only Pete.”</p> +<p>“But have you no other name?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Indian name.”</p> +<p>And he rolled out a string of guttural syllables that +sounded like names of places in the Maine woods.</p> +<p>Indian name! Marion started; and in a flash she +knew. Haig’s man Friday! Here was luck indeed.</p> +<p>“You are Mr. Haig’s––” She hesitated.</p> +<p>“Friend,” he said, completing her sentence.</p> +<p>Marion was again embarrassed. She did not know +what to say next, fearing to say the wrong thing, and +so to throw away a golden opportunity. In her search +for the right lead, her eyes lighted on a fishing basket +that lay on the ground not far from her own.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she cried. “But it’s strange I didn’t hear or +see you!”</p> +<p>“Indian not make noise.”</p> +<p>“I should say not!” she retorted, laughing.</p> +<p>“Trout very smart,” he added quietly.</p> +<p>“I’ve caught fourteen,” she volunteered eagerly. +“And you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></div> +<p>For answer he fetched his creel, and opened it.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she cried, in envy and admiration, seeing that +the creel was almost full, and that not a fish in sight was +as small as her largest prize.</p> +<p>“I give you some,” he said, glancing at her own +basket.</p> +<p>“No! No!” she protested quickly. “I have +plenty.”</p> +<p>She showed him her catch, which was by no means +insignificant. Nevertheless Pete took three of his largest +trout, and transferred them to her basket, ignoring +her protests.</p> +<p>“But they are for––him, aren’t they?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Biggest you no see. At bottom.”</p> +<p>That satisfied her, and she watched him silently while +he found her rod, and reeled in the offending fly.</p> +<p>“Brown fly better now,” he said. “You ought see +what trout eating before you try catch big ones.”</p> +<p>On this he drew a book of flies from his pocket, and +replaced the gray hackle with a brown one. She questioned +him eagerly, following this plain lead; and +presently they were seated on the pile of driftwood, +while he told her about the native trout and the rainbow +and the California, of little brooks far up among the +mountains where the trout were small but of a delicious +flavor, of the time for flies and the time for worms, of +famous catches he had made, of the way the Indians +fished before the white man showed them patent rods +and reels. By slow degrees Pete’s iron features softened, +and he smiled at her, not with his lips, but with +his eyes, which were the blackest, surely, in the world.</p> +<p>But Marion was not diverted from the questions that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +were next her heart. With all her woman’s cunning of +indirection, she brought the talk around to Philip Haig. +Did he fish? Sometimes. Did he hunt? Much, when +the deer came down from the heights with the first snows. +Then––she could resist no longer.</p> +<p>“It must have been terrible––the accident,” she +said, placing a finger on her cheek.</p> +<p>He looked at her strangely, while she held her breath.</p> +<p>“That no accident,” he said at last, after what seemed +to her an interminable interval of suspense.</p> +<p>“No accident?” she repeated, trying not to appear +too eager.</p> +<p>“He call it accident, maybe. He say it is nothing. +Pete say it is much. It is big debt. Some day Pete +pay.”</p> +<p>There was deep silence for a moment. The stream +gurgled and splashed; the breeze whispered through the +cottonwoods; and over all, or under all, was the vague, +insistent, seductive sound that the summer makes in the +fulness of its power.</p> +<p>Marion hesitated, quivering with eagerness and uncertainty. +She was afraid to ask more, lest she should +be shortly rebuffed, and lose her opportunity. But Pete +was looking at her steadily. She felt a flush coming +into her face again. Had he guessed––something––already +in her manner, in her impulsive questions? +More likely it was the charm that, for once unconsciously, +she wielded––the elusive charm of woman that +makes men want to tell, without the asking.</p> +<p>“You like to hear?” Pete said; and her heart leaped.</p> +<p>“Oh, please!”</p> +<p>And she was keenly disappointed. She had expected +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +something romantic, something ennobling and fine. +And it was only a barroom brawl, though Philip was +not in it until the end, to be sure! Five Mexican sheep +herders against the lone Indian. Guns and knives in +the reeking border saloon; and afterwards in the street; +and the Indian almost done for, bleeding from a dozen +wounds; and then a voice ringing out above the fracas: +“No, I’m damned if you do! Five to one, and greasers +at that!” And Philip Haig had jumped from his +horse, and plunged into the mêlée, disdaining to draw his +gun on greasers. Smash! Bang! went his fists, front +and right and left.</p> +<p>Pete had accounted for one Mexican, who would herd +sheep no more on the plains of Conejos. The others +fled. Then Haig, despite the knife-wound in his face, +grabbed the Indian, and somehow lifted him up behind +him on his horse.</p> +<p>“Quick, Indian!” he cried. “This town’s full of +greasers. You’ve got no chance here.”</p> +<p>And then the long ride to Del Norte, with the Indian +drooping on Haig’s back; and a doctor of Haig’s acquaintance, +who sheltered and cured the silent savage. +And Pete, convalescent, had come straight to Haig’s +ranch, and remained there, despite Haig’s protests that +he did not need another hand.</p> +<p>“Pete stay until big debt is paid,” said the Indian +solemnly. And then, with a straight look into Marion’s +eyes, “You ought tell Huntington he is damn fool.”</p> +<p>Marion started. There it was again––the warning!</p> +<p>“But why?” she managed to ask.</p> +<p>“Haig is brave man. Brave man always good man. +So––Huntington got no chance.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII_THE_WAY_OF_A_MAID_WITH_A_MAN' id='CHAPTER_VII_THE_WAY_OF_A_MAID_WITH_A_MAN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>THE WAY OF A MAID WITH A MAN</h3> +</div> +<p>She rode casually down the Brightwater, and casually +up the Brightwater; she loitered at crossroads, +and tarried at Thompson’s store; and not one glimpse +did she catch of Philip Haig. Then one morning she +rose at dawn, as she had risen on the day of her fishing +exploit, with a purpose. But this time she dressed with +exceeding care, in a riding suit she had not yet worn in +the Park. It was soft dove-gray in color, with a long +coat that showed the fine lines of her figure and, when +she rode, revealed snug-fitting breeches above the tops of +the polished boots,––a very different costume from the +black divided skirts and the short jacket in which she +had galloped about the Park.</p> +<p>Thus arrayed and resolute, she rode straight down the +valley to the branch road that had once tempted her to +adventure; straight up the hill; and straight through +the woods until she halted once more in the shade of the +outpost pine that stood beyond its clustered fellows like +a sentinel above the valley. Her valley! She waited a +moment, wondering if it welcomed her. There was the +stream, still flashing in the sun, the meadows as brightly +green as then, the grass of the pasture running in bronze +waves before the breeze. From the heart of a wild rose +a gorgeous red and brown butterfly flew out and fluttered +over her head. Not a dozen yards below her a meadow +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +lark, unseen, burst into sudden, thrilling song; and +somewhere down the hill another took up the strain, then +another and another, until the air was charged and +quivering with melody, piercing sweet. She listened, +her heart throbbing to the music, until the chorus died +away in dripping cadences, and only a drowsy murmur +came from the ripening fields to mingle with the low +droning of the pine organ on the hill. Yes! Her valley +welcomed her.</p> +<p>She rode on down the hill, with only a quick and +embarrassed glance into the Forbidden Pasture; and +suddenly raised herself excitedly in the stirrups. There +again was the spiral of blue smoke; then a chimney and +a red roof; and finally the house itself, and barn and +corrals, all tucked away against the foot of the hill. +Dismounting, she led Tuesday back a few yards, and +left him to feed along the roadside. Then she returned, +and seated herself on a rock, half-hidden by a blackberry +bush, to study the group of houses lying low and silent +in the sun.</p> +<p>There were more buildings than at Huntington’s, but +she saw no beds of flowers, no wide veranda screened +with potted plants; a certain bareness and air of inhospitality, +she thought. No tea and angel cake for visitors! +Behind the ranch house were two cottages of +unpainted pine, scorched to a yellow-brown by many a +summer sun. One of them, doubtless, was the hermit’s +lodge. The barn, larger than Seth’s, had a red roof, +newly painted. And in one of the corrals––yes––the +flash of a golden hide.</p> +<p>“Sunnysides!” murmured Marion.</p> +<p>Then her heart stood still. She had descried the figure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +of a man seated with his back against the bars of this +corral. But it was not Philip Haig; Sunnysides’ guard, +no doubt, for he never left his post until relieved by +another an hour or so later, when the dinner bell had +been rung at the door of the ranch house.</p> +<p>She had scarcely time to feel her disappointment +before a man emerged from the stable leading a saddle +horse. Another immediately followed, and this time +there was no mistake. The second man was Philip +Haig. He mounted quickly, and started off; then +stopped to address a word or two, apparently, to the +man at the stable door; and finally galloped past the +ranch house and the cottages, and up the slope behind +them toward the pines, across the valley from where she +sat.</p> +<p>“Oh!” cried Marion, in a tone of vexation and reproach.</p> +<p>She watched him until he had disappeared among the +trees; and tears started in her eyes. Would he always +be riding away from her, behind the hills, the woods, a +turn of the road? She sat a while in deep dejection; +but not for long. Her spirit was too resilient for futile +moping, and her purpose too firmly held to be abandoned +on one reverse. She reflected that if he had gone he +must as certainly return; and so, with a toss of her head, +she presently arose, and fetched her raincoat and her +luncheon from the saddle. The coat she spread out on +the ground, seated herself on it with her back against +the rock, and settled down to eat, and watch, and wait.</p> +<p>Morning mounted hot and humming into noon, and +noon dropped languidly into afternoon. The blazing +sun centered his rays upon her; insects found and pestered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +her; discomfort cramped her limbs, and weariness +weighted down her eyelids. Twice she dozed, and wakened +with a start of fear lest she had slept her chance +away. But each time she was reassured by a hurried +survey of the group of buildings, where no one stirred, +and there was no sign of Philip Haig. So the hours +dragged their slow length along.</p> +<p>It was late in the afternoon before her vigil was +rewarded. Not from just the direction in which he had +galloped away, but from farther up the valley, Haig +reappeared. He rode as rapidly as before, straight to +the door of the stable, reined up a moment there, and +was off again,––this time down the valley on a white +road that was visible to Marion until it curved behind +the distant point of the ridge on which she sat.</p> +<p>“Now where’s he going?” she murmured, wrinkling +her forehead as she saw him once more vanish from her +sight.</p> +<p>She did not know that road, but guessed that it +joined the main highway somewhere far down the +Brightwater. No matter! Here was her opportunity; +for she saw, with quick appreciation, that she would +now be able to place herself between him and the ranch +buildings without showing herself to the men at the +corrals. And then? She could not “hold him up” +like a highwayman; and if she did not stop him he +would raise his hat (perhaps), and ride past her without +a word. And how was she to stop him? She had come +there with a very definite purpose, but with no clear +plan, trusting to the inspiration of the moment. And +now the moment had arrived; but where was the inspiration? +She had risen impulsively to her feet, and stood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +staring between narrowed eyelids, and beneath a puckered +brow, at the white road, now quite empty again. +Then suddenly––</p> +<p>“Ah!” she gasped.</p> +<p>And thereupon she blushed, and looked furtively +around her, as if she had been caught in some doubtful, +if not discreditable, act. But there was no time for +moral subtleties. She staggered––for her legs were +stiff from inaction––to her pony, replaced her raincoat +behind the saddle, mounted in hot haste, and rode down +the steep hill toward the houses. At a little distance +from them the road she traveled joined the other. +There she turned abruptly, and followed the unfamiliar +road until she was safely out of sight of any chance +observer at the barn, and yet not so far from the trail +she had just left but that she could return to it if, by +any chance, he should come back that way.</p> +<p>Dismounting quickly at the chosen spot, she turned +Tuesday until he stood squarely across the road. Then +her nimble fingers flew at the cinches of the saddle.</p> +<p>“There now!” she exclaimed, hot with excitement +and exertion.</p> +<p>She stepped back to view her handiwork, and laughed +nervously. Next she drew a tiny mirror and a bit of +chamois skin from her bosom, and swiftly removed some +of the dust and moisture from her flushed face. Then +her hair, always somewhat unruly, required a touch or +two. That done, she smoothed down the gray coat over +her slender hips, adjusted the gray silk tie at her throat, +and waited.</p> +<p>He came, in his habitual cloud of dust; pulled up his +pony within ten feet of the obstruction; saw the saddle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +hanging at a dangerous angle over Tuesday’s side; and +accepted the obvious conclusion that Miss Marion Gaylord, +looking very warm and embarrassed, but certainly +very pretty in her confusion, had narrowly escaped a +fall.</p> +<p>“I think I’d better help you with that, Miss Gaylord,” +he said.</p> +<p>“Thank you!” she said, with an appealing reluctance. +“I can do it––I often saddle my own horse, +and––”</p> +<p>“I should judge that you had saddled him this time,” +he interrupted her to say, without the slightest trace of +irony in his tone.</p> +<p>She bit her lip, as she silently made way for him, and +stood at Tuesday’s head, stroking his neck with one +small, gloved hand while Haig adjusted the blanket, +fitted the saddle firmly, and tightened the double cinch. +He was dressed in the nondescript costume he had worn +at their first meeting. That same hat, uniquely insolent, +soiled and limp and disreputable, was stuck on the +back of his head, revealing a full, clean-moulded brow, +over which, at one side, his thick black hair fell carelessly. +His eyes were calm gray rather than stormy +black to-day, but a gray that was singularly dark and +deep and luminous. His manner was in the strangest +contrast with the two different moods in which she had +already seen him––as if the fires were out, as if all +emotion and interest had been dissolved in listlessness. +And she divined at once that her chance of success was +small.</p> +<p>“That will hold, I think,” he said gravely; and +started toward his horse.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></div> +<p>“It wasn’t Tuesday’s fault,” she said eagerly.</p> +<p>Haig paused, on one foot as it were, and looked over +his shoulder.</p> +<p>“It was fortunate for you that he’s been well gentled,” +he said. “You should look to your cinches rather often +when you ride these hills.”</p> +<p>(“You should keep your feet dry, and come in when +it rains,” he might as well have said, she thought angrily.)</p> +<p>“Yes, it was careless of me,” she answered, trying to +say it brightly, but really wanting to shriek.</p> +<p>“It happens to everybody once in a while,” he +said.</p> +<p>On that, he stepped to his pony, put a foot in the +stirrup, and one hand on the saddle horn, and paused.</p> +<p>She could easily have flopped down in the road, and +wept. Once he had raged at her, once he had thrilled +her with a look, and now he was simply dismissing her,––leaving +her, as her father would have put it, “to +stew in her own juice.” She saw all her elaborate +strategy, her long vigil on the hill, her struggle with the +saddle, her appealing’ glances––all, all about to go for +nothing.</p> +<p>“He might at least help me on my horse!” she +thought, in bitter resentment.</p> +<p>Perhaps tears blinded her. At any rate––and this +was without pretence, and no part of her scheme––she +did not see clearly what she was doing. It was nothing +new to mount her pony from the level; she had done it a +hundred times without mishap. But now, in her agitation, +she stood somewhat too far away from Tuesday’s +shoulder; and the pony, as ponies will sometimes do, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +started forward the instant he felt the weight in the +stirrup.</p> +<p>“Look out!” cried Haig.</p> +<p>It was too late. She missed the saddle; her right foot +struck Tuesday’s back, and slipped off; and she fell +sprawling on the ground, with her left foot fast in the +stirrup.</p> +<p>“Whoa, Tuesday!” she cried shrilly as she fell.</p> +<p>Luckily the horse did not take alarm and run, as a less +reliable animal might have done, dragging the girl +under his heels. He stopped in his tracks, and stood +obediently, even turning his head as if to see what +damage had been done. It was enough. Marion was +uninjured, but badly frightened; and her humiliation +was complete. She lay on her back, struggling vainly +to extricate her foot from the stirrup. Her coat skirts +had fallen back, and––Thank Heaven for the riding +breeches, and not what she had worn under divided +skirts!</p> +<p>“Lie still!” yelled Haig, remembering what he had +seen happen to men in such circumstances.</p> +<p>In three leaps he was at her side. With a swift +movement (and none too gentle), he wrenched her foot +loose from the stirrup, and helped her to sit up, dazed +and trembling and very white.</p> +<p>“Your ankle––is it hurt?” he asked sharply.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” she said.</p> +<p>And then the expected “inspiration of the moment” +came.</p> +<p>“A little,” she added.</p> +<p>And so it was done. Her foot had indeed been +twisted slightly; she had truly, <i>truly</i> felt a twinge of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +pain. At another time she would have thought no +more about it, but now––The color rushed back into +her cheeks; she fetched a smile that was half a grimace; +and the game was on again.</p> +<p>Haig reached a hand to her. She took it, and let +him draw her to her feet.</p> +<p>“Try the ankle––just a step!” he commanded.</p> +<p>She rested her weight on her left foot.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she cried out, and looked helplessly at Haig.</p> +<p>A shadow, unmistakably of annoyance, passed over +his face.</p> +<p>“You’re not going to faint, are you?” he asked, looking +keenly at her.</p> +<p>Her color always came and went easily, and now, a +little frightened by her bold deception, she was pale +again.</p> +<p>“No––I think not,” she said. (“At any rate not +here,” she might have added.)</p> +<p>“Can you ride to the corrals?” was his next question.</p> +<p>The look of annoyance was now fixed on his face, but +it did not discourage her.</p> +<p>“Yes, if––”</p> +<p>She looked doubtfully at Tuesday. Thereupon, +without a word, Haig led the horse close to her, but +placed so that she was at Tuesday’s right side instead of +the left. Then, while she supported herself with one +hand on his shoulder, he raised her right foot, and thrust +it into the stirrup; and, with a hand under each of her +arms, lifted her until she was able to throw the left foot +over, and her body into the saddle. Once more Marion +bit her lip. His action was as devoid of personal interest +as Pete’s had been when he carried her out of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +pool; and she had not come to Philip Haig to be treated +like a sack of oats!</p> +<p>Haig mounted his pony, and rode up close beside her; +and thus, in unbroken silence, they arrived at the door +of the stable. There Haig dismounted quickly, stepped +briskly around her horse, and almost before she was +aware of his intention, lifted her out of the saddle, and +set her on her feet––all very carefully and gently, but +also very scrupulously, without an unnecessary pressure, +without even a glance into her waiting eyes. What was +the man made of? Why would he not look at her? +Why did he not rage at her––if he could do nothing +better? Well, the cat had at least seven lives +left!</p> +<p>She almost forgot to limp, but bethought herself in +time, and gasped as he led her to an empty soap box at +the side of the stable door. Having seated her there, +he called out to the man on guard at Sunnysides’ corral: +“Where’s Curly?”</p> +<p>“Down by the crick,” was the answer.</p> +<p>“Bring him here! I’ll watch the horse.”</p> +<p>Thereupon he took the man’s place, and stood with +his arms crossed on the top rail of the fence, his eyes +fixed on the golden horse. And Marion felt a real pain +at last,––a pang of jealousy. So he preferred to look +at the horse, did he? If he had chanced at that instant +to glance at her he would have seen a pair of blue eyes +blazing with wrath.</p> +<p>The two men came hurrying from the creek.</p> +<p>“Here, Curly!” said Haig, resigning his post. +“Miss Gaylord has hurt her ankle. I found her unseated +down the road yonder.” He paused, as if to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +let that be thoroughly understood. “I want you to +hitch up the sorrels and drive her home.”</p> +<p>“Right!” responded Curly, going into the stable.</p> +<p>Marion then did almost faint. She had not foreseen +that manœuver.</p> +<p>“I’d rather not, please,” she said, as sweetly as she +could in her dismay.</p> +<p>“Rather not what?” asked Haig, turning at last to +her.</p> +<p>“I’d rather rest a while––somewhere––” Her +glance went past him in the direction of the cottage. +“Then I can ride home––alone.”</p> +<p>“And tumble off in the road somewhere!” he retorted, +with a touch of derision in his tone.</p> +<p>“Oh, no!” she pleaded. “It’s not as bad as that.”</p> +<p>“No matter! I can’t allow you to take any chances,” +he insisted curtly.</p> +<p>“Really, I need only a little rest,” she persisted. +“If I could lie down a few minutes––” her eyes again +were turned toward the cottage.</p> +<p>He saw what she meant, and frowned.</p> +<p>“No!” he snapped. Then, checking himself, “I +don’t mean to be inhospitable, but you ought to know +that’s impossible.”</p> +<p>“You mean––Cousin Seth?”</p> +<p>He shot a look at her that frightened her, but gratified +her too. Was she rousing him at last?</p> +<p>“Yes, if you like,” he said, quietly enough. “I’m +having a hard enough time with the fool without a +woman being mixed up in the affair.”</p> +<p>“I don’t understand,” said Marion.</p> +<p>“You don’t understand!” he repeated. “Of course +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +not. Women never understand––until afterwards. +I’ll make it plainer. I’m a bad man, as you have doubtless +heard. What would Paradise Park say when it +learned that you had been inveigled into my house?”</p> +<p>She was silent a moment.</p> +<p>“Well then, let me sit here and rest!” she insisted.</p> +<p>“But why?” he demanded impatiently.</p> +<p>She took her courage in both hands, and plunged.</p> +<p>“I want to talk to you,” she said eagerly. “I want +to ask you if there is no way––”</p> +<p>“Excuse me!” he broke in. “I don’t want you to +talk to me. If I did––”</p> +<p>He stopped, with a shrug. Marion felt her face reddening, +but she dissembled her embarrassment.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You’re not afraid of me, +are you?”</p> +<p>It was spoken archly, in her most playful, most kittenish +manner, and so she was amazed to see his face +distorted as if by some violent emotion. But he spoke +with restraint, though in a tone that was hard and harsh.</p> +<p>“Yes, I am afraid of you. The only thing in the +world a man needs to fear is a woman.”</p> +<p>The first effect of this speech was to surprise and +shock her. The next was to make her heart leap. Had +she come near the secret, after all? Then, finally, something +deep in the man’s eyes roused in her a thrill of +pity. In another minute she would have melted, in her +compassion, and begged him humbly to pardon her. +But at that instant Curly emerged from the barn, leading +the sorrels; and the devil that lurks behind a +woman’s tongue spoke for her before she was aware of +it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span></div> +<p>“So you’d rather one of your men took me to Cousin +Seth!”</p> +<p>It was scarcely out before she regretted it with all her +heart. If there was a devil behind her tongue there +was another back of the somber shadows in Haig’s eyes. +He flashed one comprehending look at her; his whole +manner underwent a swift and terrifying change; he +was again the Philip Haig of that day at the post office.</p> +<p>“Great!” he exclaimed. “That will be the best joke +of all. I’ll drive you home myself, of course.”</p> +<p>For a moment Marion sat very still on the soap box, +stunned, staring open-mouthed at Haig. What had she +done? That mad speech! Then she leaped to her feet.</p> +<p>“No! No!” she cried. “You shall not!”</p> +<p>He smiled at her.</p> +<p>“Shall not?” he repeated sardonically.</p> +<p>“I mean––please not that!” she faltered.</p> +<p>“Why not?” he demanded, almost gaily.</p> +<p>“Oh, please! I didn’t mean it that way.”</p> +<p>“Of course you didn’t mean it! Women never do +mean it––that way. And I suppose you didn’t mean +to let those men ride on to Paradise when they told you +the horse was mine, did you?”</p> +<p>“Oh!” cried Marion, almost in a scream. “How +did you––know?”</p> +<p>He laughed.</p> +<p>“I happened to ask Larkin if he had met nobody on +the road who could have directed him. He said there +was no one but a ‘purty girl.’ That was you, wasn’t +it?”</p> +<p>She was speechless.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span></div> +<p>“And my warning to Huntington. Did you deliver +that?”</p> +<p>“No,” she answered, scarcely above a whisper.</p> +<p>“Of course not. That would have been too simple +and honest and direct. You can’t be honest and +straightforward to save your lives. You live by deception, +and boast about your love of truth. Your deepest +craving is for violence, while you prate about your gentle +influence over men. I haven’t the least doubt in the +world that Mrs. Huntington, for all her baby face, is +back of all Huntington’s violence––thinks she’s a wonderful +inspiration to him, with a special genius for the +cattle business! And when she gets him killed––with +your assistance––she’ll flop down, and weep––and +you too, both of you––and wail that you didn’t mean +it!”</p> +<p>She recoiled from him, and leaned helplessly against +the wall of the stable.</p> +<p>“So you let the men ride on to Paradise,” he went on +with relentless mockery, “and you let Huntington +plunge into that business when you knew, from me, exactly +what it meant. And you rode over here to-day––I +wonder, now, if your foot’s really hurt, or if that also +is some trick!”</p> +<p>It was the merest chance shot. He had no suspicion +that she had been shamming, for he had been too much +annoyed by the whole incident to be critical of her +demeanor. But the shot went home. The girl, without +a word or cry, suddenly sank down on the box, with her +face buried in her hands.</p> +<p>There ensued a moment of tense silence. For all the +bitterness that surged under his railing speech, Haig +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +was not untouched by the sight of the girl, bent and +cowering before him. But at the same time he was +exasperated anew by the scene that was being enacted +under the eyes of his two men.</p> +<p>“Come!” he said presently, not without reluctant +gentleness. “It’s growing late. We must start at +once.”</p> +<p>The words increased her terror. Through the hands +that covered her eyes she could see Haig and Huntington––with +revolvers drawn; and Claire’s white face––She +rose impulsively, dropping her hands from her hot +and tear-stained cheeks. She would confess all to him, +though it should betray the inmost secret of her heart; +and would beseech him not to go––</p> +<p>“Don’t say it––here!” he commanded sharply, +lowering his voice as he bent toward her. “They think +there’s something queer about all this. Come!”</p> +<p>She obeyed him silently, her resolution vanishing before +his authority. Besides, there was yet time, somewhere +on the road.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_THE_END_OF_HER_STRATAGEM' id='CHAPTER_VIII_THE_END_OF_HER_STRATAGEM'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>THE END OF HER STRATAGEM</h3> +</div> +<p>For some minutes there was no speech, no sound +except the swift beat of the horses’ hoofs on the +hard roadway, and the crisp crunching of wheels in the +sand. Marion sat rigid, staring straight in front of her, +yet seeing nothing. Dazed and benumbed, her thoughts +were in a hopeless tangle, without beginnings, without +ends. How she had bungled the whole thing! And +she might have been so happy, there at his side.</p> +<p>Twilight was coming on in the serene, clear beauty +of the mountains: the distant peaks glowed like great +opals in the sundown hues; there was an indescribable +sweetness in the air, something magical in the soft but +cold night breeze that began to pour down upon the +valley from the eternal snows.</p> +<p>Timidly, out of the corner of her eye, Marion glanced +at Haig, and saw that he was gazing steadily at the +changing colors on the distant range. But there was no +beauty for her in that perfect panorama. The fire had +gone out of her, and she was shivering. He must have +felt her movement, for suddenly he leaned forward, +lifted the edge of the heavy lap-robe that had lain +neglected at their feet, and tucked it around her. She +drew back with a quick intake of breath as his face was +for an instant close to her own. A moment later he +began to speak in a tone that surprised and encouraged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +her, so little did it resemble the tones he had employed +before. It was as if nothing had happened, as if they +had long been talking of things casual, impersonal to +them both.</p> +<p>“It’s different in the San Luis,” he said. “There’s +red down there. Nature’s palette is a little short of red +in this valley. Too much blue. Even nature sometimes +gets a one-color obsession, like the painters. Here +she’s gone off on blue. It’s the most dangerous color. +Darwin says it was the last color produced in nature’s +laboratory. Ordinarily it’s the least common in flowers +and birds and insects. Hearn––Have you read Lafcadio +Hearn? No? But you ought to, that is, if you +care for such things. He goes after blue––the misuse +of it. He says it’s the color most pleasureable to the +eye in its purest intensity. But you mustn’t dab it on. +A blue house is a crime. Blue’s overdone here too, blue +sky, blue mists, blue shadows, blue lakes, blue flowers,––anemones, +harebells, columbines and the rest. It’s a +relief to get into the reds of the San Luis––”</p> +<p>“Where Sunnysides came from!” interrupted Marion, +eager despite her misery.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Tell me about him, please!”</p> +<p>She wanted him to continue in that strain, and even +Sunnysides was a less dangerous subject than––another.</p> +<p>“Well, about Sangre de Cristo first. That’s a great +range that stands up high and white along the east. +Sangre de Cristo is Spanish for Blood of Christ. I +can see those pious old rascal adventurers uncovering +their blessed heads when they first glimpsed it. At sunset +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +it takes the color––not always, not often, in fact, +perhaps a dozen times a year. There are days and days +when the range is only white and cold, days when it’s +black with storms, and days when it’s dismal gray. +Then there comes an evening when the sun goes down +red behind the San Juan, and the snows on Sangre de +Cristo run like blood. The whole world, for a few +minutes, seems to halt and stand still in awe at that +weird and mysterious spectacle––trainmen setting the +brakes on squealing ore trains on Marshall Pass, and +miners coming out of their tunnels above Creed all stop +and look; Mexican sheep-herders in Conejos pause to +cross themselves; ranchmen by their lonely corrals up +and down the San Luis, and cowboys in the saddle on the +open range––all spellbound. It gives you a strange +feeling––something that goes back to the primitive instincts +of mankind––something of reverence, something +of wonder, something of fear––the fear that the first +men had when they gazed on the phenomena they could +not understand, and began to make their myths and +their religions. Primitive superstition, primitive terror +will never quite down in us, no matter how wise and +practical we become. There’s always, in beauty––in +sheer beauty something terrifying, as well as something +sad. But––do I bore you with my dithyrambs?”</p> +<p>“No! No!” she exclaimed.</p> +<p>“The scene couldn’t have been set better for that +spectacle. There’s a green strip along the river, then +bare sagebrush flats, and beyond the flats are sand dunes +where nothing grows but cactus and mesquite, and here +and there some tufts of grass as tough and dry as wire. +In summer the dunes are a parched and blistered inferno. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +In October they are raw gray desolation. I +don’t want to know what they are like in winter. The +wind never ceases there. It builds the dunes into new +shapes every day, and the sagebrush is always bent and +lopsided and torn, and the colors are the gray and +brown of the world’s secret tragedy. But when the red +sunset is on the dunes there’s nothing I have ever seen +so wild and passionate and beautiful.</p> +<p>“It was late in the autumn. I rode out of a deep +arroya, and came, without warning, into all that weird +and solemn glory. There was a cold gush of air from +up the valley. Far in the north were purple patches +on the flats, and violet shadows in the foothills. But the +dunes were all vermilion, and I can’t tell you what hue +of red lay spread out deep and vivid on the Sangre de +Cristo peaks,––a living, passionate, terrible blood-red. +I’m not very devout, but I tell you candidly that I +reined up my horse, took off my hat, and sat there +gazing, with the queerest feelings, and saying, like the +old Spaniards, ‘Sangre de Cristo! Blood of Christ!’</p> +<p>“Then something queer happened to me. You’ve +seen a flash of sunlight reflected from a window, far off? +Well, it wasn’t like that, except in the sharpness of its +effect. And I knew there was no house in all that waste +of sand. It was just a flash, and was gone. I searched +the horizon, and saw nothing but red dunes, and little +puffs of sand kicked up by the rising wind. Must have +been some trick of vision, I thought, and I looked away +again toward the blood-red peaks. And there it was +again, in the corner of my eye. But it was gone when I +tried to fix it. I put spurs to my horse, and rode toward +the dunes, and caught the flash again––just a bright +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +yellow speck in the darkening vermilion. It came and +went, and seemed then to have been lost completely. I +was about convinced that the red sunset had gone to my +head––that I was following something that existed only +in my brain.</p> +<p>“Then, as I loped up to the top of a dune––there he +stood, on another dune, perhaps two hundred yards +away. His golden hide reflected the red glow like polished +metal, his mane flamed in the wind. You cannot +possibly imagine the effect of it, in that unreal light, in +that setting of desolation, with the crimson mountains +behind him. He stood alone on the hill, with his head +high, motionless as a statue. For as long as half a +minute he let me look at him. Then he turned, and +was gone like a flash of fire. I had just one more +glimpse of him, flying over the dunes, and followed by a +score or more of wild horses of all colors except his +color, and none worth looking at. With him the red +went out of the landscape, the peaks turned white, and +I sat alone in the gray, raw twilight. But right there I +made up my mind about one thing: I must have that +horse. You know the rest.”</p> +<p>“But what do you mean to do with him?” asked +Marion, vaguely troubled.</p> +<p>“Ride him.”</p> +<p>“Don’t!” she gasped.</p> +<p>“Why not?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“He’ll kill you!”</p> +<p>Haig laughed.</p> +<p>“Oh, I think not!”</p> +<p>“But what is the use?”</p> +<p>“What’s the use of anything?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></div> +<p>“But it’s––”</p> +<p>“Mere folly, you think?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Now you don’t mean that at all, Miss Gaylord. +You know perfectly well that if I were doing it to please +you––to win your admiration––you wouldn’t call it +folly.”</p> +<p>“You will please me––and win my admiration––if +you don’t do it. Please!”</p> +<p>“But I don’t want––You’ll pardon me?––I +don’t want to win your admiration.”</p> +<p>What could she say to that? There was a moment of +silence.</p> +<p>“When?” she asked quietly.</p> +<p>“I’m waiting for Farrish, my foreman. He’s the +only man I can absolutely depend upon. He’s in +Omaha. He’ll be back next week.”</p> +<p>“And you won’t begin without him?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>She had no choice but to be satisfied with a few days +of grace. Moreover, something might happen before +the return of Farrish; the outlaw might escape, or she +might find another opportunity to plead with Haig, or––What +was she thinking of? Something was going to +happen that very evening; and she had almost forgotten +it, in her absorption!</p> +<p>She had meant to do, long before now, what he had +prevented her doing at the stable,––to confess her deception, +to plead for mercy, to beg him to go back. Failing +in that, there was Tuesday trotting behind the trap; +she could leap out, prove to Haig that her foot was +uninjured, and insist upon riding home alone. But now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +the confession seemed ten times more difficult than it +had seemed in the first flush of her resolution. They +were far up the Brightwater by this time; a few minutes +more would bring them to the branch road that led to +Huntington’s. Yet how could she tell him?</p> +<p>“My foot doesn’t hurt any more,” she began, compromising +with her resolution.</p> +<p>“That’s because you’ve been sitting still,” he replied.</p> +<p>“But it doesn’t hurt when I move it. See!”</p> +<p>She lifted the foot, and rested it on the dashboard, +bending and twisting it.</p> +<p>“By which you mean to tell me that I am to go back,” +he said.</p> +<p>“Please!”</p> +<p>“No!” he answered curtly.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t badly sprained at all,” she persisted. “I +was only––” She caught herself, with a shock. “I +was only frightened, I think.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe you.”</p> +<p>“But it’s the truth.”</p> +<p>“Then it was not the truth in the first place.”</p> +<p>There it was now, her best occasion to come out with +it. But no; she could not.</p> +<p>“It’s not so bad as I feared,” she stammered.</p> +<p>“I trust not. A sprain is a bad business.”</p> +<p>“But you’ll go back now!” she pleaded.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Oh, why won’t you?”</p> +<p>“I’ve started.”</p> +<p>“That’s not the reason!” she cried desperately.</p> +<p>“True, there’s another reason. That makes two.”</p> +<p>“What other reason?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span></div> +<p>“I want to ask Huntington about his health.”</p> +<p>The deviltry had come back into his voice; and just +ahead of them she saw the fork of the road.</p> +<p>“There’s a third reason too, I’m afraid,” she answered +bitterly.</p> +<p>“What’s that, do you think?”</p> +<p>“You want to punish me!”</p> +<p>“Perhaps––a little.”</p> +<p>“Do you think that’s––”</p> +<p>“Noble? Manly? Kind? Generous?” he broke +in.</p> +<p>“Do you really think it’s worth your while to punish +me?” she asked with passionate irony.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“But why?”</p> +<p>“Because I hope to be let alone hereafter.”</p> +<p>At that her anger rose.</p> +<p>“Do you think that is the way a man should speak to +a woman?”</p> +<p>“It seems to be the only way to make a woman understand. +And even then––”</p> +<p>She felt that he shrugged his shoulders in the darkness.</p> +<p>“Then I’m sorry for the women you have known!” +she retorted.</p> +<p>“That should make it all the easier for you to avoid +any more accidents in my part of the Park,” he answered +unperturbed. “It’s your own fault if I’m rude. I +haven’t forced my attentions upon you. If you feel that +you’ve been mistreated, there’s another reason––that +makes four, doesn’t it?––for my going to Huntington’s. +We’ll be there in five minutes. You can tell him.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></div> +<p>She could find no answer to all this. Brutal as it +was, she knew that she had deserved it. Her anger +fell away, for she had found already that she could +not be angry with him long; and now, even in her torment, +she began to be sorry for him, wondering what he +had passed through that had so hardened and embittered +him.</p> +<p>But the team had turned into the branch road; and +she must act at once. There remained but one thing +for her to do: to leap out of the trap, and refuse to go +farther with him. On the thought, she measured the +distance to the ground, the speed of the trotting sorrels. +Perhaps she moved a little. Or had he actually read +her thoughts? For suddenly, but very quietly, he laid +a hand on her shoulder.</p> +<p>“No!” he said. “You might really hurt yourself +this time.”</p> +<p>She sank back in dismay, but with a thrill of admiration. +What was this man, who knew her thoughts +before she herself knew them, who mastered her––and +despised her? She trembled, and was glad of the night +that concealed her flushed face from him. As for her +purpose, she was at the end of her resources. No confession, +no plea would avail to shake his determination. +She could do no more; and judgment was upon her––soon.</p> +<p>“Hold the reins, please!” commanded Haig.</p> +<p>He leaped out of the trap, opened the gate, and closed +it when he had led the sorrels through. Then he climbed +into the trap, and drove on. There was no moon. The +ranch buildings lay huddled and indistinct in the dim +starlight.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></div> +<p>At the sound of the hoofs and wheels a man emerged +from the stable, bearing a lantern. He hurried up to +them, stumbling sleepily, and peering at the figures +vaguely seen in the gloom.</p> +<p>“Here, Williams!” Haig said shortly. “Hold my +team, will you! I’ll be only a few minutes.”</p> +<p>The lantern fell from the man’s hand, struck the +ground with a clatter, and lay on its side, flaming and +smoking.</p> +<p>“Pick it up!” ordered Haig.</p> +<p>The man obeyed, with the suddenness of a jack-in-the-box, +and stood as if petrified.</p> +<p>“Quick! The horses! They’re no damned broncos!”</p> +<p>Williams jumped to the bridles; and a gleam from the +lantern showed Marion his face. His mouth was open, +his eyes staring with incredulity and alarm. She was +seized with a preposterous desire to laugh at that comical +visage, made grotesque by the wavering light of the +lantern that danced in the fellow’s hand. She was on +the verge of hysteria.</p> +<p>Haig leaped out, and held up his arms for her, snapping +his fingers impatiently. In almost complete inertia, +yet with every nerve quivering, she let him help +her to the ground, where he placed her arm in his, and +started toward the ranch house.</p> +<p>“Limp! Limp!” he whispered in her ear.</p> +<p>She obeyed him mechanically. Everything seemed +to have become very still and cold; feeling had frozen in +her limbs; terror clutched at her icily out of the gloom. +There were two lighted windows in front of her, two +baleful yellow gleams, like the eyes of a monster of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +night. At any instant the door would open, gulping +her in.</p> +<p>She choked down a cry. Her feet were like lead now, +and she stumbled on the first of the half-dozen steps that +led to the veranda. Haig pulled her up quickly, flung +his right arm around her waist, and fairly carried her +up the steps. At that moment, just as they stood on the +level floor, the door was opened, and Huntington’s huge +body appeared in silhouette against the lamplight.</p> +<p>“That you, Marion?” he called out, peering into the +darkness. Then, almost instantly: “Somebody with +you, Marion?”</p> +<p>Haig answered for her.</p> +<p>“Good evening, Cousin Seth!” he called out cheerily. +“I just dropped in to ask about your health.”</p> +<p>For perhaps as long as it took him to catch his arrested +breath, Huntington stood motionless. Then, with an +oath, he bounded back into the room, and disappeared, +as Marion dully realized, in the direction of his room, +where his revolver hung on a rack. She felt the form +beside her straighten out like a loosed spring; and the +next instant she was borne swiftly forward into the +light, into the house, into the scene she had pictured, the +scene she herself had prepared. The arm that supported +her was quickly withdrawn, and she was left +standing at one side of the door, while Haig leaped away +from her, and stood waiting at the other.</p> +<p>Even as this was done, Huntington reappeared at +the door of his bedroom. The revolver in his right hand +moved slowly upward. In the kitchen doorway was +Claire––a stricken thing in blue and gold––clinging +to the doorpost, her lips parted, her eyes wide with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +terror. But Haig! Could anything have been more +horrible than that smile? It was fearless, mocking, insolent. +And his whole attitude matched it perfectly. +He stood carelessly erect, with arms folded, disdaining +Huntington’s weapon. But not the slightest motion of +his enemy––perhaps not even the thought before it––could +have escaped him. Marion knew him; and she +felt as certain as if it had already happened that if Seth +lifted his revolver by so much as another inch he would +be stretched out on the floor there as he had been on the +ground at Paradise.</p> +<p>All this she saw in an interval as brief as that between +two clicks of the shutter of her kodak. Then the clock +on the mantel began to strike. It was a friendly clock, +with a musical, soft note. But now its stroke crashed +upon the silence like a tolling bell. It seemed to have +its part in that halted scene, as if all waited on its last +solemn count. If she could only move, think, speak, +before it finished!</p> +<p>The next thing she knew she was in the middle of the +room, directly between the two men, and speaking.</p> +<p>“Wait, Seth!” she heard herself saying. “I did it. +I brought him here to––to make peace with you.”</p> +<p>She ended on the clock’s last note; and silence fell +again. Huntington’s jaw dropped; amazement was +printed on his face, and incredulity. Marion walked +quietly up to him, took the revolver from his hand, and +left him standing in the doorway, his arms hanging +loose at his side. She crossed the room to Haig, slowly, +somewhat gropingly like a somnambulist, with a half-smiling, +strange expression fixed on her chalk-white +face. She stretched out her left hand to him, her right +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +still clasping Seth’s six-shooter. There was something +magnetic, curiously compelling in her manner; for she +said nothing, made no sound. Haig stared at her, the +odious smile fading from his lips; his arms slowly fell +apart, one hand in the direction of the revolver at his +hip; and for a moment it seemed that he too would yield +to her. But suddenly he threw back his head, and +laughed.</p> +<p>“By Jupiter!” he cried. “I didn’t think it was in +you. You almost got me too. Good night––all!”</p> +<p>On that he turned on his heel, and vanished into the +night. Marion heard him laughing still as his boots +crunched on the gravel; heard his voice in brief and +sharp command at the stable; heard the beat of the sorrels’ +hoofs on the road, and the fragment of a song +wafted back to her,––something rollicking and insolent, +in a foreign tongue. She stood listening until the +sounds had died away in the night, and silence enveloped +her. Then, just as Huntington leaped forward with a +bellow of rage,––too late, as ever,––and Claire, with a +shriek, rushed to throw herself between him and the +door, Marion’s head drooped forward, her knees gave +way, and she fell senseless on the floor.</p> +<p>Huntington’s big revolver, slipping from her nerveless +fingers as she fell, struck the Navajo rug with a +muffled thump, bounced and rolled over, and settled +down harmlessly on a patch of barbaric red.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX_HEARTS_INSURGENT' id='CHAPTER_IX_HEARTS_INSURGENT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>HEARTS INSURGENT</h3> +</div> +<p>Seth recovered his revolver, and lunged toward the +door. But Claire was before him. She flung herself +upon him, clutching the lapels of his coat.</p> +<p>“Seth! Seth!” she shrieked. “What are you doing?”</p> +<p>“I’ll follow him!” he roared. “I’ll follow him! +I’ll end the whole thing! I’ll finish it, I tell you!”</p> +<p>“No! No!” she wailed; and clung to him frantically.</p> +<p>He was beside himself, almost incoherent, for the +moment quite irresponsible. It is very likely that, but +for Claire, he would have mounted a horse and pursued +Haig to his ranch, with such consequences as anybody +except himself could easily have foreseen. But he was +not so far gone in frenzy as to hurt Claire, as he must +have done in tearing himself loose from her. He stood +a moment in tragic helplessness, grinding his teeth, and +hurling muttered imprecations out into the night that +covered Philip Haig. Then he looked down at the +golden head pressed against his breast, and felt the frail +body quivering; and some sense of what he was doing, or +was about to do, reached his brain through the fumes of +rage. There was yet a long struggle; for he was too +ponderous for quick decisions, and at the same time too +outright for successful equivocation. Defeat was always +a staggering blow to him, since he had no art to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +mask it. And now, lacking the sagacity to swallow his +mortification and to bide his time, he could only suffer, +rending himself in lieu of another on whom to pour his +fury.</p> +<p>In the midst of this futile passion his roving eyes fell +on Marion. She lay where she had fallen, in a dead +faint, limp on the red-and-yellow rug. Seth stared at +her a full minute, while an indefinable suspicion grew +in the back of his brain. She had said, “I’ve brought +him here to make peace with you.” And Haig himself +had given the lie to that speech! What did it all mean? +By God, he would find out!</p> +<p>“Come, Claire!” he said. “Attend to Marion!” +And he began to loosen her fingers from his coat.</p> +<p>But she only clutched it the tighter.</p> +<p>“You’ll go!” she cried.</p> +<p>“No! Not to-night!”</p> +<p>“You promise?”</p> +<p>“Yes! Yes!” he growled.</p> +<p>She looked steadily up at him, questioning, fearful, +until he bent down and kissed her.</p> +<p>“There!” he said, roughly and yet not ungently. +“Now go to Marion!”</p> +<p>They picked her up, and laid her on the couch at +one side of the big room; and Claire unbuttoned her +dress at the throat, and bathed her face and neck with +cold water, while Seth rubbed and slapped her hands.</p> +<p>Her first impulse, on opening her eyes and seeing +Claire and Seth leaning over her, was to raise her head, +and look toward the door. She saw only a patch of +darkness, empty and still. Then she remembered how +she had heard his mocking voice fade away in the night; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +and her eyes returned to Seth and Claire. Their faces +told her what to expect: and she knew that they were +right in demanding, as they would demand, the fullest +explanation.</p> +<p>“Water, please!” she murmured, moistening her dry +lips with her tongue.</p> +<p>She sat up, slowly emptied the glass that Claire placed +in her trembling hand, then buttoned her collar over her +bare throat, and began to pin up the locks of hair that +had fallen about her face and neck. Her hands, she +thought, were very thin and white. She had never +fainted before, and was still a little frightened and surprised.</p> +<p>“What does it all mean, Marion?” demanded Huntington.</p> +<p>“Wait, Seth, can’t you?” warned Claire. Then to +Marion: “There’s no hurry, dear. When you feel +better.”</p> +<p>But her eyes denied her words. There was indeed no +way out of it. Marion must speak, and without delay.</p> +<p>“I’m cold,” she said, shivering.</p> +<p>“Of course!” cried Claire. “Come to the fire. +And Seth! Close the door, please!”</p> +<p>Huntington strode to the door, and slammed it shut. +Then he returned to the chimney piece, and watched +Marion as she leaned toward the blaze. He could barely +restrain himself, waiting for her to begin.</p> +<p>“I’ve been a silly fool, I suppose,” she said presently, +sitting erect again, and facing her cousins courageously. +“It was all my fault. You mustn’t blame him.”</p> +<p>An impatient exclamation by Huntington drew a +warning glance from Claire.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span></div> +<p>“Tell us just what happened, dear!” she urged +gently.</p> +<p>“I don’t exactly know––I can’t just understand +how it happened,” Marion began. “I had an accident––in +the road. My foot was hurt––my ankle was +twisted––or I thought it was––and I was frightened.”</p> +<p>“An accident?” said Claire.</p> +<p>“I was off my pony––the cinches were loose––and––when +I tried to mount again––I slipped––somehow––and +fell. He was just in time to help me, +and––”</p> +<p>“Where was that?” asked Huntington.</p> +<p>“Just below his place. He was coming back––”</p> +<p>“But what were you doing over there?” demanded +Huntington.</p> +<p>“Riding,” she said calmly, perhaps a little defiantly.</p> +<p>“Yes, I know that. But on his land?”</p> +<p>“Did you ever tell me anything about that?” she +retorted.</p> +<p>“No, but––”</p> +<p>“Then how was I to know?”</p> +<p>“But you’ve heard––”</p> +<p>“Yes, I heard some things at the post-office. You’ve +told me nothing.”</p> +<p>Huntington’s face reddened angrily.</p> +<p>“Never mind that now!” cried Claire sharply, sending +another warning look at Seth. “Go on, dear!”</p> +<p>Marion went on, very carefully. With Claire alone +she might have been more frank and confiding, but +Seth’s belligerent attitude had begun to stir resentment +in her.</p> +<p>“He thought I had a bad sprain. He was annoyed; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +he didn’t take any pains to conceal that from me. But +he lifted me into the saddle, and rode with me to his +stable, and told one of his men to hitch up a team, and +drive me home. That would have been––all right, and +he had no intention––until––something I said––I +must have been hysterical––something made him angry, +and he––said he would drive me home himself.”</p> +<p>“And you let him!” cried Claire reproachfully.</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t <i>let</i> him. He did it in spite of all I +could do. I pleaded with him, I tried every way to stop +him. Once I started to leap out of the trap. But he +caught me. He laughed at me But he was very angry +too; he scolded me dreadfully. Said I needed to be +punished for––I don’t know what. He hates women, +and says we’re always meddling in men’s affairs. It +served me right, of course. And please remember it +was all my fault––truly!”</p> +<p>“Did he say anything about making peace?” asked +Claire.</p> +<p>“No. That was all mine. I had to do something +quickly. You know that.”</p> +<p>“But what did he say about me?” growled Huntington, +who was far from satisfied, and still suspicious.</p> +<p>“Not much. Oh, yes!” she added impulsively. +“He said you and he could probably come to an understanding +quickly enough if––”</p> +<p>She paused, embarrassed.</p> +<p>“If what?” demanded Huntington.</p> +<p>“That was only because he dislikes women, I think. +He said––if Claire––Mrs. Huntington, he said,––would +let you alone.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span></div> +<p>“I?” cried Claire. It was almost a scream of astonishment +and indignation.</p> +<p>“I’ll show him!” shouted Huntington. “He’d better +keep her name out of it, or I’ll––”</p> +<p>“I haven’t done anything!” wailed Claire.</p> +<p>“I’ll make him pay for that!” bellowed Huntington, +bringing his fist down on the mantel.</p> +<p>“You mustn’t blame him!” protested Marion hastily. +“He was angry at me, and I don’t think he’s as +bad as you think he is.”</p> +<p>“Marion!” cried Claire, her eyes widening with +wonder.</p> +<p>Then Marion had the misfortune to blush under +Claire’s curious gaze. She blushed, at first, merely because +she had gone too far in her effort to clear Haig of +responsibility for what had occurred that evening; and +then the blood stormed into her cheeks as she encountered +Claire’s look, and attached a deeper meaning to it +than it actually conveyed.</p> +<p>Huntington leaned forward, and gazed suspiciously +into Marion’s crimsoned face.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll be damned!” he broke out. “You’d +think the girl was in love with this ruffian!”</p> +<p>For an instant there was a silence much like the +silence that follows a clap of thunder. Then Marion +rose slowly to her feet, quivering, her eyes ablaze.</p> +<p>“Ruffian?” she cried. “If there’s any ruffian +it’s––”</p> +<p>She caught herself. She was innately gentle and +fastidious, and she could not, without shame, have +forced her lips to say the things that she felt in her outraged +heart. But she looked at him; and under that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +look Seth quailed and shrank. What had he said to +evoke this luminous hatred? He had not meant––</p> +<p>“And I think she’s right, Seth Huntington!” exclaimed +Claire, coming to Marion, and putting an arm, +around her. “If there’s any ruffian it’s you, and I’m +ashamed of you!”</p> +<p>Huntington’s jaw dropped, and he stared at them, his +eyes bulging with astonishment. Then suddenly he +turned, and bolted from the room. The door leading to +the kitchen was flung shut behind him; then the outer +door banged; and in a moment his heavy footsteps were +heard on the veranda, where he strode to and fro in +helpless rage and shame and wonder. He had a feeling +of soreness over all his body, as if some one had roundly +pummelled him; his face itched beneath his beard; he +could not find a comfortable place for his hands. Well, +he agreed with Haig about one thing: women were hell! +And here was Claire siding with Marion against him; +and calling him a ruffian! Was he a ruffian? What +had he said to merit that? Couldn’t they take a joke? +But this casuistry did not go down, though he tried to +hammer it down with many violent gestures. He began +to have certain qualms that he recognized as premonitory +signs of weakening; and he struggled to bolster up +his anger. Damn Haig! If he had only finished him +that day in the timber, when the others had wanted to! +But this was a vain regret. There remained the present +situation. Gradually his steps faltered. He stopped +often to look vacantly at the stars. They had nothing +to say to him. He felt very solitary, alone in the +world.</p> +<p>After a time the kitchen door was opened softly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span></div> +<p>“Seth!” came a whisper from that direction.</p> +<p>“Well?” he answered uncertainly.</p> +<p>“Aren’t you cold?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Well, we are. The fire’s going out.”</p> +<p>“Umph!”</p> +<p>“Won’t you please fetch some wood?”</p> +<p>No reply. Claire slipped out, and crept up to him.</p> +<p>“Come!” she commanded softly. “Do you want us +to freeze?”</p> +<p>Still no reply.</p> +<p>“Oh, you do, do you?”</p> +<p>“It’s time you went to bed.”</p> +<p>“No, it isn’t. We’re not going to bed until you come +in and beg Marion’s pardon.”</p> +<p>“No, I’ll be––”</p> +<p>She tried to clap her hand over his mouth, but succeeded +only in hitting his nose a smart tap, which was +just as effective, since it checked him.</p> +<p>“No swearing, either!” she went on. “You’ve +been rude enough for one night, don’t you think? I’ll +tell you my opinion of it later. She’s going to be easy +with you because she’s sorry about it all. Come!”</p> +<p>Huntington did not move, or answer her.</p> +<p>“Do you want her to leave by the next stage––and +have this all over the Park too––like Haig’s visit? +Come!”</p> +<p>He groaned, but followed her. At the door of the +living room he caught sight of Marion seated before the +fireplace, where only embers glowed dull red.</p> +<p>“I’ll get some wood,” he said quickly, glad of even +a few minutes’ grace.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span></div> +<p>Fortune tossed him a small favor: the wood bin +near the kitchen door was empty––almost. Another +time that would have brought a storm down on the +head of the unlucky stable hand whose duty it was +to keep the bin filled. But now Seth rejoiced at +having to go to the wood yard, and found it much too +near.</p> +<p>He re-entered the house with an armload of sticks, +and placed them carefully on the embers; stirred up the +glowing mass with a poker; readjusted the fresh wood; +provoked the red coals once more; and at last, having +exhausted the dilatory possibilities of the fire, stood up +clumsily to face the ordeal.</p> +<p>“Well, Marion,” he began awkwardly, “I’m in for it, +I reckon.”</p> +<p>She did not reply; she only looked at him. There +were dark shadows around her eyes that heightened the +pallor of her cheeks; but the eyes themselves were clear +and piercing, and as cold now as they had been fiery +before. For once in his life Huntington was conscious +of his bulk; he felt conspicuous; and the wound in his +shoulder, almost healed, began to itch and ache.––There +were worse things than being shot.––If she +would only turn those eyes away from him! And then +it dawned upon him that she was waiting.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon, Marion!” he stammered. “I +was ugly. I didn’t really mean––I hope you’ll forgive +me.”</p> +<p>For a minute longer she let him stew in his kettle, +then lifted him out scrupulously, at the end of a very +long fork, and dropped him steaming, as if he had been +a lump of unsavory fat.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></div> +<p>“Yes, I forgive you,” she said, very, very distantly. +“You probably weren’t thinking.”</p> +<p>If that was forgiveness! But he did not know––even +Claire did not know then––how deeply he had +wounded Marion with his rude and accusing speech,––as +if he had called a jeering crowd to look at the little +flower that blooms but once, and very secretly, in a +woman’s heart. Forgive him? She never would forgive +him for that blundering outburst, which was indeed +the more unforgivable because he did not seriously +mean, and certainly did not believe, the thing he said.</p> +<p>“Thank you, Marion dear!” said Claire softly.</p> +<p>At that Marion suddenly rushed to Claire, and knelt +by her chair. She had her own faults to be forgiven.</p> +<p>“I’ve been very foolish!” she cried. “I’ve caused +you pain and humiliation. I’m sorry. Please forgive +me!”</p> +<p>So they cried it out in each other’s arms, while Huntington +rolled a cigarette, took one whiff of it, and tossed +it into the fire. It required a stronger narcotic than +tobacco to soothe his fevered spirits. After a while he +whirled around and faced the two women.</p> +<p>“See here, Marion!” he said. “It’s all our fault +for not telling you about Haig. But we didn’t want to +annoy you with our troubles, and we never imagined +you’d stumble on to him. Do you know now what this +is all about?”</p> +<p>She spared him the answer that she had heard something +on that point the day of the shooting.</p> +<p>“No; that is, very little.”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s just this: Before he came here we were +all playing the game peacefully together. Each of us +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +had just about enough land, with the cut hay and the +winter pastures, to pull through the winter, and there +was just enough free grazing up in the edges of the +timber to keep the cattle going through the summer and +early fall.”</p> +<p>“That was government land,” explained Claire.</p> +<p>“And open to all of us,” added Seth. “We never +had any dispute with the Englishman who owned Haig’s +ranch before him, and he got fair treatment, though he +wasn’t here much of the time to look after it. We heard +he had some family trouble, and one day when he’d +been gone a long time––”</p> +<p>“That’s four years now,” interrupted Claire.</p> +<p>“Yes. Haig showed up, and said the ranch was his. +He started in straight off to hog the whole thing. +Bought a thousand head of cattle––that made thirteen +hundred head––almost as many as all the rest of us +had put together. He turned the thirteen hundred into +the open range, and hired men to keep them moving the +right way for the good feed, and––”</p> +<p>“He had a perfect right to do that, you see,” Claire +put in hastily.</p> +<p>“Legal right, maybe,” Huntington went on. “But +he didn’t have any real right to more than his share. +We organized, bunched our cattle, and stayed with ’em. +That way we were stronger than he, and soon had his +cattle starving. Then he disappeared, and we didn’t +see anything of him for three weeks. And what do you +suppose the damned skunk––”</p> +<p>“Seth!” cried Claire warningly, with an anxious +look at Marion.</p> +<p>Marion merely shook her head.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span></div> +<p>“Well, he fooled us. He went to Denver, got a lawyer +on the job, looked up the records, found there’d been +a mistake in the surveys, and came back to us with a +government deed to almost half the forest reserve that +we’d been using as free pasture. Then he ordered us +off, and we went, with six Winchesters pointed at our +fool backs. What do you think of that, Marion?”</p> +<p>“But why?” asked Marion. “I mean what was his +motive in all that? He isn’t a cattleman. I mean––I +don’t think he cares enough––”</p> +<p>She stopped, finding herself in dangerous waters.</p> +<p>“Why? Because he’s a––” Huntington checked +himself. “Anyhow, he barely escaped a lynching that +night. And if he only knew it, I’m the one that stopped +it. I said we’d find some other way. But we haven’t +found it. We had to bring most of our stock down to +the pastures we needed for winter, and in winter we had +to buy hay at eighteen dollars a ton. And Haig had +hay to sell. Three of our men were driven out of +business. Tom Jenkins, being dead broke and discouraged, +with a family, killed himself. I had to sell +off a third of my cattle, and twenty head disappeared, +and I never saw them again. And maybe you can understand +now how I felt when I saw him this evening, +standing there in my own house, grinning at me. +God!”</p> +<p>He turned, grabbed up the poker, and began jabbing +viciously at the fire.</p> +<p>Yes, Marion could understand that, but––She was +not satisfied. There was something missing from Seth’s +narrative. Haig’s accusations that day at the post-office––his +missing cattle, and the cut wires at the Forbidden +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +Pasture––And if all that Seth had said was true, +which she doubted, the mystery was only deepened. +She was sure that Haig was only playing a part, that +he was not a cattleman by choice, and that his heart was +not in the game, whatever it was. She wanted to ask +questions, but refrained, lest she should again arouse +Seth’s suspicions. She would see Smythe.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X_STRICTLY_CONFIDENTIAL' id='CHAPTER_X_STRICTLY_CONFIDENTIAL'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL</h3> +</div> +<p>The next afternoon Huntington, with painful diffidence, +yet anxious to come to some sort of terms +with Marion, proposed that she should begin her shooting +lessons. She acquiesced in a manner that relieved +him immensely, for she, on her side, was sorely in need +of distraction. So they were presently on the hillside +behind the ranch house with the rifles,––Seth’s Winchester +and the little Savage he had bought for Claire, +who, to his great disappointment, did not like guns, and +never could be taught to see the sights with one eye +closed. His delight, therefore, was unbounded when +Marion took to the Savage with almost the quick adaptability +of a man. True, her first shots went high and +wild among the foliage, but she was fast getting the grip +of the gun, and had actually once scraped the bark of +the tree on which the target of white paper was tacked, +when they were hailed by a cheerful voice demanding +permission for an unarmed and perfectly harmless man +to approach.</p> +<p>“Smythe!” growled Huntington, resenting the +interruption. Then aloud, as heartily as he could: +“Hello, Smythe! You’re quite safe.”</p> +<p>“What’s going on here, anyhow?” asked Smythe.</p> +<p>“Where are your boasted powers of observation?” +retorted Marion.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span></div> +<p>“It’s more polite to ask.”</p> +<p>“In Paradise Park?” she queried, in a tone of mild +surprise.</p> +<p>Seth’s face reddened as he stooped over a half-empty +cartridge-box. He had congratulated himself too soon. +But while Smythe and Marion exchanged more badinage +he refilled the magazine of the Savage, and held it ready.</p> +<p>“Will you have another try?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, please, if Mr. Smythe will only keep still. I +know I can never hit anything if he talks.”</p> +<p>“I’m mum!” he answered.</p> +<p>The first shot went wild. So, indeed, the second and +third.</p> +<p>“There! What did I tell you?” cried Marion petulantly.</p> +<p>“But I didn’t say a word!” protested Smythe.</p> +<p>“What were you thinking, then?”</p> +<p>“What a charming Diana––”</p> +<p>“Don’t think any more, please!”</p> +<p>“But I can’t stop thinking!”</p> +<p>“In that case you’d better talk. You certainly talk +enough without thinking.”</p> +<p>“Bull’s-eye!” he cried joyously. “Now try +again!”</p> +<p>“I suppose I must learn not to be bothered.”</p> +<p>She pressed her lips together, and steadied herself +resolutely. She would show him! The next shot cut +a furrow in the bark of the pine; the second struck +within two inches of the target; and the third pinked +the edge of the paper itself.</p> +<p>“That will do for this time,” she said, in some elation, +as she handed the gun to Huntington.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></div> +<p>“To-morrow you’ll do better,” he assured her. +“And then we’ll try it at longer range.”</p> +<p>He began to pick up the cartridge boxes and his own +rifle.</p> +<p>“You’re not riding to-day?” said Smythe.</p> +<p>“How did you guess it?” she demanded, laughing.</p> +<p>“Oh, a truce! A truce!” he pleaded. “I mean, if +you are not going for a ride, will you walk up the hill +there?”</p> +<p>He pointed toward the pines.</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“To please me,” he answered.</p> +<p>But she caught a look in his eyes that decided her.</p> +<p>“Certainly, if you are so easily pleased.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m a very Lazarus at the table of life!” he retorted +gaily. “Every crumb comforts me.”</p> +<p>She laughed, and stepped away with him among the +rocks, while Huntington, still swearing at Smythe for a +meddling fool, strode down the hill.</p> +<p>Marion surmised that Smythe had something to say +to her. Had he heard already? Had the news of yesterday’s +comedy, that was so near a tragedy, already +spread far and wide over the Park? But that was +scarcely possible, since Haig’s men would be silent, +and Seth had kept Williams too busy all day for +gossip.</p> +<p>They climbed the rocky slope without more words, +clambering over bowlders and fallen tree trunks, until +they reached the summit of the hill, and flung themselves +down, hot and panting, on a great flat rock that +commanded a sweeping view of the Park. At one side +more hills rose, small mountains in themselves, thickly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +wooded, with white peaks towering behind. On the +other, the valley of the Brightwater lay green and bronze +in the sun, with the white stream curling and curving +among the meadows. Far across the valley, beyond the +ridge that divided the Park in unequal halves––that +fateful ridge!––the western range of mountains glittered, +dazzling white.</p> +<p>Marion’s eyes at once sought out Thunder Mountain. +What would it say to her to-day? Storm! Its top +was half-hidden in a gray-black swirl of clouds, though +the sun was bright on the snow-clad peaks around +it.</p> +<p>“What do you see?” asked Smythe, as soon as his +lungs would consent to speech.</p> +<p>“My mountain,” she answered, without turning her +head.</p> +<p>“Which is that?”</p> +<p>“Thunder Mountain.”</p> +<p>“Umph! You’re welcome to it!”</p> +<p>She was silent.</p> +<p>“Why your mountain?” he asked presently.</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“But there must be a reason––or something.”</p> +<p>“That’s just it––something. It’s hideous, but it +fascinates me. I can’t help thinking that––”</p> +<p>“That what?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>They laughed together.</p> +<p>“It’s got a bad reputation,” said Smythe.</p> +<p>“Perhaps that’s the reason.”</p> +<p>Then she was embarrassed, thinking unexpectedly of +another bad reputation in the Park.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></div> +<p>“Perhaps,” he answered, smiling at the back of her +head, where the tawny hair curved up adorably from the +soft, white neck.</p> +<p>“Tell me about it!” she said at length.</p> +<p>“It’s a death trap.”</p> +<p>“You mean––men have gone up there?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“There’s a trail, what’s left of it. The Warpath, +they call it.”</p> +<p>“The Warpath?”</p> +<p>“Yes. It was first a war trail, when fighting tribes +lived in these mountains. But even the Indians didn’t +use it often––only in midsummer. It’s a trail over +bare rocks, marked by stones set up at long intervals. +The Indians didn’t mark it. They had their own ways +of knowing it. But after the Indians came trappers, +hunters, prospectors, and some of them set up the +stones. It would be a valuable short cut between the +Park and the San Luis country, if it were safe. But +it’s not. I’m told that many lives have been lost on it. +I can’t find details except of one tragedy. Some ten +years ago a party of English people, guests at the ranch +that Haig now owns, went on a pleasure trip to Thunder +Mountain. They meant to go only as far as timber +line. It’s not difficult as far as the foot of the scarp +that lifts to the flat top you see yonder. It’s done on +horseback to that point––and across too, if you care +to try it. But on top––that’s another matter. It isn’t +the mountain itself that gets you. It’s the storms. +The English party ventured on top, and three of them +never came back. The wind hurled them into a chasm, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +and their bodies were never recovered. That’s enough +for me, thank you!”</p> +<p>“Has nobody in the Park ever been across?” Marion +persisted.</p> +<p>“Old Parker––Jim Parker’s father––crossed it +once, many years ago. But he came back another way, +around by Tellurium. Young Parker has been as far +as the Devil’s Chair. That’s the top of the notch where +the wind sucks you into it––unless, by good chance, it +blows you away from it.”</p> +<p>“And no one else?” Marion insisted, breathless.</p> +<p>“One other man has gone to the Twin Sisters. +That’s halfway over.”</p> +<p>“Who was that?” she asked; as if she did not know.</p> +<p>“He balked at the women, you see.”</p> +<p>Smythe chuckled.</p> +<p>“The Twin Sisters,” Smythe went on, “are two +huge gray rocks, I’m told, vaguely resembling carved +figures. The trail passes between them. There’s no +other possible way, and when the wind is blowing it +shoots out between them like water from a fire-hose. +Haig was caught just there by a storm. He came back +fighting mad, and swore he’d cross Thunder Mountain +yet, or die there. But that reminds me. I’ve got news +for you.”</p> +<p>“News?” asked Marion, with a start.</p> +<p>Her first thought was of Sunnysides. Had Haig decided +not to wait for Farrish? But no! It would be +something about yesterday’s sensation.</p> +<p>“It keeps well, I see,” she said lightly.</p> +<p>“I didn’t want to excite you so soon after that long +climb.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></div> +<p>“Thank you! If you think I can’t stand it you just +keep it to yourself––if you can!”</p> +<p>“But I came expressly to tell you.”</p> +<p>“Then why don’t you expressly tell me? Don’t be +exasperating, Mr. Smythe!”</p> +<p>He grinned exultantly.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, “I’ve been eavesdropping.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Not intentionally. Pure accident. But I didn’t +stick my fingers in my ears.”</p> +<p>“No, I can understand that.”</p> +<p>“Thanks. It was this way: I was fishing––for +fish, really. Under a clump of willows, just where the +road from Haig’s joins the main valley road. You +know?”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes!”</p> +<p>“Haig and another man, Higgins, it turned out to be––he’s +a Denver lawyer––with his family for an outing +down at Cobalt Lake. It appeared he’d been up to +see Haig partly on business and partly just for a +friendly visit. They separated there, after a little conversation.</p> +<p>“‘It’s strange you’ve never heard a word from him,’ +said Higgins.</p> +<p>“‘Four years,’ answered Haig.</p> +<p>“‘He’s probably off in South Africa somewhere.’</p> +<p>“‘Or India. It’s a long trail be followed, no doubt.’</p> +<p>“‘You can only wait, I suppose,’ Higgins said.</p> +<p>“‘Well, I’ve nothing else to do,’ Haig replied, with +a laugh.” Smythe paused.</p> +<p>“That’s something to think about,” he said musingly. +“Who is this ‘he’? And why is Haig waiting for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +him? Well, that was all I heard about that. Higgins +next asked Haig if he wouldn’t please change his mind +about riding down to see them.</p> +<p>“‘No,’ Haig answered. ‘I never go anywhere. +I’m not very sociable, no longer a gregarious creature. +Ask my neighbors about that!’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, hang your neighbors! This is different. +We’re not living here, and we can’t pester you. But +you see I got Hail Columbia from my wife for not +bringing you to see her in Denver, and she’s dead set on +getting acquainted with you here. She says you’re the +most unselfish man in the world. I’d be jealous if––’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, come now!’ protested Haig, laughing.</p> +<p>“‘It’s true. So you’ll drop this hermit business for +once, won’t you? It will give my wife much pleasure.’</p> +<p>“There was a little silence.</p> +<p>“‘Well, have your own way,’ said Haig at last ‘I +suppose a man’s got to humor his lawyer, if he doesn’t +want to lose a plain case some day. But I warn you. +I’m not very amusing, that is, I trust not.’</p> +<p>“‘Good!’ cried Higgins. ‘We’ll not keep you long. +The day after to-morrow, shall we say? Right! Now +good-by! And don’t let Huntington pot you––before +you’ve seen Mrs. Higgins.’</p> +<p>“They both laughed at that. Higgins drove off down +the valley in his road wagon, and Haig galloped toward +home. And then I found a trout had run away with my +hook. Big fellow too, and clever as Satan. Scuttled +away under a rock and worked loose before I could get +after him. But it was a good day’s fishing just the +same, don’t you think?”</p> +<p>She did not reply at once; and Smythe discreetly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +busied himself tossing stones at an impertinent chipmunk +that popped in and out among the rocks and +fallen limbs.</p> +<p>“Have you seen this Mrs. Higgins?” asked Marion +suddenly.</p> +<p>“No,” Smythe answered gravely, though his eyes +twinkled wickedly. “But Higgins is sixty at least, and +I fancy his wife’s too old to be––” A warning look +checked him. “But really, Miss Gaylord, you ought +not to jump down my throat after I’ve brought you such +an interesting knot for your pretty hands to untie.”</p> +<p>She laughed at his lugubrious countenance, then stood +up, and reached out a hand to him, letting him hold it +for just a breath of time.</p> +<p>“No, you’re a good friend. I know it.”</p> +<p>“I’m not very deep,” he said, with a touch of dejection. +“Nobody ever takes me very seriously. But I +hope you’ll trust me!”</p> +<p>“Indeed I will! But come! We must go back.”</p> +<p>So they went slipping and sliding down the hill, +digging their heels into the ground, clinging to rocks +and trees to check their swift descent, laughing at their +wild plunges and gyrations. At the house, when they +had rested a while on the veranda, Marion dismissed +Smythe as quickly as she could without abruptness; and +when he had gone she hastened to her room, and locked +the door, and flung herself down on the bed, with her +hands clasped behind her head, to stare up at the ceiling +in a whirl of thoughts. There was a mystery! There +was a motive behind Haig’s conduct! “The most unselfish +man in the world” And she repeated the words +over and over again, and gathered them to her heart.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI_AVALANCHE' id='CHAPTER_XI_AVALANCHE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>AVALANCHE</h3> +</div> +<p>Huntington soon had his revenge on Marion, +though, in his blindness, he never knew it. She +and Claire, after an unusually protracted Small Talk +the night before, arose late one morning to find the +house topsy-turvy from masculine activity. On the +veranda they discovered Seth cleaning rifles, surrounded +by cartridge boxes, hunting knives, canvas bags and +wrappings, rubber coats, leather straps, fishing tackle +and what not.</p> +<p>“In the name of goodness, Seth Huntington! What +are you doing?” shrilled Claire.</p> +<p>“Guess!” replied Huntington, with a rather heavy +attempt at tantalizing.</p> +<p>“Oh, I know! Camping. But you don’t mean to-day?”</p> +<p>“Sure!”</p> +<p>“But why didn’t you ask us?” demanded Claire. +“Maybe we don’t choose––”</p> +<p>“But you do, though. I promised Marion that as +soon as I––”</p> +<p>He stopped, for even his habitually veiled eyes could +not miss the look of consternation on Marion’s face.</p> +<p>“Why––I thought––” he began uncertainly. “Of +course, if you don’t want to go––”</p> +<p>The oiled rag dropped from his hand. His descent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +from elation (he had planned a little surprise) to dejection +and chagrin was a tumble that touched Marion’s +commiseration and disarmed her. She did not want to +go camping; she did not want to leave the Park for even +a day, an hour; she did not want to miss any opportunity +to see Haig. More than ever now was she determined +to solve his mystery. So Huntingdon’s “surprise” was +a greater shock to her than he, simple man, could possibly +have foreseen or perceived. But even if she had +not been moved by his rather ludicrous disappointment +she would not have dared to refuse acquiescence in his +programme. She had indeed expressed an ardent––oh, +too ardent!––desire to go camping, and any explanation +she could think of on the instant would have led +her into regions where she could not trust herself.</p> +<p>“Indeed, I want to go!” she cried quickly, though +there was a big lump in her throat. “You took me by +surprise, that’s all.”</p> +<p>“I should say so!” said Claire. “Think you’re +smart, don’t you? We might have been all dressed for +it if you’d only told us. When do we start, Big Boss?”</p> +<p>Huntington recovered his good spirits quickly, assured +that he had succeeded after all.</p> +<p>“I thought we’d ride to Ely’s to-day, sleep there to-night, +and make Mount Avalanche to-morrow evening.”</p> +<p>“Then we must hurry,” said Claire. “Come, +Marion.”</p> +<p>“How long––shall we be gone?” asked Marion, +struggling to appear enthusiastic.</p> +<p>“Four or five days, I suppose.”</p> +<p>Her heart sank. She could have cried with vexation. +But she managed to conceal her real feelings in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +the bustle of preparation. There were provisions to be +packed: cans and jars and bottles; bacon and ham and +flour against the possible event of bad luck with the +guns and rods; warm clothes and bedding; medicines +and bandages. So fully occupied were her hands and +brain with these details, and later with her first real +experience with the mountain trails, that her heart must +perforce keep its peace until some hour of solitude.</p> +<p>Toward five o’clock of the second day they reached +their destination,––a grassy shelf a little below timber +line on Mount Avalanche. There, in some past age, +an avalanche of titanic proportions had carried away +part of the mountain itself; and they camped now on the +top of the débris, long since concealed by a dense forest +growth, as if nature had employed her utmost arts to +hide the wound. Marion could not but yield a little to +emotions of delight and wonder. On that high platform +she stood above a marvelous mountain world, +below another mountain world as marvelous. Behind +her Avalanche reared sheer and sharp and white against +the sky. On either side were snow-clad peaks. At her +feet were forests in solid masses of green, now darkening +in the twilight. And beyond, far, far beyond, the +Park they had left lay bright under the sun’s after-glow, +with a background of range on range of mountains in +their violet haze. On the shelf was forage for the +horses; near at hand were moss and balsam for their +beds; and at a little distance a rivulet, ice-cold, had +shady pools where small trout awaited capture. And +the air was like dry wine on the lips, with a tang of +resin in the nostrils; and the woods sang a song that +even Marion could not resist.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></div> +<p>Here they pitched two tents just large enough to +cover the beds of balsam boughs and moss and blankets. +In the three days they passed in camp Marion learned +many things that were to be of incalculable value to her +one day, though she never could have guessed that all +this too, like the encounter in the Forbidden Pasture, +had been ordered in the Beginning, details in the +Scheme of Things. She learned surprising secrets of +makeshift cookery; she learned the Indian’s lesson of a +very little fire; she learned the mountaineer’s economy +of matches and like precious articles. She fished in the +small pools that lay hidden away in dark recesses of the +forest, practised shooting with her rifle, and on the third +day, in the timber below the camp, with Seth at her +side, brought down her first deer.</p> +<p>“I told you!” cried Huntington, delighted at the +progress of his pupil.</p> +<p>But her heart was not in all this; it was clamoring +now to be heard, and would by no means be stilled. +Each evening Marion walked apart from the others, to +stand at the edge of the lofty platform, and watch her +green and violet Elysium swallowed up in night. Each +morning she searched for it through her field glasses to +assure herself that it had not vanished in the dark. +And when the last day of their outing came, the last +evening, the last night, she could scarce contain her impatience. +To-morrow they would start; and the day +after––</p> +<p>She could not sleep that night. Every twig and +every needle of her pine mattress seemed to have conspired +to torture her. She tossed about until she could +no longer endure her bed; and in the middle of the night +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +she crept out of the tent, and sat, wrapped in a blanket, +before the smouldering embers of the fire. The hobbled +horses grazed not far away; a night bird twitted solitarily +in the brush; and from the depths of the forest +came the scream of some savage creature out on its kill. +Against the star-crowded sky the peaks stood up cold +and impassive. What cared they? What did the +world care? What did Philip care?</p> +<p>For now she knew that she loved him. Yes, yes, she +loved him! In her heart she had known it from the +beginning, since that meeting in the Forbidden Pasture, +had known it as one knows things without acknowledgment. +Her mind had acknowledged only the hundred +reasons why she should not, could not love him. He +had repelled her; he had not veiled his meaning, had not +concealed his antagonism; he had told her plainly, brutally +almost, that he would not endure her presence, that +she must avoid his side of the Park.</p> +<p>Then she thought of Robert,––Robert, so devoted +and so true. What was she doing: throwing away his +love that was so unselfishly, so whole-heartedly laid at +her feet? Had she been mad to flee from him? Yes, +mad! Pride rose to support the fondness and the admiration +she had felt for him. And so there ensued a +struggle between the two fine spirits that dwelt in her,––the +proud little lady of the Fragonard and the Viking +with red hair.</p> +<p>The Viking won. Had not her father said to her, +in those long talks about her mother, that love is the +only thing? And back she came, on swiftest wings of +passion, to Philip; and she was glad. She knew now +the meaning of her restlessness in the dark days in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +unheeding city; she knew whose voice had called, whose +arms had held her, though he was unaware. He needed +her, though he did not know it. And she had come to +him, without understanding. Somewhere she had read +a fugitive bit of verse that had meant nothing then, and +had been forgotten until now, when it suddenly sang +across the years and the spaces like a call to courage:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='indent2'> </span>“The wild wind bloweth<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>The cross of fire.<br /> +The wild heart knoweth<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Its own desire.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The wild heart knoweth its own desire! She rose to +her feet with a singing and a resurrection of her heart. +She scarcely knew that her limbs were stiff and that her +body ached with cold. Her spirit was aroused. She +could not go and take Philip as her father had taken the +one he loved. But there were ways; when had a woman +ever failed, in love, of finding them? She set herself +to thinking, planning, scheming, while she walked +swiftly to and fro before the tents. And presently she +stopped her pacing, and looked curiously around her. +There had come a subtle alteration in the aspect of the +night. A shivering freshness had crept insensibly into +the air. Leaves and grass and the very air appeared to +be astir, though the silence and the darkness were as +before. She looked up eagerly at the sky, and saw that +the stars were pale. It was not yet the dawn; it was +only the passing of the night. But the dawn was near. +The dawn! The dawn!</p> +<p>She did not wish Seth to find her there. He would +ask questions, staring at her. She crept stealthily back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +into her tent, and lay there, shaking with cold, to wait +for the noise that Huntington would make as he sought +for live embers in the ashes of the fire.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Once out of the mountains and in the foothills, she +rode far ahead of Seth and Claire, impatient at the slow +progress necessitated by the difficulties of the pack +horses. Late in the afternoon she found herself at a +fork of the road with which she was familiar. A little +way up the less-used of the two branches there was a +glade where columbines grew in extraordinary profusion. +She had gathered armloads of them there, and +seemed scarcely to have touched the edge of that wild +garden where nature had been seized with a prodigal +impulse. And now, rather to be doing something than +to await in irritation for Seth and Claire, she turned +her pony’s head and rode toward the glade. In five +minutes she was fording a little stream, beyond which +the road rose slightly to cross the shoulder of a hill, and +dipped again to run in a sharp curve along the margin +of the glade. She took the rise at a gallop, sped down +the other slope, and at the curve of the road reined up +her horse with a startled cry. She had come suddenly +upon a team hitched at the side of the road,––the sorrels +and the trap in which Philip Haig had driven her to +Huntington’s that terrible evening.</p> +<p>For a moment she was bereft of thought and feeling. +At that very instant she had been thinking of him; what +instant was she not thinking of him? But the utterly +unexpected encounter––for he was there somewhere, in +the glade, no doubt––swept away all that courage she +had found on Avalanche. She felt suddenly helpless, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +inert, afraid; and before she could regain her self-possession, +call back her high resolve, the bushes at the +roadside parted, and Philip stood before her. He bore +a great bouquet of columbines, their stems wrapped in +damp moss and leaves and tied securely with a string. +At sight of her he halted; and that look of annoyance +she had seen him wear in the road below his ranch house +came again into his pale face. For some seconds they +regarded each other in silence.</p> +<p>“True,” he said at length, with a smile that tortured +her, “this is not my side of the Ridge. I am the trespasser, +even though this is public domain. You have as +much right here as I––more, since I said the Ridge was +the dividing line. So––”</p> +<p>He stepped quickly to her horse’s side, pressed the +great bunch of pale-blue flowers into her limp but obedient +hands, lifted his battered hat, turned on his heel, +walked directly to the trap, leaped into the seat, and +drove swiftly away. She watched him dully until he +was out of sight behind a bend in the road, among the +trees; watched the spot where he had disappeared until +it became a blur to her aching eyes. Then she looked +slowly down at the flowers in her hands. Columbines! +Frail, lovely things, the fairest product, she had thought, +of nature’s laboratory, reflecting the infinite, ineffable +blue of God’s skies, delicate as the flower that had +bloomed with such wonderful, unexpected beauty in her +own heart! How she could have treasured them, wept +over them, hugged them to her breast, if he had given +them to her in another way. Slowly her fingers relaxed. +The flowers fell into the dust of the road. She stared +down, at them a moment; and then, with a cry, leaped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +from her horse, picked them up eagerly, clasped them to +her breast, buried her face in them, and watered them +with her tears.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Seth said he guessed he would ride down to the post-office +before supper; yesterday was mail day; might be +something. Marion was glad of his departure, and to +avoid Claire was not difficult, considering what baths, +and changing of linen, and brushing of hair they required +after their outing. Refreshed and rested, they +had scarcely met before the new-lighted fire at twilight +when Seth returned, stamping vigorously into the room.</p> +<p>“You’re the lucky one, Marion,” he said.</p> +<p>He fumbled in his pockets, and finally produced a +letter. She took it, glanced at it, and let it fall into her +lap. A great stillness seemed to have come upon the +world. She appeared to be looking at Seth and Claire +across great distances. She could hear her heart pounding +in her bosom, like something that hammered for +freedom. Ages seemed to have passed before she was +able to rise slowly, to smile, to beg to be excused a +moment. In her room she stood quite still, mechanically +tore open the envelope, and read:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>Dear Marion: You told me not to write, and I have obeyed +till now. Don’t scold, please! You see I am in Denver. It’s +business. Honest! A mining deal, just for a flyer. It may +mean millions or nothing. I am here for several days, possibly +weeks. Won’t you <i>please</i> let me run up to see you? +Don’t say no, Marion. I promise to be good. I have an auto +here, and they tell me the roads are O. K. at this season. I’ll +come away the minute you tell me to. If I can see you only +for an hour it will make me very happy.</p> +<p class='ralign'>Yours always,<span class='rindent4'> </span><br /> +<span class='smcap'>Robert</span>.<span class='rindent2'> </span></p> +</blockquote> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></div> +<p>She read it twice, while the color slowly returned to +her cheeks. Then the letter faded from her sight, and +she saw a face that wore a cruel smile, and heard a voice +that bade her begone. And suddenly a wave of resentment, +of anger, swept over her. To have been scorned, +flouted, humiliated by one to whom––And here was +a man who wanted her as he wanted nothing else in the +world, who would toil for her, die for her, who would +treasure every word and smile she should consent to give +him, whose one desire was to make her happy. What +madness had come over her that she––she the Viking’s +daughter––Her eyes were drawn, she knew not how, +to the columbines that she had carefully, tenderly arranged +in a bowl on her dressing table. In a passion +she rushed upon them, snatched them up dripping, bore +them to the open window, and flung them with all her +strength out upon the lawn. A moment she stood looking +at them, her hands clutched upon her heaving breast, +her whole body quivering with the storm that raged +within her. Then she whirled around, flung herself +down at her little writing table, and wrote:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>Dear Robert: Yes, come. <span class='smcap'>Marion.</span></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Her hand trembled now so that she could scarcely address +the envelope, and seal it. But it was done at last. +She rose, and paused a moment to collect herself. Her +mouth was dry, her forehead was hot under the hand +that she pressed upon it. Nervously she poured a glass +of water from the crystal pitcher that stood on a little +table by the window, and gulped it down. Her eyes, +as she did so, fell again upon the bouquet of columbines +lying forlorn, their tender faces half buried in the dry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +grass. A cry rose to her lips, but she forced it back, +and with a tightening of her lips, turned and went rapidly +out into the room where Seth and Claire awaited +her.</p> +<p>“What do you think?” she cried, in a voice that +sounded strangely shrill and unmusical in her ears. +“It’s from Robert––Robert Hillyer––Papa’s good +friend––and mine. He wants to come up and see me––he’s +in Denver––on business. He wants to come up––he +says––just for a day or two––do you mind––if +I ask him?”</p> +<p>“Of course, dear!” cried Claire, with enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“Sure!” seconded Seth. “Tell him he’s very welcome.”</p> +<p>“I knew you’d say that!” said Marion excitedly. +“So––the letter––it’s all ready. Can it go out––the +stage goes to-morrow, doesn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Huntington. “I’ll take it down in +the morning––before you’re up.”</p> +<p>“Please!”</p> +<p>She stood a moment, smiling at them. Then her eyes +wandered aimlessly around the room. She must do +something quick, or she would go to pieces. She saw +the piano, and fairly ran to it. Crash! went the chords. +Rippling and tumbling on one another came the notes +under her nervous fingers. Out of the jumble of unrelated +sounds presently emerged a gay and sparkling +melody; and then a gayer one; and after that a rollicking +song from one of the latest musical comedies. +There followed two of the sauciest, most irresponsible +tunes that ever made a vaudeville success. She played +with abandon, a kind of reckless fury, sitting erect, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +her head flung back, an insouciant smile flickering about +her lips, her lithe body swaying with the music. Then +suddenly, in the midst of a tune, she stopped, arose, +faced Seth and Claire with flaming cheeks and eyes +unnaturally bright.</p> +<p>“Great, Marion!” cried Seth, slapping his thigh. +“Go on, please!”</p> +<p>But Claire had seen what Huntington had not. She +turned to him swiftly, with a quick command, as if she +had suddenly remembered something.</p> +<p>“I’ve clean forgot that pie, Seth. Go to the cave and +bring me some apples. Quick, now!”</p> +<p>He sensed something a little queer in that order, +which would have been very natural and pleasing at any +other time, but he did not stop to question. Claire +waited until the door had closed behind him, then ran +to Marion, with anxiety pictured in her face.</p> +<p>“What is it, Marion?” she exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Oh, Claire, Claire!” cried Marion, breaking. +“I’m so––so––unhappy!”</p> +<p>Then she flung herself into Claire’s arms, weeping +without restraint.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII_SUNNYSIDES' id='CHAPTER_XII_SUNNYSIDES'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>SUNNYSIDES</h3> +</div> +<p>Marion was not alone in her misery; but knowledge +of this, had it by any chance come to her, +would not have eased her heart, though it might indeed +have hardened it a little against more suffering to come.</p> +<p>Toward bedtime of the eighth day after that encounter +at the glade of the columbines, Philip Haig sat +stiffly silent in his armchair, staring into the fire. His +brow was dark with discontent, his cheeks had paled +with the slow ebbing of the tide of passion that had +swept over him. It had begun to rise, though he was +not then aware of it, or barely aware of it, the day +Marion had halted him in the road below his ranch +house; it had reached its flood as he drove away from +her and left the bouquet of columbines in her limp +hands.</p> +<p>Who was this girl? And why had she come to torture +him? To him she now appeared as the incarnation +of his tragedy. In her the Past, from which he had +fled to the far corners of the earth, hiding his trail in +seas and deserts and in stagnant backwaters of humanity, +had tracked him down at last. And all the grief +and bitterness and hatred that he had beaten down, or +thought he had beaten down, had returned to rend and +tear him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></div> +<p>Two beings he had loved, and to them he had given, +to each in a different way, all his heart and soul and +mind: his father and––that other. She had come to +him at his most susceptible age, when, devoted only to +art, he knew nothing of the world––a green boy, the +wise ones had called him. She had come to him with +all the surprise and wonder of a revelation, a coronation, +a fulfillment, a golden epiphany. He had attributed to +her such spiritual perfections as should have gone with +her beauty and her grace; worshipped her for all that +she was not and all that he was himself. And she had +deceived him, exploited him, plundered him,––and +laughed at him when by chance, one tragic, intolerable +night, he found her out. And the next morning, as if +his cup were not already full, he had received a cablegram, +in his attic studio in Paris, telling him that his +father had killed himself in a moment of despair over +financial difficulties. So he had killed his father with +his excessive demands for money to squander on ’Tonite. +To be sure, he did not know––had had no hint from +home––had never guessed that his father was in +trouble. Nevertheless he had killed him––rather, she +had killed him. What a fool he had been! Never +such another fool since God placed man and woman +together in one world. Cursing himself and her, and +in her cursing all her sex, he fled––he knew not where. +So stunned and dazed he was that he never really came +to himself, found himself, until one day he awoke in +Hong Kong.</p> +<p>That was the beginning of the new life, if such it +might be called. He became a wanderer, an adventurer, +seeking always new faces, new places, new experiences, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +trying always to forget, hoping always for a blessed +knock on the head in some mad undertaking, for a thin +knife in the back in some wild adventure. But in all +his wanderings the one kind of adventure that he refused, +the one excitement that he steadfastly shunned, +was the one that, because of his very aloofness, and of +something that women ever saw in his eyes, was offered +to him the most freely, in every land beneath the sun.</p> +<p>Slim Jim entered, bringing whisky and hot water. +Haig turned his head to look at him. Jim never +changed, whatever his environment; he was always the +Orient, the inscrutable East. And now, slipping in so +stealthily, he seemed to bring with him an atmosphere, +an odor, a call, and Haig, still looking at Jim, but +scarcely seeing him, began to murmur lines that intoxicated +him:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are,<br /> +But man can have the sun for friend, and for his guide a star;<br /> +And there’s no end of voyaging when once the voice is heard,<br /> +For the river calls and the road calls, and––”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>He stopped and sat suddenly erect.</p> +<p>“Jim!” he cried. “Do you remember the night we +took old Kwang’s girl away from the river rats in Tien-Tsin?”</p> +<p>“Vellee well,” answered the Chinaman.</p> +<p>His face was expressionless; he concealed the joy that +this mood of his master aroused in his thin breast. Jim +did not like the Park, and only the recollection of one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +day when he had stood tied to a capstan on a pirate +junk, with a dozen fiends around him trying to make +him tell something he did not know, and Haig had +suddenly descended upon them like the foreign devil +he was,––well, Jim took his gods where he found them, +and from that day Haig had never been able to rid himself +of this idolater.</p> +<p>“Tien-Tsin! Tien-Tsin!” Haig repeated, lingering +covetously on the words. “But that was a fight, eh!”</p> +<p>“No likee!” replied Jim.</p> +<p>“No likee!” cried Haig. “Why, you hypocritical +young ruffian, you! That was one of the happiest +nights of your life. You’re always trying to make people +think you’re asleep, or timid. I can see, right now, +that long knife of yours slip under my arm, and catch +the big fellow in the stomach. He just coughed once, +and crumpled up at my feet. In the nick of time, too, +Jim, and I let the next one have it. The rest of them +took to their heels, and you with your long pigsticker +after them. No likee! Jim, you’re a moon-faced old +liar, and a disgrace to your ten thousand and seven ancestors.”</p> +<p>Jim’s smile was perfectly noncommittal. He was +too wily to appear eager. Besides, he did not really +like fighting, which made all the more trouble for somebody +when he had to fight. But he was heartily sick of +this cold and uneventful life in the Park. Better a +thousand times the foolish adventures, the unnecessary +battles, the restless wanderings of other days!</p> +<p>“That was a night!” said Haig, flinging himself back +in his chair to gaze dreamily into the flames, while Jim, +like a blue ghost, stole noiselessly away. And there, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +in the glow of the dying fire, bright and alluring visions +successively took shape: A red-and-yellow temple on +a hill, to which a thousand steps led up from a lake the +color of a blue heron’s breast; a junk with sails of +purple creeping out of a morning mist as yellow as saffron; +an island with a still lagoon in its center, and +coconut palms alive with screaming parrots of every +gorgeous hue; a sandy beach where jabbering natives +dragged the flotsam of a wrecked steamer out of the +breakers; a village on a high plateau, where a drum +throbbed incessantly, and naked Indian children peered +out from behind the huts; a skirmish line in khaki +crawling up to the brow of a shell-swept hill; a dog-team +yelping under the long lash of a half-breed Aleut, +on a frozen river that sparkled in the sun; a sweating +jungle where two bright spots glowed balefully in the +gloom.</p> +<p>“God!” groaned Haig, as he sat erect at last, and +reached for the glass, now cold. He tasted it, and set +it back with a wry face.</p> +<p>“Damn Thursby!” he muttered. “Does he think +I’m going to stay here forever, like a bear in a pit?”</p> +<p>He woke the next morning in an ugly humor, having +slept little, and then only to dream such dreams as +fed his discontent. He berated Jim because the biscuits +were cold (which was not Jim’s fault), and because +the coffee was hot (which was according to his +orders). Trivial annoyances, most of them of his own +making or imagining, multiplied on all sides, fomenting +his irritability until, by the time he strode out of the +cottage, his temper was at white heat. What might +have happened to the patient, devoted men about the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +stable and corrals is not difficult of conjecture, but they +were saved by Sunnysides. Almost the first object that +caught Haig’s eye was the yellow outlaw gleaming in +the morning sunlight.</p> +<p>“Ah!” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>His inner turmoil of these last few days had banished +all thought of the stallion of the San Luis. But now, +his eyes gleamed as he quickened his steps toward the +stable.</p> +<p>Farrish and Pete were at work among the stalls; Bill +stood guard over Sunnysides; and the fourth man, +Curly, was mending a saddle in the harness-room.</p> +<p>“Farrish!” Haig called out, striding into the stable. +“We’ll tackle the yellow fellow this morning.”</p> +<p>Farrish and Pete turned, and looked at him curiously.</p> +<p>“All right!” answered Farrish; and then added +doubtfully: “Now?”</p> +<p>“Yes. At once.”</p> +<p>Farrish, in a manner that showed a certain reluctance, +put up the currycomb with which he had been grooming +the sorrels, and started toward the rear door. But Pete +stood still.</p> +<p>“You too, Pete!” said Haig, impatiently.</p> +<p>“I think you better not––to-day,” answered the Indian, +in his slow way.</p> +<p>“Why?” snapped Haig.</p> +<p>Pete had seen the expression on Haig’s face, and did +not like it. But he hesitated to utter what was in his +mind.</p> +<p>“Why?” repeated Haig.</p> +<p>“I think you better wait,” was all that Pete could +say.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></div> +<p>“Hell!” cried Haig. “Get your lariat! And be +quick about it!”</p> +<p>He had read Pete’s thought; his ill-humor had evidently +shown itself in his face; but the caution only +whetted his purpose. Throwing off his coat as he went, +he passed through the rear door of the barn, and climbed +into the outlaw’s corral, followed by Farrish, Curly, +and Pete.</p> +<p>Sunnysides received them with suspicion. His head +was high, his nostrils were dilated, his tail swished +slowly, like a tiger’s. One forefoot was raised a little, +resting on the toe, and the muscles of his shoulders +quivered under the glossy hide. He had fully recovered +from the effects of his rough treatment on the road, and +his skin shone with a satin-like luster in the morning +sun.</p> +<p>There was a moment’s pause, while Haig and the +others looked at the horse, and he at them.</p> +<p>“Now then, Farrish! Pete!” commanded Haig.</p> +<p>And the battle began. Farrish and Pete turn by +turn flung their lariats at the horse’s head and feet, but +time after time he dodged, and ducked, and capered +away from the whirling noose, or wriggled out of the +coil as it tightened around him.</p> +<p>“He’s greased lightning!” ejaculated Bill, from his +perch on the fence.</p> +<p>“He’s hell, that’s what he is!” retorted Curly, from +a corner of the corral.</p> +<p>Farrish and Pete went silently on with their work. +They knew that eventually, dance and squirm as he +might, the horse would be caught in one or the other of +the relentless loops. And so it proved. While Sunnysides +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +was side-stepping a throw by Farrish, Pete’s rope +slipped snakily over his head, and tightened around the +arched neck. With an artful lunge toward the Indian, +and a lowering of his head, the horse struggled to throw +off the coil. But it held.</p> +<p>Then followed a mad performance. The horse was +over all the corral at once, it seemed: rearing, plunging, +leaping, tossing his head, crashing into the fence with +such fury that it barely stood up under his onslaughts. +Bill was knocked off the fence backward on to his head; +Curly, crowded into his corner, barely avoided a vicious +kick; and Haig’s temper was not improved by the narrow +escape he had from being crushed against a post.</p> +<p>“Bill!” he yelled. “Get a rope!”</p> +<p>The man ran into the barn, returned with a lariat, and +joined the fray. Plainly chagrined, though unhurt by +his fall, Bill took long chances to even up the score; +and under the very hoofs of the infuriated animal, he +made a throw that brought Sunnysides sprawling on the +ground, his forefeet caught in Bill’s noose. It was the +work of a few seconds then for Farrish to secure the hind +feet also; and the horse lay prostrate, panting and half-choked, +but defiant still.</p> +<p>Giving him no time to recover, and no more breath +than he actually required, Haig and Curly forced the +bit of a bridle into the outlaw’s foaming mouth. Then +the noose on his hind feet was cautiously removed, one +forefoot was freed, and the horse was allowed to rise. +The next proceeding appeared to be resented by Sunnysides +even more than what he had already been subjected +to. While Farrish and Pete held his head, Haig approached +him cautiously with a saddle, and dropped it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +on his back. There was a lightning-like motion, and +the saddle was tossed a dozen feet away, while the two +men at the horse’s head were jerked almost off their +feet. Again and again the saddle was laid on his back, +to remain there barely an instant. But at the fifth attempt, +to the astonishment of all, Sunnysides stood still, +as if, being an equine Napoleon, he had changed his +plan of battle in the face of the enemy. Without +further resistance, he permitted the saddle to be adjusted +and cinched, permitted the men to lead him out +of the corral into the larger one adjoining it, and permitted +Haig to mount him and take the bridle reins in +his hand.</p> +<p>“I’ll be damned!” said Curly. “You’d think––”</p> +<p>“Shut up!” cried Farrish. “That’s a bluff.”</p> +<p>“Now then!” ordered Haig, pointing to the rope that +still held one forefoot.</p> +<p>The rope was removed.</p> +<p>“The other!”</p> +<p>Pete and Farrish slipped off the lariat that remained +noosed around the outlaw’s neck, and stepped back.</p> +<p>For some seconds there was no sound, no motion, no +sign of any design on the part of Sunnysides. Then, +with the swiftness and surprise of a flash of powder in +the dark, a shocking thing occurred. Without a preliminary +movement, either of lunging or bucking or leaping +to one side, or any of the expected tactics, Sunnysides, +with incredible suddenness, reared straight up into +the air, threw himself over, and fell on his back, pinning +Haig to the ground beneath him.</p> +<p>Before any of the men could move, the horse rolled +over sprawling, scrambled to his feet, and charged at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +the fence. There was a crash and the sound of splintering +wood. The top plank fell, broken in two jagged +pieces, and the horse’s forefeet were over the second +plank. But before he could leap again, Curley had +caught the bridle rein, and swung the outlaw’s head +around, holding him there until Bill had leaned over +the broken fence and roped the forelegs once more. +After a moment of furious struggle, Sunnysides appeared +to realize that it was useless; and thus the two +men held him, with his forefeet still hanging outside +the fence, while they turned their eyes toward Haig.</p> +<p>Farrish and the Indian knelt at his side. He lay +quite still, unconscious, and for a moment they thought +him dead. Pete put his head down on Haig’s breast, +and listened. Then he rose to his feet.</p> +<p>“Whisky!” he muttered, and ran toward the stable.</p> +<p>In two minutes he was back, bearing a flask, which he +uncorked as he ran. Forcing the mouth of it between +Haig’s lips, he let the scorching liquor trickle down the +throat until the flask was half emptied. Then he poured +some of the whisky in the palm of his hand, and rubbed +it on Haig’s face and bared breast and wrists, while +Farrish, in his turn, ran to the stable and brought a +lap robe, which he folded and placed under Haig’s head.</p> +<p>They waited helplessly, without speech. At the +fence, Bill and Curley clung to their ropes. Sunnysides, +his forefeet still projecting over the plank, and +the saddle hanging lopsided from his back, had his +head drawn back so far that he could see the group in +the middle of the corral. His eyes were bloodshot, +foam dripped from his mouth, the breath came whistling +through his half-shut windpipe.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></div> +<p>But in the cottonwoods the birds sang undisturbed, +and the pines far up the hill droned their old tune unchanged. +From the ranch house came the rattle of tin +pans, and the voice of the cook singing a song of the +round-up.</p> +<p>After a long time, Haig stirred. A moan came with +the first deep breath; his eyes opened, staring up at the +two faces above him; his lips moved, but at first no +sound came from them. Pete leaned closer, and listened.</p> +<p>“Did––he––get––away?” came in a whisper.</p> +<p>“No,” answered Pete. “He caught.”</p> +<p>A smile flickered on Haig’s lips, and went out; and at +the same time a tiny trickle of blood oozed out, and +ran down through the dust on the white cheek. Pete +and Farrish looked at each other; and when they turned +to Haig again, his eyes were closed, and the pallor of +his face had deepened to a bluish, ashen hue.</p> +<p>Pete bent quickly to put his ear again to Haig’s +breast.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII_HILLYERS_DILEMMA' id='CHAPTER_XIII_HILLYERS_DILEMMA'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>HILLYER’S DILEMMA</h3> +</div> +<p>Hillyer’s loyal heart was near to bursting with +joy. In all the days of his eager courtship +Marion had never seemed so close to him, so fairly +within his grasp, as now. She had welcomed him with +totally unexpected warmth, considering the many times +she had rejected him, and considering, too, the letter he +had received from her on her departure. Absence, he +thought, had advanced his cause for him. A dozen +times he was on the point of boldly violating the six +months’ embargo she had placed upon his pleadings; +but as often as the fervent words rose to his lips fear +froze them there, and he was silent.</p> +<p>As for Marion, she was for the moment absorbed in +a little plan that was not for Robert’s knowledge. She +was intent upon meeting Philip in Robert’s company; +she wanted to bow to him, and smile, and let him see +that there was one man at least who prized her, if he +did not. But the imp of perversity seemed to have +come to abide permanently in the Park. Though +Marion, in the first two days of Robert’s visit, guided +him, in the big automobile, everywhere except beyond +the Ridge and to the glade of the columbines, she had +never a glimpse of Philip. All this maddened her; and +if Robert had but spoken, there were times when––But +Robert did not speak.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></div> +<p>Near noon of the third day they met Smythe in the +main valley road a mile or so below the post-office. At +sight of him bobbing along toward them, almost lost between +his horse and his sombrero, Marion’s first impulse +was to speed past him without stopping. She was not +sure she could trust his discretion; for she had told +Robert nothing about Philip Haig. But she did not +wish to offend the faithful Smythe; and so, on second +thought, she hurriedly acquainted Robert with the identity +of the approaching figure, and warned him to control +his inevitable mirth.</p> +<p>“He is funny,” she said, laughing in spite of herself, +“but he can’t help that. He’s been very good to +me, in his way.”</p> +<p>In the meantime Smythe’s horse was deciding the +matter on his own account. This was the first automobile +the pony had ever seen, and he made up his mind +promptly that he did not like it. He reared and bucked, +bolting first to one side and the other of the road, and +refused to consider Smythe’s well-worded assurance that +wise horses were really fond of automobiles, which were +taking a great deal of work off their shoulders.</p> +<p>Hillyer stopped the machine, and cut off the power. +But the pony’s suspicions had been thoroughly aroused, +and the sudden silence seemed to him more portentous +than even the noise of the motor. Smythe thereupon +had his work cut out for him, but he would not compromise +either by dismounting, or by turning and riding +away. Slowly and patiently he urged the frightened +pony toward the automobile until, after many setbacks +and panics, he had brought him near enough for +conversation.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span></div> +<p>“There now, Peanuts!” he said to the prancing +animal. “You see you were quite mistaken.” Then, +to Hillyer and Marion: “He’s a little like myself. +He doesn’t really believe in ghosts, but he’s dreadfully +afraid of them.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know you were such an accomplished horseman,” +said Marion.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you? Well, you see––”</p> +<p>At that instant the pony suffered a fresh access of +alarm. He bounded suddenly sideways, and at the +same time ducked as if he purposed to stand on his +head, though what good that would have done only he +knew. The movement threw Smythe over the pony’s +head, and flat on his back in the dust; and in a twinkling +Peanuts was dashing up the road, with his tail in +the air, and the stirrups flapping at his sides.</p> +<p>For some seconds Smythe lay half-stunned; but before +Marion and Hillyer, leaping from the automobile, +were able to reach him, he sat up, and began to straighten +out his crushed sombrero, eyeing it critically. He was +covered with dust, and one end of his white collar, torn +from the button, stuck out above his coat. But his +aplomb was perfect.</p> +<p>“As I was saying, when interrupted,” he began, continuing +to minister to the sombrero, “you see I am an +accomplished horseman.”</p> +<p>Marion and Hillyer broke out in uncontrollable laughter. +Then Hillyer hastened to assist Smythe to +rise.</p> +<p>“Not hurt, I hope?” said Robert.</p> +<p>“Objectively, no. Subjectively, yes. Sartorially, a +wreck.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span></div> +<p>They laughed now without restraint, which seemed +to please Smythe immensely. He proceeded to tuck +the end of the torn collar back into its place, where it +refused to stay; to brush his clothes; to adjust the +abused sombrero in exactly the long-studied angle on his +head.</p> +<p>“I hope you’ll forgive us for laughing,” said Marion, +“but––”</p> +<p>“Say no more about it, please!” protested Smythe. +“I’d rather make you laugh than weep––assuming that +anybody would weep for me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’d have felt very badly if you’d been hurt,” +Marion assured him. “And you might have been, +too.”</p> +<p>“No, a cropper like that’s nothing. Peanuts +isn’t––” He paused just a second to look into Marion’s +eyes with an expression that arrested her attention +sharply. “Peanuts isn’t Sunnysides.”</p> +<p>“Sunnysides?” she cried out unguardedly.</p> +<p>Smythe’s eyes warned her, as he waited to give her +time for self-control. He did not know how far Hillyer +was in her confidence.</p> +<p>“Is there news––about––Sunnysides?” she faltered, +struggling desperately with herself.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered. Then he continued slowly, in +as light a manner as possible, the while he held her with +a concentrated gaze: “I’d been down the valley as far +as the mouth of the canyon. Coming back, about two +miles below where Haig’s road joins this, I saw the +sorrels in a cloud of dust. ‘Hello!’ I said. ‘Something’s +up, or the sorrels wouldn’t be driven like that.’ +In a minute or two I made out Bill Craven, one of Haig’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +men, leaning forward in the seat of a road wagon, and +laying on the whip. ‘If Haig saw that!’ I thought. +And so I––”</p> +<p>“Go on, please!” said Marion shrilly.</p> +<p>But Smythe was purposely deliberate; for he saw +Hillyer looking at her curiously.</p> +<p>“I wasn’t going to let anybody abuse his horses if I +could prevent it. Besides, how did I know but Craven +was stealing the sorrels? I threw my pony straight +across the road. Craven reined the sorrels up on their +hind legs, almost on top of me.</p> +<p>“‘What in hell?’ he yelled.</p> +<p>“‘That’s what I want to know,’ I answered.</p> +<p>“‘Can’t you see I’m in a hurry, damn you?’ he +shouted angrily.</p> +<p>“‘That’s exactly what I do see,’ I replied. ‘But +Haig never whips those horses.’</p> +<p>“‘That’s none of your business, and Haig ain’t carin’ +much now,’ he fired back at me. ‘Get out o’ my way, or +I’ll––’</p> +<p>“‘Now just keep cool!’ I told him. ‘What’s the +trouble?’</p> +<p>“Craven snorted, but he told me, as the quickest way +out of it. Haig had been hurt––trying to ride Sunnysides. +He’s––”</p> +<p>“Hurt? How?” asked Marion; and Smythe was +relieved to detect a new steadiness in her voice. She +had passed the danger point.</p> +<p>“The horse went over backwards, pinning him to the +ground, with the saddle horn in his stomach. Craven’s +gone for the doctor.”</p> +<p>She gave him one long, searching look, as if to pluck +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +out anything he might have been hiding from her. +Then she turned swiftly toward the automobile.</p> +<p>“Come, Robert! Quick!” she commanded.</p> +<p>She climbed quickly into the machine, followed by +Hillyer, who was puzzled and alarmed by what he had +seen in Marion’s face.</p> +<p>“You too, Mr. Smythe. Hurry!” cried Marion.</p> +<p>“But my horse?” objected Smythe.</p> +<p>“He’ll run home,” answered Marion impatiently. +“Come! We may need you.”</p> +<p>Smythe obeyed, and jumped into the tonneau, while +Robert cranked up and threw in the clutch.</p> +<p>“Fast!” cried Marion.</p> +<p>Hillyer glanced at her. She was very white; her +lips were pressed together, her eyes were fixed on the +road ahead. The machine lurched under them.</p> +<p>“Faster!” urged Marion, in another minute.</p> +<p>The machine, with a kind of shudder, responded to +Hillyer’s hand, and shot out with fresh speed.</p> +<p>Another brief silence.</p> +<p>“The cut-out!” she ordered.</p> +<p>Hillyer bent to the mechanism, and the engine, with +the muffler off, roared and shrieked as it took the smooth +white road, with every bar and rivet throbbing under the +pressure. Only then did Marion turn, and motion to +Smythe. He leaned forward, clinging to the back of +her seat.</p> +<p>“The doctor?” she shouted in his ear.</p> +<p>“Craven had started for Tellurium,” he yelled back. +“Said he’d kill the sorrels. I told him there was a +doctor at Lake Cobalt––Doctor Norris of Omaha––just +arrived, with his family. ‘You’re not such a fool +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +after all,’ said Craven. (I’ll talk with him about that +later.) ‘Thanks!’ I said, and pulled my horse out of +the way. ‘That saves two days.’ He gave the horses +the whip again, and I started for Huntington’s to tell +you––Watch out! There’s the turn!” he shouted in +Hillyer’s ear.</p> +<p>The wheels tore up the sand as the machine, with +the power off but still going at more than half-speed under +its momentum, skidded and scraped around the turn +into Haig’s road.</p> +<p>“Now!” cried Marion.</p> +<p>Again the automobile shivered, and plunged, and went +clamoring like a mad thing up the little valley, the hills +echoing back its roar. The white road leaped up at +them, gulping them in. A red steer, astray from some +pasture, crossed the road far ahead of them, and Marion +closed her eyes as the machine, with a sickening swerve, +missed it by inches. The next instant she was pointing +to the group of buildings squatting under the hill; and +then she was out of the automobile, and running to Farrish +at the door of the barn. His face confirmed her +worst fears.</p> +<p>“Where is he?” she asked, with a swift look around.</p> +<p>He pointed toward the larger of the two cottages. +With Hillyer and Smythe silently following, she ran +to the cottage, and through the open door. There she +found herself in a bare, uncarpeted room, furnished +only with two chairs and a table. On the table lay a +faded and battered gray hat. For an instant her gaze +rested on it, and a lump rose in her throat. But she +resolutely turned away, tightening her lips.</p> +<p>There were two inner doors, one of which, ajar, revealed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +a glimpse of brightly polished pans hanging on +the wall. The other door was closed. After an instant +of hesitation, she walked straight toward it.</p> +<p>“Marion!” called Hillyer warningly.</p> +<p>She did not heed him, but turned the knob, softly +opened the door, and with Robert and Smythe at her +heels, stepped into a dimly lighted room where the +aroma of a pine log blazing in the fireplace mingled +with the pungent odor of ammonia. Smythe was quick +to observe, over Marion’s shoulder, that the room was a +sort of library and bedroom combined, carpeted in dark +red, the walls papered in red also, and the windows curtained +with heavy tapestry silk of the same rich hue. +There were low bookcases on two sides of the room, +with pictures above them; several marble statuettes on +the bookcases; and a little jade Buddha beside a two-foot +bronze god of terrifying aspect on the mantelpiece. +In the middle of the apartment stood a solid library +table, of which the cover was a curious strip of faded +yellow silk embroidered with a dragon in green, a fragment +of an old Chinese banner.</p> +<p>At the left of the door, its head against the wall, was +a brass bed in which a figure moved restlessly under the +covers. Near the head of the bed, on the side nearest +the door, stood the Indian, his stolid, bronzed face +turned toward Marion as she entered. On the other +side, holding one of Haig’s hands, knelt Slim Jim in his +blue silks, his yellowish face as expressionless as Pete’s, +except for an alert and questioning look in his eyes. +There was no sound except the low crackling of the fire, +and the rasp of heavy breathing, with sharp catches in it +that spoke eloquently of pain.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></div> +<p>Marion stepped to Pete’s side, and looked down into +the face of Philip Haig. In the dim light it had the +pallor of death, with the parted lips and the staring +eyes of the dead, or the dying. But he breathed; and +presently her steady, searching, pitying gaze brought his +eyes to meet her own, and she saw that they were living +eyes, though clouded and darkened with agony. Almost +was she on her knees, weeping over him, regardless +of those in the doorway watching her. And it was not +their presence so much as the necessity for action that +restrained and steadied her. She did not even speak his +name; but after her one long look, she turned away, and +with every outward sign of calm, removed her gloves +and hat and coat, and placed them on a chair in a +corner of the room. Then she beckoned to Pete, who +followed her, with Smythe and Hillyer, into the bare +outer room.</p> +<p>“Close the door, please!” she commanded quietly.</p> +<p>Smythe closed it.</p> +<p>“Where is he hurt?” she asked the Indian.</p> +<p>“Here.” He laid a hand on his stomach.</p> +<p>“Was he unconscious?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Long time.”</p> +<p>“How long has he been like that––awake?”</p> +<p>“Maybe two hours.”</p> +<p>“What have you done? What have you given him?”</p> +<p>“Whisky.”</p> +<p>“Nothing else?”</p> +<p>“Water. Ammonia on face and breast.”</p> +<p>“Was there blood?”</p> +<p>“Yes. From mouth.”</p> +<p>She had another struggle then, and the tears started +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +in spite of all that she could do. But she conquered +them.</p> +<p>“Much blood?”</p> +<p>“No. Little, only at first.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Pete.” Then, turning to Hillyer: “I +want you, Robert, please, to drive home, and tell Mrs. +Huntington to make up a bundle of the things I shall +need. Wait! A pencil and a bit of paper, please.”</p> +<p>For a moment he did not move to comply.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do, Marion?” he asked, his +voice shaking slightly with the effort of speaking calmly.</p> +<p>“I’m going to nurse him,” she replied, meeting his +look without flinching.</p> +<p>“But, Marion! I don’t––”</p> +<p>“Pencil and paper, Robert!” she said firmly.</p> +<p>He tore a leaf from a notebook, and gave it to her +with his pencil.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” she said; and seated herself at the +table to write.</p> +<p>But there was the dilapidated hat again––so stained +and soiled, a crumpled, tragic, intimate thing––arresting +her. How it had filled her dreams! How she +had laughed at it, fondly, tenderly, as a mother smiles +at the battered school hat of her boy! Once, she had +fancied it hanging on the pink wall in her room, a +trophy, with a ribbon tied around its sweated band. +And now she wanted to grab it up, and hug it to her +breast. But she only lifted it gently, and placed it a +little farther away, on the other side of the table. Then +she made her notes.</p> +<p>“There, Robert!” she said, rising, and handing the +list to him. “Claire will know where to find them.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></div> +<p>He took the paper mechanically, his eyes fixed on +Marion.</p> +<p>“Will you come down, to the car for a moment?” he +asked.</p> +<p>She saw the look, and softened under it. But she +could not answer his questions then.</p> +<p>“No,” she said. “Later, if you wish it.”</p> +<p>For a moment he hesitated. But he could say no +more in the presence of Smythe and Pete, though they +were talking together at the other side of the room. So +he moved slowly away, but was suddenly stopped by a +cry from Marion.</p> +<p>“Oh! Oh!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t somebody––why +didn’t I think of it before? The car? +Run, Robert! Drive down the road toward the lake. +You’ll overtake the sorrels––or meet them. Bring the +doctor in the car. Fast, please!”</p> +<p>Hillyer, without another word, ran and leaped into +the automobile, and was soon bringing the echoes out +of the hills again. He sank low in the seat, and fixed +his eyes on the road that stretched out blinding white in +the sunlight.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV_COALS_OF_FIRE' id='CHAPTER_XIV_COALS_OF_FIRE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>COALS OF FIRE</h3> +</div> +<p>Seth was oiling a pair of boots on the veranda, +while Claire talked to him about Hillyer, who had +pleased her immeasurably by his devotion to Marion, +and even more, of course, by his generous compliments +to herself. She was delicately calling Seth’s attention +to the pleasure, the profits, and the sanctity of politeness, +when she caught sight of Hillyer’s automobile +emerging slowly and silently from the trees that concealed +the road at a little distance from the corrals.</p> +<p>“There he is now!” she exclaimed. And then, an +instant later: “Why, he’s alone!”</p> +<p>She stood up excitedly, and Seth also, dropping a +half-oiled boot on the floor.</p> +<p>“What the devil?” ejaculated Huntington.</p> +<p>So they stood, waiting and wondering, while Hillyer +alighted from the automobile, and walked, with exasperating +slowness––with reluctance, if they had but known +it––up the graveled path among the flower beds. +Something in the look of him caused Claire to clutch a +post of the veranda for support.</p> +<p>“Where’s Marion?” she cried.</p> +<p>“She’s all right,” replied Hillyer, as he mounted the +steps. “That is, nothing has happened to her. But +there’s been an accident.” He hesitated. “Who is +this Philip Haig?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></div> +<p>“Haig? What about Haig?” demanded Huntington.</p> +<p>“He’s been hurt. A horse threw him.”</p> +<p>“Sunnysides?” cried Huntington excitedly.</p> +<p>“I believe so.”</p> +<p>“He will, will he?” chuckled Huntington. “That +serves––”</p> +<p>“But Marion?” interrupted Claire. “What about +Marion?”</p> +<p>Hillyer looked doubtfully from one to the other, in +much embarrassment. What did they know? Or were +they as ignorant as he of the situation that had been +revealed to him as if by the flash of a thunderbolt? +And how much should he disclose to them, in loyalty to +Marion? But in his pocket was Marion’s list.</p> +<p>“She’s there––with him,” he said at length.</p> +<p>“There? Where?” thundered Huntington.</p> +<p>“At his house.”</p> +<p>They stood stock-still, staring at him.</p> +<p>“She wishes Mrs. Huntington to make up a bundle +of these things for me to take to her.”</p> +<p>He handed the list to Claire, who took it, and held it +at arm’s length, regarding it curiously, as if she had +not understood.</p> +<p>“You mean that––” she began, and stopped.</p> +<p>“She says she’s going to nurse him.”</p> +<p>“She’s going to––what?” Claire’s voice rose almost +to a shriek.</p> +<p>“Nurse him.”</p> +<p>“And you’ve left her there with that––”</p> +<p>Huntington was going to say “ruffian,” but was +checked by a sudden recollection, as well as by the look +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +that Hillyer flashed at him. For a moment the two +men faced each other, the one with anger boiling up +inside of him, the other struggling to put down the resentment +aroused by Huntington’s belligerent tone. +Claire crushed the slip of paper in her hand, and +watched them fearfully.</p> +<p>“I judge from your manner,” said Hillyer at length, +when he had controlled himself, “that you dislike her +being there as much as I do. But as I am all in the +dark, I’ll be greatly obliged to you if you will answer +my question. Who is Philip Haig?”</p> +<p>“That’s what I’d like to know!” blurted out Huntington.</p> +<p>Hillyer made a gesture of impatience.</p> +<p>“But he’s your neighbor,” he said curtly.</p> +<p>“And that’s about all I know of him,” Huntington +replied, “except that we ought to have run him out of +the Park long ago, and will do it yet, so help me +God!”</p> +<p>“Why?” asked Hillyer shortly.</p> +<p>Then, as clearly as he could in his rage, Seth gave +Hillyer a brief account of the events of the four years +that Haig had been in the Park,––an account that satisfied +Hillyer as little as it had satisfied Marion. He +had meant, in the beginning, to ask how Marion had +come to know Haig, and if they had been much together; +but he now surmised that Huntington and his wife were +as ignorant as himself of that acquaintanceship, or +friendship, or whatever it was that could have made +possible the astounding emotions he had seen on Marion’s +face. Hillyer’s situation was difficult. If Marion +had a secret he must guard it for her, whatever it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +might cost him. Yet now he needed help, and no one +could help him but Huntington and his wife. And at +the first words on the subject, Huntington had (more in +the tone of his speech than the matter) shown him that +little help could be expected in that quarter. Last of +all, and not to be forgotten, he was the Huntingtons’ +guest.</p> +<p>“How bad’s he hurt?” asked Huntington.</p> +<p>Hillyer shook his head dubiously.</p> +<p>“It’s impossible to say just yet. Doctor Norris fears +that the pancreas is ruptured. In that case––” He +shrugged his shoulders. “At any rate, the pancreas +and the stomach are temporarily paralyzed by the blow +of the saddle horn––the horse seems to have gone over +backward on him. If he gets over the shock there’s +still the danger of inflammation. There ought to be +ice packs. Cold water will have to do. They must be +changed every minute. Doctor Norris told me––” He +paused to look intently at Claire––“Doctor Norris told +me that nothing but the most careful nursing can save +him.”</p> +<p>“Let the Chinaman do it!” Huntington blurted out.</p> +<p>Hillyer shook his head.</p> +<p>“No. Norris says he will not trust him. You see, +Haig’s pleading for water must be denied. He can +command the Chinaman, and that––Besides, all this +is not to the point. Marion has made up her mind, and +I assure you––Please get the things she asks for, +Mrs. Huntington.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean you’re going to take them!” shouted +Huntington.</p> +<p>“Certainly. She’s asked for them.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></div> +<p>“And you’re going to let her stay there––with +him?”</p> +<p>Hillyer smiled. Having abandoned all hope of assistance +from Huntington, he was thinking of other +measures, and was scarcely as attentive as he might have +been to the increasing truculence of his host.</p> +<p>“What would you do?” he asked quietly.</p> +<p>“I’d bring her away!”</p> +<p>“Would you care to go and try it?”</p> +<p>This was a keener thrust than Hillyer had any intention +of delivering, provoked though he was by Huntington’s +behavior; for Seth had not included in his narrative +any reference to the affair at the post-office, or to +Haig’s visit to his house. Huntington’s face became +purple; and if he had been apoplectic in disposition he +would surely have suffered a seizure in that moment of +choking rage.</p> +<p>“I’ll go there right enough!” he bellowed. “I’ll go, +when I get ready. I’ll go when he’s able to stand up +and take what’s coming to him. As for her––you can +take her things, and her trunks too, while you’re about +it.”</p> +<p>Hillyer gazed at him dumbfounded for just a breath +of time. Then his own face flamed.</p> +<p>“Quite right, Mr. Huntington!” he said, taking a +step toward him. “I haven’t seen much of Haig, but +from what I’ve seen of you, I think his house can be no +worse place for Miss Gaylord than yours. What’s more, +you’re an––” He caught himself, whirled on his heel, +and addressed Claire. “May I ask you, please, to pack +Marion’s trunks. I’ll attend to mine.”</p> +<p>Claire had stood quite silent, with her blue eyes opening +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +wider and wider, for the moment helpless, but trusting +more to Hillyer’s resources of diplomacy than to her +husband’s self-control. Now her face crimsoned with +mortification, and she stood up with all the inches of her +five foot two.</p> +<p>“You’ll do no such thing!” she cried, and one little +heel came down on the floor with a jolt. “The idea! +The very idea! Oh!”</p> +<p>For a moment she stood poised, like a butterfly in a +rage, if one can imagine it; then she tripped straight to +Huntington, clasped the lapels of his coat, and drew +herself up on tiptoes, trying to meet his eyes.</p> +<p>“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” she cried.</p> +<p>“No, I’m not!” he growled.</p> +<p>But he was, or at least was dimly conscious of his +egregious misbehavior; for he looked neither at Hillyer +nor his wife, and was red now where he had been +purple.</p> +<p>“But you are, though!” She turned her face toward +Hillyer, without loosing her hold on Seth’s coat. +“Don’t you mind him, Mr. Hillyer! He’s just a big +bear. And Haig has been a trial to us. Marion’s my +guest, and––” She looked up into Seth’s beard +again––“If you think you’re going to send her away +like this––”</p> +<p>She stopped short, as on a sudden thought, and then, +with a giggle, buried her face in his flannel shirt. And +the next thing, as unexpected as her blue-eyed rage, she +dropped her hands from his coat, stooped to catch up the +hem of her skirt between thumb and forefinger of each +hand, and began to pirouette around the room.</p> +<p>“Oh, ho!” she exclaimed, laughing triumphantly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +her little body swaying as she tripped, with low curtsies +to Seth and Hillyer, who for the moment forget their +animosity in wonder at this feminine diversion. +“Beautiful! Gorgeous! Oh, splendid!”</p> +<p>She stopped, at length, in front of Seth, dropped to +one knee, bowed till her golden head almost touched the +floor, and rose again to stand with her hands on +her hips, her arms akimbo, her face flushed with excitement.</p> +<p>“Seth Huntington!” she cried ecstatically. “Do +you know what we’re going to do?”</p> +<p>He merely stared.</p> +<p>“We’re going to heap coals of fire on his head.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” demanded Huntington uneasily.</p> +<p>“Marion’s going to nurse Haig. There’s no way +any of us can stop her. She’s our cousin and guest, and +we’ve got to show it. If they want to talk, we’ll give +them something to talk about. <i>I’ll go and nurse Haig +too!</i>”</p> +<p>Dead silence.</p> +<p>“Ah!” cried Hillyer.</p> +<p>“You’ll not!” roared Huntington.</p> +<p>“Watch me!” retorted Claire, turning swiftly, and +running toward her bedroom. But halfway there she +stopped. “No, don’t watch me! You just go and look +after the cattle. Leave this Mr. Haig to us, and he’ll +be the best friend you ever had before Marion and I get +through with him.”</p> +<p>Hillyer, recovering from his amazement, stepped smiling +to where she stood, and reached both his hands to +her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></div> +<p>“Mrs. Huntington,” he said warmly. “You’re a +peach!”</p> +<p>She laughed gaily, and put both her tiny hands in +his, for just an instant.</p> +<p>This was the last straw. Seth snorted like a baited +animal, whirled around, bolted from the house, and ran +blindly to the barn.</p> +<p>“Saddle Nigger!” he yelled to Williams, who obeyed +with stumbling alacrity, while Huntington strode up +and down before the door.</p> +<p>From the window of the ranch house Claire and +Hillyer, silent, watched him until he had flung himself +into the saddle, dug the spurs into the flanks of his +favorite and now astonished black horse, and disappeared +up the hill.</p> +<p>“Where’s he going?” asked Hillyer, suspicious that +Huntington meant mischief.</p> +<p>Claire drew back from the window with a sigh of relief.</p> +<p>“He’s going to––” She laughed softly, but with +just a little tremor in her voice––“He’s going to––look +after the cattle.”</p> +<p>Hillyer saw that her blue eyes were moist.</p> +<p>“He’s the best man in the world, and––I love him,” +she said, looking at Hillyer with a soft appeal. “You +believe that, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Indeed I do, Mrs. Huntington,” Hillyer answered +heartily.</p> +<p>“Then you must forgive him; he has such a temper!”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry we had any misunderstanding,” Hillyer +was able to say sincerely. “I’ll talk it over with him––later.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span></div> +<p>“Please!” urged Claire.</p> +<p>“But I must go now. Those things for Marion, +please.”</p> +<p>“I’ll have them ready in a minute. And I’ve only +to slip on another dress, and––”</p> +<p>“But you don’t mean––You’re not going?”</p> +<p>“Of course I am!” she answered, with a look of surprise.</p> +<p>“I think you’d better not,” he said quietly.</p> +<p>“But why?”</p> +<p>“Now think a minute, Mrs. Huntington. Your husband +objects to your going. It will not only anger him +more, but it will hurt him. Isn’t that so?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly.</p> +<p>Her coals of fire had kindled her imagination. Such +a romantic idea! There would be such talk, such a sensation!</p> +<p>“It would be another matter if there were anything +you could do,” Hillyer went on. “But there isn’t. +And I know very well that Marion would send you back +if you did go.”</p> +<p>That was true enough, on reflection; but it was a disappointment!</p> +<p>“But Marion! There alone!” she said, making her +last stand.</p> +<p>“I shall be there,” replied Hillyer. “The Chinaman’s +going to fix a bed for me. I’ll look after Marion.”</p> +<p>So she yielded, and was glad of it when she had time +to think it over. She gave Hillyer the bundle for Marion, +and watched him go, waving a good-by from the +veranda. Then she hastened to the kitchen to make +apple dumplings for supper. If there was one thing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +that could always be counted on to soothe Seth it was +apple dumplings.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Meanwhile it was indeed a black day for Huntington. +Fate was against him. Tearing himself, mangled in +spirit, out of one trap, he rode blindly into another. +Far up in the hills, riding savagely, he knew not where, +nor cared, vowing dark vengeance on Haig, his attention +was drawn at last by the weird and ominous bellowing +of cattle. Following the sound, he came to a +little hollow where a hundred or more cattle were gathered, +like the rapt spectators in an amphitheater, around +two bulls engaged in mortal combat. One, as Seth +quickly saw, was a red Hereford, his best thoroughbred; +the other, a black Angus, and even more valuable, was +Haig’s. The red bull, bleeding from many wounds, was +plainly being worsted in the encounter. With a roar +of rage, Huntington drew his revolver, urged his unwilling +horse down into the arena where the turf was +torn up for many yards around the combatants, circled +about until he could take sure aim, and emptied every +chamber of the gun into the head and neck of the Angus. +The bull sank to the ground, head first, in a lumbering +mass that kicked once or twice, shivered, and lay still.</p> +<p>But the Hereford, red-eyed with blood and fury, +turned on Huntington, and drove him, barely escaping +being gored, into the thick timber. In a place of safety +Huntington jerked his horse around, and sat limp in +the saddle, staring down at the scene of his final humiliation.</p> +<p>“That’s it! That’s it!” he bellowed. “Even my +own bull turns on me. Haw! Haw!” His hollow, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +hoarse, and unmirthful laughter echoed among the pines. +“Great joke! Haig will like that. And the rest of +them. Hell!”</p> +<p>But Haig! And the Angus! Well, there’d got to +be a show-down anyhow pretty soon. He dismounted, +and seated himself on a fallen tree trunk, and gave +himself up to reflections upon which it is only the most +obvious kindness and discretion to draw the curtain.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV_THE_VALLEY_OF_THE_SHADOW' id='CHAPTER_XV_THE_VALLEY_OF_THE_SHADOW'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW</h3> +</div> +<p>The days dragged by under the burdens of doubt +and torture, and out of the Valley of the Shadow +came Philip Haig, with some new and disquieting +thoughts to occupy him in his convalescence. Toiling +up out of the darkness, where foul fiends seemed to +have torn and mangled his body with their fiery claws, +his fingers were still warm from the pressure of a soft, +guiding hand; there was a haunting memory of kisses +on his forehead, of a cheek laid close to his; and he +could still hear the gentle but commanding voice that +told him to be patient––to be still––that life was +coming back to him.</p> +<p>Life! As if he cared for life! Had he not spent +years on years in seeking what just now had been in his +very grasp, only to be withdrawn by two caressing +hands? And Doctor Morris, on the day of his final +visit, had left him no possibility of misunderstanding.</p> +<p>“Miss Gaylord has saved your life,” he said. “I +could do little. It was her nursing that pulled you +through.”</p> +<p>He wanted much to tell the doctor just how much +value he placed on that life. But to what purpose? +Doctors lived in their own peculiar atmosphere of conceit +and self-deception, crowing like a hen over a new-laid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +egg whenever they chanced to bring back a soul to +the miseries from which it had struggled to escape. It +would be a waste of words, for Norris would never understand. +Would Marion? Cold terror seized him at +the thought of the coming, the inevitable scene with her. +She, he realized vaguely, was different from––from all +the others he had ever seen and looked down upon +from his safe heights of cynical hatred and contempt. +She was not selfish or mercenary––not consciously +selfish or mercenary. And she was not vile. But she +was all the more dangerous because her heart was pure. +She was too high-bred, too fine, to demand payment of +his debt; but her very reticence and delicacy, he foresaw, +would make his repudiation of that debt––that +factitious debt––more difficult. Twice or thrice, as +he struggled with his problem, he was conscious of a +curious, disturbing thrill. She loved him. There had +been a time, long, long ago––But now he was a man; +he had learned his lesson; and he knew that the chains +would be no less hateful because they were made of +gold.</p> +<p>There came a day when he sat, wrapped in blankets, +in an armchair near the window, where he could see the +grass waving in the sunlight on the slope above the +cottage, and the pines bending in the breeze high up the +hill. Marion, near him, her hands folded in her lap, +looked sometimes out of the window but more often at +him, though his eyes avoided hers. She was scarcely +less pale than he, and very tired and worn. Despite +Hillyer’s protestations she had slept little in the ten +days of Philip’s peril; for she would trust no one but +herself to do with iron determination exactly what the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +doctor had commanded. Philip’s pitiable pleading for +water in his semi-delirium her love alone was strong +enough to resist. But this was the last day of her watch +over him. In an hour she must go. She had frankly +asked Robert to let her have this last afternoon alone +with Philip; and had promised him that he should then +have the answer to every question that he had loyally +put aside for her.</p> +<p>They sat a long time silent, while the shadow of the +cottage lengthened on the grass.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t worth it, Miss Gaylord,” Haig said at +length.</p> +<p>“I––I don’t understand,” she faltered.</p> +<p>“Doctor Norris tells me that you saved my life.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad if he thinks I helped a little,” she answered, +trying to smile.</p> +<p>“He left me no room for doubt. Very plain-spoken +is Doctor Norris.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid he exaggerated,” she protested gently.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“But Jim––”</p> +<p>“Jim’s all right in his way, but he couldn’t have +done it.”</p> +<p>“I am paid,” she said simply.</p> +<p>“Paid?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Knowing that you live.”</p> +<p>“No. You think you mean that, perhaps, but you +don’t.”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean what?” she asked in surprise.</p> +<p>“You don’t mean that you are paid.”</p> +<p>She turned away, and looked out the window, her +heart throbbing.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span></div> +<p>“I must tell you something, Miss Gaylord,” he went +on resolutely. “I’m not grateful.”</p> +<p>“Not grateful?”</p> +<p>“I mean, I’m not glad to owe my life to you.”</p> +<p>“But I haven’t asked––”</p> +<p>“No. Not directly.” He hesitated a moment. +“It’s like this: If a man had saved my life, I could pay +him. There would be a clasp of the hand, and a look +from man to man. Or I should save his life in turn, or +do him some service. Or––there are other ways. +There’s Pete’s way and Jim’s way––of paying. But I +can’t pay you in any of the ways I could pay a man. +And I can’t pay in the only way a woman knows.”</p> +<p>“Don’t,” she cried. “Don’t, please!”</p> +<p>She was right, he thought. He was doing it brutally. +He must try another method. There followed a long +silence, while he tried to frame a speech that would tell +her, and would not hurt too much; for now, strangely, +he found himself reluctant to give her pain, even to put +himself in a false light before her––to be misunderstood. +At last he leaned toward her––forced her to +meet his gaze.</p> +<p>“Could you––if you had ever loved one man with +all your heart and soul––held him as dear to you +as life––dearer than life itself––without whom +life would be impossible––could you ever love +another?”</p> +<p>For all her anguish she was able to detect the trap +that he had set for her. “Yes” would cheapen the +quality and deny the finality of her love for him; “no” +would be an acceptance of the doom and tragedy she saw +shadowing his eyes. She did not answer.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></div> +<p>“You see, you dare not answer that,” he went on. +“I suppose I ought to tell you the story. But I won’t. +It’s long, and not a pretty story at all. But this much +I will tell you. I gave one woman all I had to give. +She threw it away––and laughed at me. I have nothing more.”</p> +<p>She took it very bravely and very quietly, as it seemed +to him. He felt a certain admiration. There was +good blood in the girl. Her father must have been +worth knowing. His thoughts would have taken a different +direction––would have been nothing so complacent +if he had known just what she was thinking. +His speech, terrifying at first, had actually renewed a +hope that had fallen very low. She did not believe a +word of what he had said, that is, of his having nothing +more to give. Whenever did woman believe any such +thing as that, no matter how solemnly, on what stoutest +oaths, with what tragic air a man has told it to her? +Love is not love that doubts its own compelling power. +And Marion, gazing fondly at Philip now, felt somewhat +as a mother feels who smilingly indulges some +childhood tragedy of her boy, knowing that it will pass +as the cloud upon an April sky. If this was the worst +he had to say to her––</p> +<p>But it was not the worst. Philip felt an intense relief +to see her accept the situation with such unexpected +calm. He admired her consciously now,––for her intelligence. +He began to think that he might almost take +her hand, and thank her, as he would thank a man for +doing him a service, however mistakenly. But something +held him back from that folly. He wondered a +little at her silence, and it was by way of breaking it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +before it should become embarrassing that he searched +for something safe and commonplace to say to her.</p> +<p>“It was my own fault, you know, that I was injured.”</p> +<p>“Why your own fault?”</p> +<p>“I was in a bad humor. I lost my self-control. And +I got what I deserved.”</p> +<p>He thought she would ask him why he had been in a +bad humor, and he purposed to say that he was raging +in discontent, longing for the white road again. It +would be safe enough now, no doubt, to tell her in this +fashion that if ever she should come to the Park again +she would not find him there. But his words had suggested +something entirely different to her mind.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do with him?” she asked, in +sudden vague anxiety.</p> +<p>“Do with him?”</p> +<p>“Yes––Sunnysides? I wish you’d please sell him.”</p> +<p>“Sell him? Sell Sunnysides?” His voice betrayed +his astonishment.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“But I haven’t ridden him yet.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean––” Her voice failed.</p> +<p>“That I’m going to ride him? Just as soon as I get +well.”</p> +<p>For some seconds she sat dazed. It was so utterly unexpected. +The thought had not once occurred to her +that he would try again what had all but cost him his +life. It is at some such point as this that man’s and +woman’s natures make one of their many departures +from the parallel. To Haig the taming of Sunnysides +now meant everything; to Marion it seemed a useless, a +worse than useless risk, a wicked waste. What had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +the worth, then, of all her labor of love, if it was to be +thrown away? He would be killed the next time. +And in the horror with which she foresaw that tragic +end of all that she had planned and builded, her courage +and confidence fell away from her, and left her weak +and helpless. She uttered a thin, little cry, and slipped +to the floor on her knees, clasping his emaciated hand +that lay on an arm of the chair.</p> +<p>“No! No!” she cried frantically. “Please, +Philip! Please promise me you won’t do that!”</p> +<p>Then she broke down completely, her head drooped, +and she sank down in a heap, with her face between her +hands.</p> +<p>Haig was stunned. He had blundered again. Fool, +not to have let her go away from him in silence, in calm! +He looked down at that crumpled figure, at the mass +of tawny hair, with the red-gold lights in it, the enticing +soft whiteness of her neck where the hair curved cleanly +upward, the graceful slope of the shoulders that now +shook with sobs. And something stirred in him, something +deep, too deep to be reached and overpowered. +It grew until it sang through all his being, a feeling +such as he had never known before. She was fine and +beautiful; she was a thing to be desired; and he had +only to reach out, and take her for his own. Before he +was aware of it, he had stretched out his hand until it +almost touched her hair. Then from across the years +a mocking voice rang out shrill and cold and cruel: +“Now don’t you go mussing up my apartment, Pipo!”</p> +<p>He drew back his hand with a jerk, and clutched the +chair; and sat bolt upright, while every nerve rang +with the alarm.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></div> +<p>Minutes passed. The sobs gradually subsided; the +figure on the floor slowly ceased its convulsive movements; +and again a deep silence enveloped the room. +Out on the brown-green slope the sun’s rays were +slanting low, the shadow of the cottage climbed the +hill.</p> +<p>Well, Haig thought, he had bungled the business +after all. That was what came of trying to do it nicely, +with delicacy. Hard words were the kindest in the +end, because the quickest understood.</p> +<p>She had not yet lifted her head when he turned to +look at her again; and that made it easier.</p> +<p>“I can’t leave the ranch––just now,” he said slowly. +“If I could, I would. So I think––I think you ought +to go back home––to New York, I mean––at once.”</p> +<p>She did not answer. And it was only after another +silence that she looked up at him, and he saw that her +eyes were still filled with tears, and there was a curious +little puckering of her chin.</p> +<p>“You said you wished you could repay me,” she said. +“Do you?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered, wondering. “But I told +you––”</p> +<p>“But there is a way!”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“Promise me you will not ride Sunnysides.”</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>“No. I can’t promise that.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“That’s one of the things you couldn’t possibly understand.”</p> +<p>“But it’s such a little thing!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></div> +<p>“If I gave you that, I should indeed have nothing +left. You would have all.”</p> +<p>It was true that she could not in the least understand. +But she knew she could not move him.</p> +<p>“Then promise me,” she pleaded, “that you’ll not +try it until you are quite, quite well!”</p> +<p>“Oh. I promise you that!” he replied, with a grim +smile.</p> +<p>“Thank you––Philip!”</p> +<p>Presently she arose, and looked down at him with a +long, lingering gaze that seemed to be searching for +something in his features.</p> +<p>“You’ll take just what Jim gives you?” she asked +anxiously.</p> +<p>“Of course.”</p> +<p>“And not try to––boss him about the medicines and +the food?”</p> +<p>“I promise to obey orders.”</p> +<p>“And you’ll be very careful?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>She moved slowly toward the door. But halfway +there she stopped, and turned to look at him again. +How could she leave him now? She couldn’t! She +couldn’t! He was gazing away from her, out through +the window. Wasn’t he going to say a word to her––of +farewell? She came back unsteadily, and stood behind +his chair, her hands stretched out above his head. +Then suddenly, impulsively, not touching him with +her hands, she leaned down, and kissed his forehead.</p> +<p>“Good-by!” she said, her voice breaking.</p> +<p>“Good-by!” he answered gently, but without turning +his head.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span></div> +<p>He heard the door opened and closed, very softly. +After that he sat a long time in silence. Well, she was +gone! It had been a trying afternoon, and he was glad +to have it ended. And yet the room seemed to be +extraordinarily empty, as it had never been before his +illness. The stillness rather oppressed him. Damn it +all, sickness did strange things to a man! Took a lot +out of him! He straightened himself in his chair.</p> +<p>Presently Jim entered.</p> +<p>“Well, Jim!” said Haig. “Here we are again, eh? +I’m hungry.”</p> +<p>“You eat, she come back,” Jim answered shrewdly.</p> +<p>Haig looked at him sharply, but the Chinaman’s face +was like a paper mask.</p> +<p>“Shut up!” he cried savagely.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI_QUESTIONS_AND_ANSWERS' id='CHAPTER_XVI_QUESTIONS_AND_ANSWERS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS</h3> +</div> +<p>Hillyer was waiting for her at the barn when +she came at last, with a smile that eased his +anxiety, if only in an inconsiderable degree. But he +saw, as he took her handbag and bundle, and placed +them in the automobile, that she had been crying. This +gladdened while it angered him, and he was lost among +the many interpretations that might be put upon those +signs of distress. Had she come to the end of her infatuation? +Had she been subjected to insults as the reward +of her service? He dared not ask her such questions––not +yet; but he was resolved (and there were +material reasons, too, for that decision) to have his own +case settled, one way or another, at once.</p> +<p>Neither of them spoke more than a conventional +word or two until Hillyer, after full speed down Haig’s +road to the junction, slowed up on the main highway +along the Brightwater. It was the serenest of summer +evenings, very still and fragrant, with a touch of +autumn in the air. The eastern sky was filled with +pale golds and pinks, and the foothills were warm with +purples. Marion’s face was averted from Hillyer, and +her eyes were fixed, not on the soft alternations of color +in the sky, but on Thunder Mountain, where the only +clouds to be seen in all the expanse of blue lay low upon +its uncompromising head.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></div> +<p>“Marion!” said Hillyer, at length.</p> +<p>She did not miss the note in his voice that exposed his +intention, but long preparation for this moment enabled +her to face him calmly.</p> +<p>“Yes, I know, Robert,” she said. “You have much +to say to me.”</p> +<p>“I’m going to-morrow,” he began abruptly. “Will +you go with me?”</p> +<p>“To-morrow? Go with you?” she repeated, with a +little start of surprise.</p> +<p>“Yes. Will you go with me?”</p> +<p>“But I don’t understand, Robert.”</p> +<p>“I must be in Denver the day after to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“I––I didn’t know your time was so short. I’m +afraid––I’ve spoiled your visit.”</p> +<p>“That doesn’t matter, Marion, if you’ll go back with +me.”</p> +<p>“But I can’t––just yet.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“I’m not ready. I haven’t half finished my visit +with Claire.”</p> +<p>She was, after all, somewhat confused, for she had +not expected him to approach the subject in just this +way.</p> +<p>“But the summer is almost gone. It’s near the end +of August,” persisted Hillyer.</p> +<p>“There’s another month of good weather. And September, +Claire says, is the most beautiful of all.”</p> +<p>“That may be, unless Huntington’s right. He told +me only yesterday that it’s going to be an early winter. +There’s come a chill in the air even since I’ve been +here.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></div> +<p>“Nonsense!” she replied, recovering her composure. +“I’ll go out with the last stage.”</p> +<p>“And get caught in an avalanche or something!”</p> +<p>“I suppose Seth does want to get rid of me!” she +said, with a faint laugh.</p> +<p>“That’s not it at all.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m not afraid.”</p> +<p>“But suppose you stay too late, and get caught. +You’d have to remain here all winter. The Park, +Huntington says, is as tight as a jail after the snows +come.”</p> +<p>“Claire stays here through the winter sometimes.”</p> +<p>He felt a fresh alarm, and showed it. It would be +just like her! he thought.</p> +<p>“See here, Marion!” he said, plunging at last. +“I’ve obeyed your order not to say anything about––the +future. I meant not to say anything until the +time was up. But you must see I can’t keep silent now, +after––what’s happened. You must know I can’t go +away and leave you without knowing what––it all +means. You said you’d tell me as soon as you’d finished +nursing––him. No, wait, please! Let me say it at +once. You know I love you. I want you to marry me. +I need you, Marion. There’s never been an hour, a +minute that I haven’t thought of you. I can’t work––I +can’t do anything without you. I love you more +than––”</p> +<p>“Stop, Robert!” she cried. “You’re making it +harder for both of us.”</p> +<p>“Harder––for––both of us?” he repeated slowly.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>There was a moment’s silence. Hillyer, while he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +spoke, had half-consciously stopped the automobile, +which stood now, humming softly, in the middle of the +road that stretched white and empty ahead of them and +behind them. The night breeze had risen, blowing cold +from the snows, and the shadows were creeping down +into the valley, as if they came from dark caverns in the +hills.</p> +<p>“Robert,” she said sadly. “It’s no use. I must +tell you. I––I can’t marry you.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“You make me say it!” she cried. “Well, Robert, +I––I don’t love you.”</p> +<p>“I’m not asking you to love me!” he rejoined, almost +savagely. “I only ask you––”</p> +<p>“Listen!” she interrupted, placing a hand on his +arm. “That’s not all.”</p> +<p>“You mean––”</p> +<p>She stopped him with a pressure on his arm.</p> +<p>“Once, not knowing, I almost consented,” she went +on. “But something checked me––held me back. +You remember how restless I was––how troubled. +You would have laughed at me if I had told you. But +something seemed to be calling me––a voice from a +long distance. I laughed at myself for a foolish girl––at +first. I said it was nerves, and I fought against it. +And it was then that I came nearest to saying yes to +you, thinking that I was indeed foolish in holding back. +I liked you. I’ve always liked you, Robert. You’d +been such a splendid friend, and I was grateful. I +wanted to repay you––”</p> +<p>She stopped suddenly, and a flush mounted swiftly +into her pale cheeks. Repay! The word recalled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +sharply to her, acutely and painfully, all that Haig had +said about paying her. Were they, then, in the same +dreadful situation, she and Haig, with debts they could +never pay? For the first time some sense of the terrible +finality of his decision struck in upon her secret hopes.</p> +<p>“Don’t talk of that!” Robert was saying, seizing the +moment of silence. “I never––”</p> +<p>“But always, when I was about to yield––I couldn’t. +I didn’t know why then. But now I do.”</p> +<p>“You mean––Haig?” he asked hoarsely.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You don’t––” He could not bring himself to speak +the word.</p> +<p>“Yes, Robert. I love him.”</p> +<p>It took all the courage she possessed. But she owed +it to him and to herself.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe it!” he blurted out. “I won’t believe +it! You are not yourself, Marion. You are worn +out. You have been fascinated. He’s strange––different––new +to you. It’s your imagination, not your +heart, that’s been––won. He’s led you on by––”</p> +<p>“No!” she broke in. “You’re quite wrong. It’s +not his fault at all. He doesn’t love me.”</p> +<p>“Of course not. I know that kind of fellow. You +didn’t need to leave New York to find plenty like him. +He only wants to––”</p> +<p>“Robert!” she cried warningly.</p> +<p>“Then what––”</p> +<p>“He hates me, I think,” she replied sadly.</p> +<p>“Then why in the world do you––” He was floundering. +“What do you know about him, anyhow? +Who is he? Where did he come from?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></div> +<p>That sounded so much like Seth Huntington that she +smiled, thinking of the picture that he must have drawn +for Hillyer.</p> +<p>“I know very little about him,” she replied quietly. +“But I know that Cousin Seth is mistaken.”</p> +<p>“But how do you know he hates you?”</p> +<p>“He made that clear in the beginning––not me +alone, but all women. He shunned me. He told me +twice that I must not speak to him again. And this +afternoon, while you waited for me––” Her voice +broke, with a laugh that was half a sob. “He––finished +it.”</p> +<p>“He was rude to you!” he cried. “I’ll make +him––”</p> +<p>She put her hand quickly on his arm.</p> +<p>“No. He was very gentle––and kind.”</p> +<p>“What did he say?” Hillyer demanded, almost imperatively.</p> +<p>“He said that––he couldn’t leave the ranch just now, +so I’d better go back to New York––at once.”</p> +<p>“He did, did he?” cried Hillyer angrily, his chivalry +for the moment dominant. But then he saw suddenly +another meaning, for him, in the brutal ultimatum; and +his face brightened. “That settles it, doesn’t it?” he +exclaimed eagerly.</p> +<p>“Settles what?”</p> +<p>“Why, you’ll go with me!”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“I told you I’m not ready yet.”</p> +<p>There was a silence while Hillyer, buoyed up with +new hope, made some hurried calculations.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span></div> +<p>“Then listen, Marion!” he said. “I’ll go to Denver, +and come back in a week or ten days. I’ll arrange +things so that I can stay here until––”</p> +<p>“Oh, Robert! You won’t understand.”</p> +<p>He stared at her blankly.</p> +<p>“You’re making it so hard for me!” she cried pathetically. +“I’ve told you already that I cannot marry +you.”</p> +<p>“But why! Why!” he persisted.</p> +<p>“Because I haven’t myself––I’ve nothing to give.”</p> +<p>“But how can you love him after he has––”</p> +<p>“Told me he does not love me?” she said, taking the +words from him. “Then how can you love me when I +have said the same thing to you?”</p> +<p>He struggled desperately, in deep water.</p> +<p>“It’s different, Marion. You don’t hate me––I +think. You say you like me. That’s enough now––to +start with. It’s all I ask. I’ll try to make you +happy, and I’ll wait for love. You shall have all the +things in the world you want. I’m making scads of +money. Everything I touch just rolls up into bank +notes. I want you to come and spend all that money +for me. Remember, Marion, your father wished it. +If he were here now––”</p> +<p>“Yes!” she put in with sudden fire. “If he were +here now do you know what he would say to me?”</p> +<p>He felt that he had blundered, and made no reply.</p> +<p>“He would say to me––Oh, I can hear him now! +He would say: ‘Follow your heart, daughter. Love’s +the only thing in the world that really counts.’”</p> +<p>She smiled triumphantly, but wistfully. And Hillyer +was still silent.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></div> +<p>“Daddy wasn’t very good at quoting Scripture,” she +went on musingly, “but he used to say: ‘Better a +dinner of herbs where love is than a stalled ox and +hatred therewith.’”</p> +<p>“But there isn’t any hatred therewith!” cried Hillyer +desperately. “I love you, Marion, and if you don’t +love me––you don’t hate me. So there’s more than +half of it, and––can’t we trust the future a little +bit?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“But what are you going to do?” he asked, shifting +his line of attack.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” she replied, with a helpless gesture.</p> +<p>“You can’t go back to New York without money +enough to take your proper place in the world. Of +course, if you’ll let me, I’ll––”</p> +<p>“Robert!” she interrupted sharply.</p> +<p>“Well, I mean it just the same!” he replied stoutly. +“I’ve got to take care of you, and if you won’t––See +here, Marion! I simply refuse to be turned down this +way. I’ll not take your stubborn, whimsy little ‘no’ +for my answer. You’re on my hands, thank God! +whether you like it or not. Maybe you won’t love me. +Maybe you won’t marry me. We’ll see about that! +But I’m going to look after you––I’m going to take care +of you, just the same––and you can just stop tightening +those lips––they’re not as red as they ought to be––and +you can make up your mind that you can boss me +so far and no farther.”</p> +<p>Marion smiled at him indulgently, but gratefully, and +even a little proudly; for she had been very proud of +him in the days when only friendship was spoken of. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +She did not in the least resent his speech; but neither +did she answer him.</p> +<p>“It’s getting late, Robert,” she said, shivering a little.</p> +<p>“So it is,” he replied. “And you’ve no warm wrap +for the night air.”</p> +<p>He drew the lap-robe around her, and started the +automobile. Through the gathering night they drove, +almost without speaking, to Huntington’s, where the +best supper that Claire could contrive from the limited +stores at her disposal awaited the prodigal. There was +naturally some constraint at table. Huntington had +made his peace with Hillyer, having apologized humbly, +and expatiated on the cause of his wrath. But he did +not know how he stood with Marion, who had been a +long time in the camp of the enemy, and who doubtless +knew too of his speech about her trunks. He had not +dared to ask Hillyer whether he had related that incident +to her, and he felt the need of extreme discretion +until he should discover what kind of a rod she had in +pickle for him, or, at any rate, until the time should be +propitious to tell her that he was sorry for his conduct. +Marion was tired, and disinclined to talk, while Hillyer, +on his side, had his mind fully occupied, between his +deal in mines and his deal in love, in both of which he +had encountered unexpected difficulties. Only Claire +was gay and untroubled, and she accepted eagerly the +task of saving the party from awkward silences. For +once in many moons she was allowed to talk unchecked, +and she made the most of her opportunity.</p> +<p>After supper, Marion announced her purpose to go +to bed at once. She was sure, she declared, that she +could sleep “around the clock.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span></div> +<p>“I’ll be off before you’re up, then,” said Hillyer.</p> +<p>“You must go to-morrow?” asked Claire.</p> +<p>“Absolutely. It means thousands.”</p> +<p>“Then we’ll sit on the veranda a few minutes,” said +Marion. “Not long, though. I’m dreadfully sleepy.”</p> +<p>It was not long. They found they had little to say +to each other, since the one subject of which both were +thinking, each from a different point of view, was tacitly +barred. And Hillyer soon saw that Marion was sorely +in need of rest.</p> +<p>“Go to bed now, dear girl!” he said presently. +“And please take good care of yourself. I want to see +the color back in your cheeks when I return.”</p> +<p>“I will, Robert,” she answered. “I’ll be quite all +right in a day or two.”</p> +<p>“And you––don’t really think of staying here all +winter?” he ventured to ask diffidently.</p> +<p>“No,” she replied. “That’s hardly possible.”</p> +<p>“Then good-by––until you hear my horn in the +road down yonder.”</p> +<p>“Good-by, Robert, and good luck!”</p> +<p>She gave him both her hands, for a moment, with a +tenderness that lingered with him far on his way.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII_INTERLUDE' id='CHAPTER_XVII_INTERLUDE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>INTERLUDE</h3> +</div> +<p>August ripened into September, and the Park +underwent a subtle and fascinating change. In +the meadows the hay lay in long windrows, golden green; +on the slopes vermilion flowers succeeded blue; in the +sunsets tender pinks yielded to burnt orange and vivid +red. The nights had grown perceptibly colder, but the +days were still warm and dry and radiant, though with a +tang in the air that stirred the blood. And a thousand +perfumes, known and unknown, distilled from meadow +and field and forest, scented every vagrant breeze.</p> +<p>Marion was soon herself again, in body if not in +mind. A few long nights of sleep, a few days in the +saddle, and sufficient nourishment (for she had neglected +herself at Haig’s, despite Jim’s solicitude) restored her +physically to what she had been on the day of Haig’s +accident. But she, too, had changed, and as subtly as +the season.</p> +<p>“What’s come over Marion?” asked Huntington of +Claire one day, after he had caught himself regarding +her with the rapt interest of a discoverer.</p> +<p>Claire looked at him pityingly. She knew, but she +was not going to tell him.</p> +<p>“Why?” she asked innocently.</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t exactly know,” he replied doubtfully. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +“She’s prettier than ever––but so are you. That +isn’t it. She’s kind of––It’s no use. I don’t +know.”</p> +<p>Claire laughed, and then became severe.</p> +<p>“That’s because she’s forgiven you,” she said.</p> +<p>“No, it isn’t!” he asseverated, not without embarrassment. +“You can see for yourself that she’s different.”</p> +<p>“Very well!” she retorted maliciously. “Perhaps +if you’d done such a noble thing as nursing Haig back +to life you’d be different too.”</p> +<p>“I’d see him in––”</p> +<p>“Shame!” she cried. “You wouldn’t do anything +of the kind. Your bark’s worse than your bite, sir. +And besides, while I think of it, you really must stop +saying ‘hell’ and ‘damn’ so much. The habit’s growing +on you.”</p> +<p>Having no ready answer to that speech, he merely +looked at her, perhaps a little guiltily, then bent down +and kissed her, and hurried out of the house. He was, +in truth, though he never would have had the courage to +acknowledge it, even to Claire, ashamed of himself, and +anxious too. His inflammable temper had rather out-flamed +itself in its last-recorded performance, and he +had begun to suspect that it had been responsible for +some, though by no means all, of his troubles. The +killing of Haig’s bull, he now realized, was a foolish and +indefensible act, which could be traced easily to him +because of the bull that was gored; and he must prepare +to account to Haig for it. And so, knowing that +he would again be in the wrong, as in the affair at the +post-office, he was torn between accentuated bitterness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +toward Haig and growing discontent with himself. He +would never be afraid of Haig, but he was becoming +steadily more afraid of Marion. Whether it was that +he had really developed intuition, which told him of +Marion’s spiritual growth, or that he was in constant +dread lest she make some new demand upon him in +regard to Haig, he lived in much awe of her. She had +once spoken, on a memorable occasion, of making peace +between Haig and himself. It would be just like her, +wouldn’t it, to try to bring them together? Well, let +her try it! He would be the last man in Paradise Park. +And so on, until he was once more almost satisfied with +himself.</p> +<p>The faithful Smythe, meanwhile, brought Marion +almost daily news of Philip. That he was rapidly recovering +she heard with a ringing joy, which had its +alloy of fear; for she knew that the day he felt himself +to be in full possession of his powers he would attempt +again to conquer Sunnysides. So from day to day her +apprehension mounted until it became well-nigh insupportable. +And her own helplessness maddened her. +What could she do? Nothing! Nothing but wait, +and pray God to protect him. Every night she prayed +for him, and every morning, on her knees; and every +hour the prayer was in her heart. She rode sometimes +as far as the farther edge of the woods that crowned the +ridge, and looked long at the little valley, and at the +smoke rising in a thin spiral from the ranch house that +she could not see. At the right of it would be the cottage, +and at the left the barn, and the corral where +Sunnysides bided his time. And then, having looked +until she could endure no more, she would ride slowly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +home, to await the next coming of Smythe with news.</p> +<p>Once she went to the glade of the columbines. She +did not feel any longer the antipathy she once felt to +the spot that had, in one devastating moment, revealed +to her the fatuity of her dreams. Now she was in +search of the old hopes that she had once revelled in, +while she gathered armloads of columbines, and imagined +they were for Philip.</p> +<p>Dismounting eagerly at the foot of the little hill, she +plunged through the brush, and halted at the margin of +the glade, stricken with the keenest disappointment. +The columbines were gone; only a brave, pale blossom +here and there lingered pathetically in a waste of dried +and drooping stems. She stood staring at them a moment; +then, with a cry, she threw herself down among +them, and gave herself up to grief, letting the tears +come in what flood they would, while her hand clutched +one poor survivor of the summer glory.</p> +<p>Gone, then, like the summer, were all those dreams. +And very soon must come the end of all. Barely two +weeks remained to her in the Park,––barely two weeks +in which the miracle that she awaited could be wrought. +What miracle could move him when her love had failed? +And yet––Once, in her desperation, she suggested to +Claire and Seth that she should remain all winter in +the Park; but they rose up together against any such +scheme. It was absurd, they agreed. They would be +delighted to have her with them as many summers as +she might wish; and they were already counting on her +return to them next June. But the Park in winter was +no place for a woman, unless she had been long inured +to such hardships as were involved in that hibernation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +Claire had remained two winters there, it was true, but +Seth had vowed that she should never miss the last stage +again. Marion’s proposal only clinched the matter the +more firmly; and it was eventually agreed that Claire +should go with Marion to New York, where they would +live very quietly, taking what pleasures their means +would permit, until spring should bring them back to +the mountains. And so, barring a miracle, she was at +the end of her hopes.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, she had heard from Robert. He was +nearly wild, he wrote. The big deal was going slowly––not +badly, but with maddening delays. He was +tempted to “chuck the whole business,” though it meant +thousands, perhaps half a million. Yet how could he +do that? He was working for her; and if he left +Denver the deal would certainly fall through. But +there was yet time; any day the stubborn partner might +yield; and so on. Poor Robert! thought Marion. She +imagined what Philip would have done if he had wanted +her as Robert did. Would any deal, any prospect of +millions, have kept him away from her? So she reasoned, +forgetting entirely the other side of the case. +Haig, if she could have asked him, would have told her: +yes, that’s all very well, but the man would have to get +those thousands or other thousands afterwards, just the +same; a woman wants to have her cake and eat it too; +and so much the worse for the man if he cannot dance +attendance on her and make money for her at the same +time!</p> +<p>She wrote to Robert that be must not think of leaving +his business. Moreover, she would soon be in Denver, +on her way back home.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></div> +<p>In the late afternoon Haig leaned against Sunnysides’ +corral, smoking his pipe and gazing fixedly at the golden +outlaw. The air was very still, almost too still, as if +nature had paused before a sudden and violent alteration +of her mood. In the bright sky, a little hard even +for September, there was no cloud, except on the western +horizon, where dark vapors hovered over the bald head +of Thunder Mountain. The scent of the harvest in the +meadows blended with the odor of burning pine that +came from the ranch house, where Flick built the fire +for supper. On the hill the pines were still, but the +brook babbled on, and there was an incessant low twittering +of birds in the cottonwoods.</p> +<p>Haig had now fully recovered. He had taken to his +horse again some days before, to ride a little the first +day, and more the next, each day adding something to +his exercise, until he felt the blood running warmly in +his veins, and his muscles tightening at his will. Then +he had hardened himself with every kind of labor around +the ranch. For he was impatient to remove the stigma +of doubt that Sunnysides had burned into his soul. He +had told Marion that she was incapable of understanding +why he must conquer Sunnysides. He was not sure +that he understood it himself. But he knew that he +must. Ever since that day when he had fled into the +world he had fought to be master of himself; and his +way of being master of himself was to be master of +every man and every animal and every obstacle that +appeared across his path,––that irresponsible, uncharted +path that had neither beginning nor end, that led he +knew not where nor cared. Every moment was a moment +to itself, and every day was its own if he had done +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +what he had set out to do. His one purpose in life was +not to be beaten, never to fail, though he should throw +away to-morrow what he had won to-day. So it was +that to conquer Sunnysides was for the moment the one +thing that counted, and he would have no rest until it +was done.</p> +<p>Twilight settled down upon the valley. Haig’s pipe +went out, and still he stood gazing at Sunnysides. In +the dusk the horse glowed like a living jewel that holds +the light when the sun has gone. Night fell, and the +golden hide became a shimmer in the dark, as the outlaw +moved restlessly to and fro in his prison. Then, +of a sudden, with the unexpectedness and unreason of a +dog’s wolf-howl at the rising moon, there rose from the +gloom of the corral a shrill, wild neigh that shattered +the peaceful silence of the night.</p> +<p>Haig left the fence, and walked swiftly to the barn.</p> +<p>“Farrish!” he said shortly. “We’ll break Sunnysides +to-morrow. Tell Pete and Curly not to ride away +in the morning. The cattle can wait.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_CHALLENGE_OF_THE_BRUTE' id='CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_CHALLENGE_OF_THE_BRUTE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>THE CHALLENGE OF THE BRUTE</h3> +</div> +<p>There had been yellow, mellow weather for weeks +on weeks, but this day dawned hard and cold. +Some projected rancor of the winter was in the air. +Westward the peaks were blanketed with thick gray +clouds, while eastward a sullen redness showed where +the sun strove to rise on an angry world. The wind +was the kind that scrapes raw the nerves, buffeting man +and beast with cross-currents and unexpected blasts, +howling and shrieking around chimneys and gables, +covering everything with dust and sand.</p> +<p>Haig awoke to hear the wind tearing at the shutters +and the roof, the pines on the hillside thundering like +surf, the hills reverberating with the maddest trumpetings. +He lay a moment listening; his pulse quickened, +at the sound of all that tumult; and he leaped from his +bed calling loudly for Slim Jim. It was a day for +battle. The very elements were up and at it, as if all +nature had enlisted in the struggle between man and +brute.</p> +<p>For all his eagerness, he ate his breakfast leisurely, +resolved to make no such error as he had made before. +There should be no mad haste and no anger; no working +on an empty stomach, on nerves drawn taut. Bacon +and eggs and buckwheat cakes, with coffee and a single +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +pipe, occupied an hour or more; and then, feeling fit +for anything, he set out for the corrals.</p> +<p>He did not scruple this time to take every precaution +known to the experts of the corrals. Bill was mounted +on the wisest horse in the stables, with a lariat ready +against the event of Sunnysides trying the fence again. +Then Haig directed Farrish, Curly, and Pete to rope +and saddle the outlaw, saving himself for the supreme +struggle. But to their astonishment there was none of +the difficulties in the preliminaries that they encountered +on the previous occasion; only two or three vicious +movements, no more.</p> +<p>“Foxy, ain’t you?” said Farrish to the outlaw, when +the saddle was on. “Savin’ yourself, are you, you yellow +devil?”</p> +<p>The horse was led as before into the larger corral. +He stepped nimbly, obediently, as if resistance were the +farthest thing from his thoughts, even when Haig, his +arch-enemy, walked up to him, grasped the bridle, and +looked steadily into his eyes. For a moment all stood +still, as the challenge passed between man and brute. +Then Haig tested the cinches of the saddle, looked carefully +around him, and disposed the men with a final +word to each.</p> +<p>“Now then! Off with it!”</p> +<p>Farrish removed the last rope, and then only the +bridle rein in Haig’s hand, and the fence yonder, stoutly +repaired since the last battle, remained between Sunnysides +and the sandhills of the San Luis. True, only a +fence and a guard had held him all these weeks of his +captivity, but that fence had been built up, on his +arrival, two planks higher than the one in which he now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +found himself again, and from which he had all but +escaped at the first opportunity.</p> +<p>Haig put his feet cautiously into the stirrup, and +sprang into the saddle. He was prepared for a repetition +of the trick that had almost cost him his life, and +ready to swing himself out of the saddle if Sunnysides +should go over backward again. But the horse was indeed +“foxy”; one would have said that he knew his +man, and would waste no time or energy on manœuvers +that his enemy had discounted. For some seconds he +stood quite motionless, while Haig settled firmly in his +seat, and gripped the bridle rein expectantly. At length +the horse lifted and turned his head, and looked, as it +appeared, toward the western mountains, half hidden +in the gray swirl of clouds.</p> +<p>“Yes, over there’s the San Luis,” muttered Haig. +“But it’s a long way, and you’re not going.”</p> +<p>Farrish grinned. But Pete stood like a wooden Indian, +so still and intent was he, with his black eyes fixed +on the outlaw. Curly loosened the coils of the lariat in +his hands. In a corner of the corral Bill, mounted and +watchful, held his rope ready for a throw.</p> +<p>Still Sunnysides did not move. But his tail swished +with the slow and menacing movement of a tiger’s, and +there was just a quiver of muscles under his golden +hide.</p> +<p>“Watch out!” called Pete.</p> +<p>And then it came. The horse bounded into the air, +and came down stiff-legged, with a jolt that Haig felt +in every bone. Then he leaped sideways half a dozen +feet, and Haig was flung far over, hanging perilously in +the saddle. With almost one motion the horse was in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +the air again, to come down with the same frightful, +jarring shock. Instantly thereupon he lunged forward, +stopped short, ducked his head, and narrowly missed +hurling Haig like a stone from a catapult.</p> +<p>All these tactics were repeated with variations; and +then, of a sudden, as if he thought Haig had forgotten +his experience by this time, he reared, and with the same +lightning swiftness as before, went over backward on +the ground. But Haig was too quick for him. He +swung himself to one side, released his right foot from +the stirrup, and rolled away from beneath the horse as +they came down with a crash. At the same instant Pete +and Curly rushed in, and the horse leaped to his feet +only to be brought down again with two ropes on his +legs.</p> +<p>Haig, dusty but uninjured, was on his feet in a jiffy, +and leaning over the thwarted outlaw.</p> +<p>“You didn’t really think you could do it again, did +you?” he said.</p> +<p>“But he’s a hellyun, though, ain’t he!” ejaculated +Curly, bracing himself on his rope.</p> +<p>The horse was allowed to rise; Haig climbed cautiously +into the saddle once more; and the same tense +silence as the first ensued, while Sunnysides waited, as +if for inspiration.</p> +<p>Then it was on as before, but with accentuated fury. +The horse, for his opening demonstration, bucked with +his back curved like a steel bow. Haig was almost +propelled into the air, but hung on desperately; and as +the outlaw came down on stiffened legs Haig jabbed the +spurs viciously into his flanks. For Sunnysides had +been too calculating in his measures; it was desirable to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +stir him up, to anger him, to torment him until he +should wear himself out with his furious struggles.</p> +<p>The spurs did it. In an instant Sunnysides was a +demon. All that he had done was like the antics of a +colt compared with what followed. No eye in the corral +could follow and record all his movements. He +was in every part of the enclosure at once, it seemed. +There were instants, too, when he appeared to have disassociated +himself from the earth, and to have taken to +the air as his element. And then the earth rang again +with the clatter of his hoofs; his four legs became a +hundred, and then were four again, pounding like piledrivers, +like steel drills. He flung himself against the +fence until it swayed and creaked, and Haig’s legs were +bruised by the violent contact. Clouds of dust rose and +hung above the enclosure, and settled on the outlaw’s wet +shoulders, on Haig’s sweating face, in his eyes and +nostrils, and in his throat until he was fairly choking. +But though half-blinded, dizzy, and aching in all his +body, Haig hung on, and dug the spurs ceaselessly into +the horse’s flanks.</p> +<p>“God! He’s got him!” cried Farrish.</p> +<p>“Your game’s up!” yelled Curly tauntingly, dancing +with joy in his corner of the corral.</p> +<p>But the game was not up. Curly’s words were barely +out of his mouth when something went wrong with Haig. +Just what happened none could be quite sure of, then or +afterward; but in the midst of Sunnysides’ plungings, +there came a windmill kind of movement, rather like the +whirling of a dervish, out of which the horse lunged +swiftly forward, and halted violently, with his head +down, and his forelegs stiff before him. It was apparently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +an elaboration of one of the commonest tricks +of all; and if Haig could have stuck to the saddle then +he probably would have won. But he was thrown. He +went sprawling over the horse’s lowered head, and struck +the ground on his head and shoulders, and lay still.</p> +<p>What followed was more marvelous even than the unseating +of Haig with the shout of victory already rising +to his lips. There came a snort that ended in a scream; +and then a flash of yellow through the dust. Bill +Craven, on his horse at one side of the corral, saw it +coming straight toward him, and tried to whirl his +noose. Too late. The outlaw was upon him; his own +pony, rearing, was caught unbalanced; and Bill himself +instinctively leaned backward in the saddle. There was +a terrific impact; the pony was struck squarely on the +left fore-quarter; and horse and rider went down together +in a heap against the fence. Then over them +went the outlaw, trampling them as he leaped and clambered, +taking the top plank with him as he landed outside +the corral on his head and knees. In an instant he +was up; in another, or the same instant, he was off, +with his head down, and belly to earth, with the speed +of a race-horse and the frenzy of a wild thing set free.</p> +<p>Haig was only slightly stunned by the fall. He +heard, though he did not see, the escape of Sunnysides; +and for one black moment all in the present was blotted +out. But that was only the dizziness, and the reeling +pain in his head; and there was the sky filled with gray-black, +contending clouds; and Pete was leaning over +him.</p> +<p>“Hurt?” asked the Indian.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></div> +<p>He reached up one hand, and Pete helped him to his +feet. Swaying a little, he looked around the corral. +Farrish was on the outside, gazing down the road where +Sunnysides was now almost out of sight, a mere yellow +spot in a cloud of dust. Curly was jerking Craven’s +horse to its feet.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter there?” called Haig.</p> +<p>“Bill’s hurt!” answered Curly.</p> +<p>With Pete at his side, not yet assured that all was well +with him, Haig walked unsteadily to where Bill lay +against the fence.</p> +<p>“What is it, Craven?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Leg broke. My horse fell on me,” Bill answered +weakly. He had, besides, a gash in the left side of his +head, from which the blood flowed down his face.</p> +<p>“Into the barn with him!” Haig ordered quietly.</p> +<p>They placed him on a cot, and Pete gave him a long +pull at his ever-ready flask.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry, Bill!” said Haig, looking down at him.</p> +<p>“It’s my own fault,” replied Craven. “An’ it +serves me damned right for lettin’ him get by me.”</p> +<p>Haig smiled grimly, then turned to the other men +with orders. He was ominously quiet; even the dullest +of them, the slow-witted Curly, saw and wondered at the +unusual calm that showed on his face and in his accents.</p> +<p>“Now then, business!” he said, with swift decision. +“You’ll take the sorrels, Curly, and drive to Tellurium +for the doctor. Don’t be afraid to drive them; I’ll not +be on your back for that. Pete, go to the cottage, and +bring my gun. Jim knows where it is. Farrish––where’s +Farrish?”</p> +<p>“Here!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></div> +<p>He came leading two ponies from their stalls.</p> +<p>“What are you doing, Farrish?”</p> +<p>“I supposed we’d better find out where he’s gone, and +see if––”</p> +<p>“There’s no doubt where he’s headed for, is there?” +Haig interrupted. “And who’s going to stop him? +No, saddle Trixy!”</p> +<p>“But you’re not going alone?” said Farrish.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“But––”</p> +<p>“Bill’s knocked out. Curly’s off as soon as he can +start for Tellurium. That leaves you and Pete to look +after the ranch. I may be gone some time.”</p> +<p>“But you can’t rope him alone!” protested Farrish.</p> +<p>“I don’t expect to. There isn’t a horse in the Park +that could overtake him. He’ll make for the San Luis, +of course. I’ll get help there. Now then, Farrish, +you’re in charge of the ranch. If anything should happen +to me, Jim knows where all my papers are. That’s +all.”</p> +<p>Farrish hastened to saddle Trixy, coiling a rope at the +saddle horn, and strapping a slicker behind the saddle. +At this moment came Pete from the cottage, bringing the +revolver and cartridge belt, which Haig buckled on while +Farrish led Trixy out in front of the stable.</p> +<p>There was a word or two more to Farrish, about the +cattle and the hay, and Haig swung himself into the +saddle.</p> +<p>“Wait!” cried Pete, running out of the stable.</p> +<p>He handed a flask of whisky to Haig, who took it, +smiling, and thrust it into a pocket of his coat.</p> +<p>“Sure cure for everything, eh, Pete?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></div> +<p>But he reached down, and clasped Pete’s hand.</p> +<p>“You will be cold, maybe,” said the Indian simply.</p> +<p>“All right, men!” said Haig. “You’ll take good +care of Craven, of course. And you’ll use your best +judgment about everything, Farrish. I’m not coming +back without Sunnysides.”</p> +<p>He put spurs to the little bay mare, and dashed away. +Pete and Farrish stood watching him until he had +turned the point of the ridge.</p> +<p>“Hell!” said Farrish.</p> +<p>In the cottage door stood a figure in blue silks, intently +gazing after the disappearing horseman.</p> +<p>“He catchum, allee light!” murmured Slim Jim.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX_SMYTHES_LAST_BUDGET' id='CHAPTER_XIX_SMYTHES_LAST_BUDGET'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>SMYTHE’S LAST BUDGET</h3> +</div> +<p>Seth had heard at the post-office that the deer were +coming down unusually early from their summer +haunts high in the mountains. A fine herd had been +seen just above Bratner’s, and Seth proposed to Marion +that she should have a try at them. They would start +early in the morning, stop the night at Bratner’s, and be +back home late the second evening. Marion reluctantly +consented, and before going to bed that night she laid out +woolen underwear, her stoutest riding costume, with +divided skirts and knickerbockers and tan boots lacing +almost to her knees. She did not want to go, but, as +more than once before, she yielded to Seth’s insistence +rather than attempt an explanation.</p> +<p>That night, however, summer departed from the Park. +A dry storm descended on the valley, and Marion lay +awake while the wind howled around the corners of the +ranch house, of which every timber seemed to be crying +out in agony. She knew that high among the rocks the +storm was smashing about in fury, and even in its sheltered +hollow the house was hammered as if the elements +were bent upon its annihilation. When each prodigious +outcry had spent itself and died away there was still the +moaning and fretting and troubled whimpering that +reminded her of the plaints of an invalid pleading for +help between paroxysms of pain. She was strangely depressed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +by it, unaccountably distressed, and was glad +when the first faint whitening of the window curtains +told her of the dawn. She arose and dressed––after +a moment’s hesitation––in the costume she had prepared +the night before. Seth surely would not insist on +the shooting trip in such weather, she thought, but it +would please him to see her dressed for it. Besides, the +temperature of her room reminded her that she would +need warm clothes if she went out anywhere on such a +day.</p> +<p>“Good, Marion!” cried Seth sure enough, when he +saw her at the breakfast table. “Glad you’re not discouraged +by a little wind.”</p> +<p>“But––you don’t mean to go on a day like this?”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“The wind, and––we’ll get soaking wet.”</p> +<p>“No, it’s only a wind storm, and this is the tail end +of it. The sun’ll be out in a couple of hours. We +needn’t start in a hurry. We’ll leave the horses as they +are––they’re all ready, bundles and the rest––until we +see.”</p> +<p>Seth’s optimism annoyed her, but she felt encouraged +when, after breakfast, she stepped out on the veranda +and met the cold and quarrelsome day. A rough blast +struck her in the face; she saw a ragged drift of clouds +torn by the wind; and the whole landscape seemed to +have undergone a melancholy change. Dispirited beyond +measure, despite the one satisfaction that the +weather gave, she re-entered the house, and sank uneasily +into an armchair by the fire.</p> +<p>But Seth’s prediction was justified. Toward ten +o’clock the wind ceased, and patches of blue began to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +show in the blanket of gray. Claire shared Marion’s +disinclination to go shooting on such a day (or any other +kind of a day, for her part!), and they stood at the window +actually deploring the blue rents in the clouds, when +Marion uttered a sharp exclamation of surprise.</p> +<p>“Smythe!” she gasped.</p> +<p>“On a day like this!” cried Claire.</p> +<p>He had dismounted quickly, and was walking toward +the house; and as he neared the steps Marion saw in his +face what caused her to press her hand on her bosom +to still her heart. Something had happened! And she +had known it all the time––had known it even in her +sleep!</p> +<p>Claire ran to the door and opened it.</p> +<p>“Well, Mr. Smythe!” she cried. “You’re just in +time to cheer us up. We’re deep in the mulligrubs.”</p> +<p>He entered smiling, removing his sombrero with his +customary flourish. But as he advanced he shot a swift, +keen look at Marion.</p> +<p>“Something’s happened!” she repeated to herself.</p> +<p>But she came forward with a smile, and shook hands +with Smythe, searching his face. And he was warning +her again. She could have shrieked with impatience +and anxiety, but she held herself, and waited.</p> +<p>“A terrible night, wasn’t it?” said Claire, giving +Smythe a chair.</p> +<p>“Terrific!” replied he. “You know the big pine +that hung over the road just this side of Toumine’s? +Well, it’s down, right across the road. I had to ride +around it, up among the underbrush.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t sleep at all, and I’m used to winds, too,” +said Claire.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></div> +<p>“It got me up at daylight,” Smythe went on. “It +didn’t look like much of a day for riding, but I got +nervous sitting around listening to my good landlady––one +of the young Martins is threatened with something +or other––and started out to see how the +landscape had been changed. There are trees down +everywhere, and––” He paused. “What are you doing +this morning, Miss Gaylord?” he asked, very casually.</p> +<p>She had been silent, watching him.</p> +<p>“We were going shooting, but we’ve been waiting to +see if the weather would change.”</p> +<p>“Then you haven’t been out?”</p> +<p>“Only on the veranda for a minute.”</p> +<p>“Let’s take a brisk walk, then. It’ll do you good––warm +you up a little.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said weakly.</p> +<p>She went to her room for her hat, and pinning it on +before the mirror, started at sight of her face, which +had grown very white. She was almost incapable of +thought. The hatpin slipped from her cold fingers, and +fell to the floor. She stared at it strangely before stooping +to pick it up. How could she bear to hear what +Smythe had come to tell her! But it was good of him +to wait until he could tell her alone.</p> +<p>“Will you go too, Mrs. Huntington?” Smythe said, +as Marion emerged from her room.</p> +<p>Claire looked at Marion, and wondered at the whiteness +of her face, and the haunted look in her eyes. +Nothing had been said, but she saw there was something.</p> +<p>“No, thank you!” she said promptly. “The house +suits me this morning.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></div> +<p>Smythe and Marion walked up the hill toward the +tree where Marion had practised shooting. Until they +reached it neither spoke.</p> +<p>“Well?” said Marion, turning suddenly on him.</p> +<p>“Sunnysides has got away.”</p> +<p>“And he?” she cried.</p> +<p>“Thrown, but not hurt.”</p> +<p>She stared at him a moment, dazed. Then she threw +back her head, and clasped her hands on her breast.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she murmured. “But how you frightened +me!”</p> +<p>Smythe looked at her silently; and presently, when +she lowered her eyes, she saw that his face was very +grave. But Haig was unhurt, and Sunnysides had +escaped. She had prayed for just that.</p> +<p>“What is it?” she cried, leaning forward to clutch +his arm.</p> +<p>“He’s following.”</p> +<p>“Following?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Alone.”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“Yonder.”</p> +<p>He pointed to the west.</p> +<p>“To the San Luis?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“The way they brought him here?”</p> +<p>“No. Sunnysides has taken the trail over Thunder +Mountain.”</p> +<p>Her hand fell from his arm. She swayed, as if she +would collapse. Smythe grabbed her, with an arm +around her waist, and led her, unresisting and dumb, to +a near rock, where he seated her gently, and stood watching +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +her. He had been too abrupt, he thought; but how +else could he have told her?</p> +<p>She struggled bravely.</p> +<p>“Tell me!” she said at length.</p> +<p>He knew little about the event at the ranch. There +had been a terrific struggle; Haig had almost conquered; +then the outlaw had flung him over his head, trampled +one of his men, breaking his leg, and leaped the fence to +liberty.</p> +<p>“But––Thunder Mountain?” cried Marion.</p> +<p>“That’s the strangest part of it,” Smythe replied. +“Even Haig refused at first to believe it. Nobody +knows whether it was deliberate or accidental. It seems +that ‘Red’ Davis, who works for Toumine, was taking +a load of hay to Lake Cobalt. He’d stopped just beyond +the junction of the main road and Haig’s to fix the +harness or something, when he heard a furious galloping +in Haig’s road. He looked––and Sunnysides must +have been something worth seeing, as he came storming +down on the boy, with red eyes and foaming lips, the +bridle reins dangling at his knees, and the stirrups flying. +‘Red’ had never seen him, but he’d heard a lot, +and he jumped behind the wagon as if the devil was after +him. But the clatter of hoofs ceased suddenly, and the +boy peered around the hay to see what had happened. +There was Sunnysides, just at the junction, with his +head high, snorting and sniffing, first in the direction of +the wagon, and then the other way up the road. With a +characteristic boyish burst of daring or deviltry, ‘Red’ +leaped out from his shelter, and yelled. The horse +leaped into the air, let out a wild neigh, and bolted up +the road toward the post-office.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></div> +<p>“‘Red’ watched him until he had disappeared, and +then drove on. It must have been half an hour later +that he heard more mad galloping behind him. He +turned to look, and there came Haig, riding like all +fury.</p> +<p>“‘Have you seen a horse?’ he yelled as he reined up +alongside the wagon.</p> +<p>“‘Well I just guess!’ said the boy. ‘Sunnysides. +How did he––?’</p> +<p>“‘How was the saddle––loose or not?’ asked Haig.</p> +<p>“‘No, it hadn’t turned––if that’s what––’</p> +<p>“‘Thank you!’ replied Haig, starting on.</p> +<p>“‘Wait!’ the boy shouted. ‘He ain’t gone that +way!’</p> +<p>“‘What?’</p> +<p>“‘I say, he ain’t gone that way.’</p> +<p>“Haig stared at him suspiciously. Was the boy trying +to trick him, in emulation of his elders? He was +about to ride on, disdaining to heed him, when something +in the boy’s honest face struck his attention.</p> +<p>“‘Are you dreaming?’ he cried.</p> +<p>“‘No, I ain’t!’ retorted Davis, deeply offended.</p> +<p>“‘Where did he go then?’ demanded Haig.</p> +<p>“‘Yander,’ answered ‘Red.’</p> +<p>“Haig was incredulous.</p> +<p>“‘It’s the truth!’ protested the boy. And then he +told Haig what he had seen.</p> +<p>“‘But how in hell––’ Haig began.</p> +<p>“Then suddenly it came to him.</p> +<p>“‘Thunder Mountain!’ he cried. Then, half to +himself: ‘The trail drops down from Thunder Mountain––somewhere––into +the Black Lake country, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +then––over the Sangre de Cristo is the San Luis. <i>But +how does he know that?</i>’</p> +<p>“‘He knows a lot, he does!’ said ‘Red.’</p> +<p>“Then Haig was off, flinging back ‘Thank you!’ at +the boy. But he took the precaution to confirm ‘Red’s’ +story at the post-office. Thompson himself had seen +Sunnysides, still going like the wind. Tom Banks came +in a little later with news of the outlaw well up the road +toward Norton’s, and Haig after him. So there’s no +doubt the way they’ve gone. But it’s a losing game if +Sunnysides can keep up the speed he was hitting when +he was last seen.”</p> +<p>“A losing game!” She, better than anybody else in +the Park, knew what that meant. She rose slowly, and +looked across the Park at Thunder Mountain, now lost +among the clouds. No, not quite; for through a rift she +was just able to make out the timber line on the mountain’s +jutting shoulder. Above that she knew the bleak +rocks rose sheer to the bald head that was battered by +tempests, seared by lightning, swept smooth by the winds +that never ceased.</p> +<p>So this was the message! This was what Thunder +Mountain had said to her! This was the answer to her +questions! Day after day she had studied it, when +storms gathered on that frowning head, when vapors +made a smudge there in the midst of the glittering assemblage +of the peaks, and when, for a meager hour, +once in a while, the summit stood clear in the sunshine, +as if the tortured mountain, condemned to everlasting +punishment, had been given a brief reprieve.</p> +<p>Now, at last, she understood. Somewhere on that +evil trail was Philip. He could never cross Thunder +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +Mountain! Sunnysides might, perhaps; but he––he +had tried, and failed. Others had tried, and––died +for it. But he would try again; she knew how desperately +he would throw himself upon that fatal head. +And then? It was the end!</p> +<p>But she must know. She could not stay there.</p> +<p>She started down the hill, running; and Smythe followed +her in amazement and alarm. He did not like +that last look on her face.</p> +<p>“Wait!” he called, in a voice that for once rang with +authority.</p> +<p>She stopped, and let him overtake her.</p> +<p>“What are you doing?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“I’m going to Murray’s––for news,” she answered.</p> +<p>“No!” he cried. “That’s madness.”</p> +<p>“It’s necessary,” she rejoined. “And there’s no +danger.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“I met Mrs. Murray once at the post-office. She +talked to me about Murray’s ranch––it’s in a gulch +just below timber line. She asked me to come and visit +her––and I’m going.”</p> +<p>“Then I’ll go with you!” retorted Smythe.</p> +<p>She looked at him intently, and smiled in a way that +puzzled and disturbed him. But before he could make +any considerable effort to analyze it, the smile had fled, +and he was following Marion helplessly down the hill.</p> +<p>At the steps of the veranda she paused, and waited +for him.</p> +<p>“I’ll be out in a minute,” she said; and left him +seating himself uneasily, his perplexity plainly showing +in his face.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></div> +<p>Marion opened the door, and faltered on the threshold. +Seth was there with Claire; and she must face them +both.</p> +<p>“Mr. Smythe wants me to go for a ride with him,” +she said, advancing smilingly. “We can start to-morrow +on the shooting trip, can’t we, Cousin Seth?”</p> +<p>She had not often called him “Cousin Seth” of late; +and he was delighted.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said reflectively, “I’d rather planned +starting to-day, but if to-morrow suits you better it’s all +right, Marion. Go along with your young man!”</p> +<p>Claire was studying her anxiously, and Marion hastened +to disarm her.</p> +<p>“Thank you, Seth!” she said. “You see, I’m not +feeling quite myself this morning––such a night I had! +A short ride will be about all I’m good for. I’ll feel +better to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, dear,” said Claire, “you’ll not be gone +long, will you?”</p> +<p>“Don’t worry!” was the evasive reply. “Mr. +Smythe will take good care of me.”</p> +<p>On that she kissed Claire, nodded brightly to Huntington, +and hurried away. Almost running in her eagerness, +she led the way to the stable, where two horses +stood saddled, with rifles in leather cases hanging from +the saddlebows, and bundles strapped behind. Smythe +started to remove the gun from Tuesday’s saddle.</p> +<p>“No, leave it there!” commanded Marion.</p> +<p>“Certainly. But why?” asked Smythe.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” she replied. “It just occurred to +me.”</p> +<p>“But the bundle? You won’t need that.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></div> +<p>“No. But yes––leave it! It’s not very big.”</p> +<p>Smythe looked at her keenly, and with a vague suspicion; +but there was no confusion in her face or manner. +She was, in fact, not thinking of the bundle or the gun; +or if she thought of them––Such rigid instruments +as words, worn blunt with usage and misuse, are quite +inadequate to describe the faint and fugitive character +of that thought,––the idea still in its inception, inchoate, +embryo. She was going to Murray’s for news of +Philip Haig; and all beyond that purpose was––beyond.</p> +<p>Smythe was not satisfied, but he could say no more; +for Marion was already mounting Tuesday, and he +could only follow.</p> +<p>At the edge of the little wood below the ranch house +Marion turned in the saddle, and saw Claire standing in +the doorway. She waved her hand, and Claire waved +hers in response; and then the trees came between them, +as they had done a hundred times that summer. But +now a lump rose in Marion’s throat. Dear Claire! +She had been so good to her!</p> +<p>They emerged from the woods, and Marion spurred +Tuesday to the gallop, and Smythe came galloping behind. +For some distance down the valley she made a +point of keeping well ahead of him, by this means avoiding +conversation, for which she was not prepared. Her +eyes continually sought the dark, gaunt mass of rock +that was then, little by little, breaking through the reek +on Thunder Mountain. Philip would be up there soon. +He had––how many hours the start of her? She +checked Tuesday’s gait, and let Smythe come up beside +her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></div> +<p>“What time was it when he passed the post-office?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“About eight o’clock.”</p> +<p>And now it was almost noon! She spurred her pony +on.</p> +<p>They turned the corner at Thompson’s, galloping, and +caught a glimpse of Mrs. Thompson in the doorway, +with a look of wonder on her face. Two miles beyond +they swerved without lessening their speed into a less-traveled +road that presently was winding in and out +among the timber, which opened at the end of another +mile, and showed them Norton’s ranch in its sheltered +valley among the foothills. It was from Norton’s, or +near it, that the last word had come of Haig and Sunnysides; +so there was no need to stop for confirmation of +their direction. The valley narrowed to a gulch, and +the forest came down on either side, and the road ahead +of them was swallowed up in shade.</p> +<p>Here, as if at the entrance to some unknown (for she +had never been past Norton’s, in all her rides about the +Park), her purpose required that Marion should rid +herself of Smythe. Moreover, there was Claire to be +thought of; and she did not want Huntington to be +riding up the trail after her that night.</p> +<p>“Now, Mr. Smythe,” she said, reining up in the first +shadow of the woods, “I’ve something for you to do +for me.”</p> +<p>“What is it?” he asked in surprise.</p> +<p>“I want you to leave me now, and take a message to +Mrs. Huntington.”</p> +<p>“But I can’t––leave you.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you must.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></div> +<p>“But you’re not going on alone!”</p> +<p>“I’m not afraid. I’ve got my rifle. Besides, I’ll be +at Murray’s before dark, and there, as you know, I shall +be in good hands. But Claire will worry unless she +knows where I am.”</p> +<p>“She’ll worry just the same.”</p> +<p>“No. She knows Mrs. Murray very well.”</p> +<p>“But–––”</p> +<p>“Good-by, Mr. Smythe!”</p> +<p>She reached her hand to him, and he took it reluctantly.</p> +<p>“It’s all wrong, Miss Gaylord!” he protested. “I’m +convinced that I’m acting like a fool. If anything happens +to you, I’ll–––”</p> +<p>“Nothing will happen to me. Good-by!”</p> +<p>Smythe watched her until she was swallowed up by +the woods; he looked at the pines piling up to the distant +crests of the mountains, mass on mass, and solitude +enfolding deeper solitude; he listened to the long, low, +rolling murmur of the forest, sweet but menacing. +Then, with the inward comment that he was several +kinds of a blithering idiot, he turned and rode back +toward the Park, evolving various interesting but futile +theories to explain the fact that he, a man of undoubted +intelligence, had always acted the part of the giddy fool +in moments of emergency. And there was Huntington––another +fool! He could foresee a pretty dialogue +between them.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XX_THE_TRAIL_HELD_TRUE' id='CHAPTER_XX_THE_TRAIL_HELD_TRUE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<h3>“THE TRAIL HELD TRUE”</h3> +</div> +<p>The forest enveloped her, but she sheltered herself +in its heart, and was glad of its soothing +silence. The wind had died down to a rustling murmur +in the highest foliage; through rifts in the dark-green +canopy she caught glimpses of a cool blue sky; +and there was a rooty sweetness in the air.</p> +<p>Mile by mile the road, a mere track traveled by +Murray’s team at long intervals, grew rougher and +more difficult. Soon it had abandoned the easy grades +for the gulch, and climbed steep mountain sides, in a +devious course through heavy timber, dropping to +tumbling rivulets, climbing again to hang on the edges +of high cliffs, dodging here and there among massive, +outjutting rocks. Four hours she rode thus, mounting, +ever mounting, with glimpses now and then of the +forests massed green-black below, and glimpses even of +the Park itself, around the shoulder of a hill,––a patch +of green and violet bright with sunshine. And then, +when weariness had begun to weigh upon her, and as +the shadows of the forest turned to glooms, she saw +with a thrill of expectation that the road dipped ahead +of her into a little gulch that lay hidden away in a cleft +of the mountains. She must surely be near her destination +now; and sure enough, she was riding presently +along the bank of a roaring stream; beyond her was a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +small meadow of a brilliant green, and at the far edge +of it a log cabin, with friendly smoke curling from +the chimney.</p> +<p>But she was surprised and disappointed. She had +expected, on reaching Murray’s, to see the stark head +of Thunder Mountain towering above it, near and +sheer. It was nowhere visible; not even the silvery +peaks, its neighbors, were to be seen; there were only +forests heaped on forests to the sky line. The trail, +then, must be longer than she thought; and she seemed +to be no closer to him than when she had studied the +bald head of the mountain through the clouds.</p> +<p>She was welcomed by Mrs. Murray with cordiality, +but in some surprise. A stout and jovial person, +whose spirits appeared not to have been lowered in the +least degree by the loneliness of her surroundings, Mrs. +Murray was a helpful hostess to Marion, who was +now in a state of deep dejection. A little boy and his +smaller sister, both very dirty but rugged and red-cheeked, +played in the open space before the cabin. +The week’s washing was on the line, and from behind +it, at the sound of a horse’s hoof beats, came Mrs. Murray, +staring in amazement. Wonders on wonders in +that solitude, where nothing ever happened! First a +runaway horse of unheard-of color, saddled and bridled, +dashing past the cabin, and almost trampling the children +at their play; then Philip Haig, with his set face +and burning eyes, making inquiries, and asking for a +bite to eat; and then–––</p> +<p>“Well! If it ain’t Miss Gaylord!” cried Mrs. +Murray, as she rushed to greet her. “What in the +world–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span></div> +<p>She paused on that, recalling suddenly what she had +heard at Thompson’s of Marion’s nursing Haig back to +life, and intuitively associating her appearance there +with his. Marion saw the thought reflected in the +woman’s honest face, and knew that after all the happenings +of the summer, and the gossip that had followed, +her better course was to be frank with Mrs. +Murray from the start. Besides she could not wait to +ask her questions by any indirection.</p> +<p>“Have you seen him?” she demanded eagerly.</p> +<p>“Yes, he was here––about noontime. The look on +his face!”</p> +<p>She threw up her hands in a gesture that indicated +the abandonment of all hope for such a man.</p> +<p>“And Sunnysides?”</p> +<p>“Long before him. The critter almost run over my +two babies, playin’ there before the door. Poor dears, +scared almost out o’ their skins!”</p> +<p>“What did he say?”</p> +<p>“Nothin’. That is, not much. About the horse +first. My man told him it ain’t no use tryin’ to ketch +him, an’ it’s foolish to try to cross Thunder Mountain. +Murray’s been here ten years, an’ ain’t gone much +further’n the edge of it. Storms allus drove him back. +An’ what’s the use, when he’s got wife an’ childer to +look after? Of course Haig–––”</p> +<p>“What did he say then?”</p> +<p>“He says he c’n cross if Sunnysides can, an’ if they +can’t they’ll fight it out up there. My man asks why +he didn’t go ’round a safe way an’ wait for Sunnysides +in the San Luis, if he thinks the horse’s goin’ +back home. Haig says he’d made up his mind to cross +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +Thunder Mountain some time, an’ now’s as good a +time as any. But it’s–––” She was checked at last +by the look of anguish on Marion’s face. “But you +just come in. It’s supper time, almost, an’ you must +be right hungry. Murray’ll be here soon, an’ he’ll +put up your horse.”</p> +<p>In the cabin there was to be seen at first just one big +room, with two beds at one end, a table surrounded by +chairs in the middle, and a stove in the midst of kettles +and pans and tubs at the other. But presently +Marion noticed a kind of balcony above the beds, and +she learned later that this was the “spare bedroom” +in which she would be stowed away for the night.</p> +<p>“He was hungry too,” Mrs. Murray went on, being +careful, however, to confine herself to the material side +of the subject. “He ate some dinner, an’ then, after +we give up tryin’ to stop him, Murray said he’d got to +take somethin’ with him to eat, an’ some blankets. +He hadn’t a thing, mind you, an’ didn’t want to take +nothin’, but he did take a good-sized strip o’ bacon and +some bread––I’d just did the bakin’––an’ a fryin’-pan +an’ matches an’ a knife. Murray done ’em up in a +pair o’ blankets, an’ stuck in a leather coat with sheepskin +inside, an’ hung a hatchet on his saddle. He’ll +need ’em––if he gits across into the Black Lake country, +which’s worse some ways than Thunder Mountain––forest’t +ain’t never been touched, an’ bad lands, an’–––”</p> +<p>Murray’s entrance interrupted this speech, which +was becoming painful to her guest, in spite of the good +woman’s resolution to say nothing discouraging. Murray, +a bearded, rough fellow in whose face shone good +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +nature and contentment with the living he made out of +his cows and chickens and few head of stock feeding in +the mountain meadows, received a whispered hint, and +obediently talked of other things than Haig and the +runaway. They supped on bacon and eggs, with bread +and butter and milk; and an hour afterwards Marion +was tucked away in a comfortable bed in that queer +“spare bedroom” up against the eaves of the log +cabin.</p> +<p>Exhaustion soon brought her sleep. But in the +middle of the night she was awakened by a storm that +swept high over the ranch house, scarcely touching it +in its sheltered hollow, but shrieking and wailing +among the rocks and pines. She sat up in her bed to +listen! Thunder Mountain! Before her eyes there +rose, out of the dark of the cabin, a vision of Philip +prone among the rocks of that terrible summit, struck +down by the wind, or felled by a thunderbolt, drenched +with rain, and perishing of cold. There came, above +the howling of the wind, a deafening crash of thunder +that rolled away in sullen bellowing. She buried her +face among the pillows to shut out the frightful sound; +and at length, when the tumult had died away to recur +no more, she lay weeping softly until sleep came again +to her relief. She did not wake again till morning.</p> +<p>“How much farther up can I go?” asked Marion at +breakfast.</p> +<p>“You don’t mean–––” began Mrs. Murray in alarm.</p> +<p>“No,” replied Marion quickly. “I don’t mean the +top. But can’t I ride near enough to see it?”</p> +<p>“You c’n go to timber line safe enough,” said Murray.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></div> +<p>“Yes, I’ve been that far, but you mustn’t think o’ +goin’ further,” added the woman, still suspicious. +“I’ll tell you what! Murray’ll go with you.”</p> +<p>“By no means!” Marion protested. “It isn’t +necessary at all. I can follow trails well enough.”</p> +<p>“I wish you’d let Murray go with you. He’ll be +glad to show you–––”</p> +<p>“No. Thank you just the same, Mrs. Murray, +but–––”</p> +<p>“And you’ll not try to go past timber line?”</p> +<p>“Don’t worry about that, please! I know I could +never go where men have failed. I’ve heard all about +Thunder Mountain, and I just want to see it, near. +Besides–––”</p> +<p>She did not finish, but turned quickly away. This +sign of emotion was not hidden from Mrs. Murray, and +it heightened her anxiety. Lord only knew what the +girl’d try to do once she got out of their sight! But +where the intellectual and argumentative Smythe had +failed, what could be expected of these simple mountain +folk, who for all their sturdy independence were +not a little awed by the superior poise and distinction +of their visitor? Moreover, Marion was at this moment +entirely honest in her assurance that she intended +to go no farther than timber line. If the idea +that lay deep in the back of her mind had grown since +its inception some hours before, it was yet formless and +unrecognized; if her purpose now had her firmly +gripped, she was as yet unconscious of it, obeying it +subconsciously, while she told herself, as she told Mrs. +Murray, that she wanted only to satisfy her aching +heart by doing merely all that a girl could do. To +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +make sure that Philip had not already failed––that he +had not been thrown back from the very edge of the +fatal crest––that he did not now lie somewhere on the +last steep slope above timber line, where she might see +and save him: this was the utmost of her design in +setting out that morning against the protests of her +hosts.</p> +<p>Yielding at last, where she could avail no more, the +ranchwife fixed up a simple luncheon of bread and +butter and jam, which she tied in a little package at +Marion’s saddlebow. And then, with a final word of +warning that she must stop at timber line, an’ be back +at the house ’fore dark, or she, Mrs. Murray, would be +wild, and he, Murray, would have to go searching for +her, the good woman let her go, and waved a fat farewell +to her until Marion was out of sight among the +trees.</p> +<p>Once more the forest enfolded her. Though the +wagon road ended at Murray’s, the trail was still for +some distance plainly marked, and offered few difficulties. +Even when it began to be less distinct she was +not alarmed. Smythe had told her, and Murray had +confirmed his description, that Thunder Mountain was +not formidable as far as the foot of the final scarp. +Seth had taught her something of the lore of trails, and +she was confident that she would be able to find her way +even if the underfoot marks should fail. There would +be blazes on trees, and broken limbs and twigs, and +many subtle signs that she now sought to marshal in +her mind against a possible perplexity. With eyes +alert, she rode slowly and resolutely on, ever higher +and higher, hour after hour, most of the time through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +dense woods, but now and then across a rocky slope, or +down into a shallow gulch, and out again. By imperceptible +degrees the trail grew fainter; and once it +failed her utterly, in a small open space in the woods.</p> +<p>For a moment she was on the very point of panic; +the forest seemed to be closing in on her with sudden +malignity; and the terror of Thunder Mountain held +her in its cold grip. But desperation called up her +courage. She walked Tuesday in an ever-widening +circle around the spot where she had lost the trail, with +her heart almost still, and her eyes straining at every +tree as it came within her vision. Where? Where? +Would there be no more blazes, no more broken limbs, +no more prints of hoofs on the mossy earth? Had she +left the trail farther back than she had thought? And +would she wander over all the vast bosom of the mountain +until she fell from the saddle, and knew no more?</p> +<p>It was a real peril, and one that might have had a +tragic termination as easily as a happy one,––more +easily, indeed, if she had lost her head. But something +strong within her kept her senses keen; and suddenly +she broke out in a cry of joy and triumph that +went echoing down the forest aisles. There, on a +patriarchal pine, though almost obliterated by time and +weather, was the blaze in the bark that told her the +trail ran at the base of that solid trunk. She halted +Tuesday there––and faced a new difficulty: in her +many circlings she had lost the general direction in +which she had been riding. The trail was under her +horse’s hoofs; but which way should she go? There +appeared to be no ascent the one way or the other, and +no slope on either side.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></div> +<p>She solved the problem by following the trail regardless +of direction until she was able to discover in +the black mold the fresh print of a horse’s hoof––an +unshod hoof this was, and the print certainly no older +than yesterday. Without serious misgivings now, she +rode on, and in a few minutes the trail mounted again +with a sharpness sufficient to remove the last of her +doubts.</p> +<p>Well, she was a woodsman now, and would fear no +more. But she took the precaution to banish all +thoughts excepting those necessary to the task in hand. +The woods themselves offered countless temptations to +distraction. They were alive. Grouse moved among +the branches of the trees; small birds of a very silent +habit fluttered across the trail; and once a deer slipped +away through a dim and leafy avenue. In moist +places flowers of tender hues still bloomed as if to shame +the autumn browns of the underbrush. And then she +emerged from the soft shades of the green woods into +one of the most melancholy of mountain places, a great +patch of burnt timber. For surely half an hour she +rode through a veritable cemetery of pines, among multitudes +of tall straight shafts from which the flames +had licked the foliage and stripped the limbs, and from +which the rains and snows and winds of winter had +washed the charred bark until the boles stood white and +ghastly, infinitely sad and still. No life was here, no +flutter or call or hum of living creatures; and the +silence was like a menace. She began to cast apprehensive +glances around her, and was glad to the very +core of her when the forest gradually greened again, +and she was in the cool and friendly shade.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span></div> +<p>Yet another terrifying experience awaited her,––not +terrifying in the sense of any peril to herself so +much as in its vivid suggestion of peril to Philip Haig. +Without warning there came a prodigious crash of +thunder; very near, it seemed. The whole earth +rocked and shook, she fancied, under that smashing +blow, and thereupon a savage bellowing filled the vault +of heaven, and the forest quivered with the reverberations. +Hard on the first blow fell another; and then +the strokes descended in a swift and terrible succession, +until there was one continuous and deafening +roar like nothing she had ever heard or imagined. By +this she knew that she was now close up under the +frowning battlement of Thunder Mountain; and that a +storm had burst upon that shelterless and unpitied head, +with a malevolent timeliness befitting its ill repute. +And somewhere in the midst of that destroying fury +was Philip Haig!</p> +<p>The blue tracery of sky was blotted out; the forest +became dark as night; the tree tops heaved and thrashed +about in the wind that rushed down the mountain side. +On the heels of the wind came a drenching rain, and +Marion took what refuge was offered close to the trunk +of a huge pine, which shook and shivered as if it too +had nerves that were unstrung by all this tumult.</p> +<p>It passed, and the sky cleared with what to her seemed +extraordinary swiftness. And when she rode out again +to pick up the trail, the air was indescribably fresh and +exhilarating, and the sun was soon filtering through the +foliage upon her pathway.</p> +<p>The trail grew more precipitous, its surroundings +more rugged and wild. Rocks took the place of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +soft, mossy soil, and the forest thinned and shrank. +Where there had been monarchs in their majesty she +rode now among stunted pines and dwarf oaks no +higher than her head. And soon she was at timber +line, where the beaten and disheartened trees grew +downward, or curled along the earth like serpents, or +spread out in fantastic, unnatural, and monstrous +shapes.</p> +<p>And there at last towered the bald head of Thunder +Mountain. She could not see, of course, the flat top +itself. Before her rose a precipitous slope, covered +with loose stones and débris, and ending in a jagged +line of rock against the sky, dull gray against the blue. +Thin grass grew yet some distance up the slope; and +then it was bare of vegetation, bare of soil, with a +wavering faint line marking where life ended and death +began.</p> +<p>She halted near the last gnome-tree, and stared at +the desolate slope and the forbidding sky line. This +was the end of her journey; and she knew no more than +she could have known back there in the Park. The +mountain was still the sphinx, telling her nothing, +though she had come to it at last after months of questioning, +with one question on her lips. Where was +Philip? Perhaps just yonder, just beyond that sharp-raised +barrier. From that crest, no doubt, the whole +expanse of the summit would be visible. And how +could she go back alone, without being able to assure +herself forever that she had done her best?</p> +<p>She studied the slope. From where she stood to the +gray sky line the distance was perhaps seven hundred +feet. But the trail, which she could discern faintly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +marked among the loose and sliding stones, traveled +five or six times that distance in its zigzag course. +Fascinated, her eyes followed it in and out until its +dim line vanished high up in the gray-brown uniformity +of the steep ascent. From this she looked up +eagerly at the sky. It was a clear steel-blue; the sun +shone bright on the expanse of stone; a vigorous but +not violent breeze came from around the distant curve +of the slope. It seemed incredible, considering all +that she had heard, and all that she had imagined. +The mountain, she knew, had its brief and infrequent +hours of quiet, but she had pictured it as terrifying +even in its calm. Now it was formidable and mysterious, +and she could not forget its menace; but it was +not terrible. On top, perhaps–––</p> +<p>She urged Tuesday forward. The trail went far +out to the right at an easy gradient, turned sharply, +and came back to reach out as far to the left. It was +more difficult than Marion had imagined, for the reason +that the loose stones afforded an ill footing for the +pony, which slipped and slid and stumbled, often going +to his knees, and more than once barely avoiding a fall +that would have sent horse and rider rolling down to +be caught by the network of stunted trees. But Tuesday +was sure of foot; and so, with muscles quivering +under the strain, and his eyes bulging with anxiety +and fear, he climbed up and up without disaster, while +Marion leaned far forward in the saddle, her nerves +on edge, her eyes alert, and her heart pounding wildly, +as much from excitement as from its struggle with that +high altitude.</p> +<p>How long that climb endured she never knew; the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +actual minutes seemed to her as hours, their total an +eternity. But at last, trembling and sweating, Tuesday +stood on a narrow shelf of granite, with the long +slope behind, and a wall of rock ahead. While the +pony rested, Marion looked to left and right for the +continuation of the trail. She could not see it, but +knew there should be an opening somewhere in the wall +that rose sheer some twenty-five or thirty feet above +her head. Slowly riding along the platform, searching +for a sign, the wall at her left, and the declivity at +her right, she came to a place where the barrier curved +inward, and was also hollowed out at its base, so that a +shallow cave (speaking loosely) was formed, where +some sort of shelter might have been found from a +storm. This possibility flashed into Marion’s mind, +for she could not forget the mountain and its ways. +She dismounted to look into the cave, and at two steps +started forward with a cry.</p> +<p>On the rocky floor was a small heap of ashes and +charred ends of sticks. Kneeling quickly, she tore off +a glove, and thrust her fingers into the ashes. They +were warm! And near the ashes she discovered the +rind of a thin slice of bacon, and a few crumbs of +bread. Philip had passed Murray’s soon after midday; +he would have reached the cave, then, before +night; and so he had slept there, and risen at dawn, +and eaten his meagre breakfast, and ridden on.</p> +<p>She leaped to her feet, ran out and mounted her +pony, and rode forward along the platform, searching +for the trail.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXI_IN_THE_HOLLOW_OF_THE_STORM' id='CHAPTER_XXI_IN_THE_HOLLOW_OF_THE_STORM'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<h3>IN THE HOLLOW OF THE STORM</h3> +</div> +<p>Haig arrived at timber line about an hour before +nightfall. On the long trail he had considered +thoroughly all the chances of his case, and was prepared +to undergo delays and disappointments. He +knew Thunder Mountain. Even without reckoning on +storms (and the vapors were at that moment settling +down on the frowning battlement), it were foolhardiness, +or worse, to attempt the passage of the mountain +in the night. Then he remembered the shallow cave +that he had noticed on his previous visit to the summit; +and his plans were made.</p> +<p>He gathered an armful of dry sticks and shreds of +bark, climbed the treacherous slope as Marion did some +hours later, and settled himself in the half-shelter of +the cave to await the morning. A rasher of bacon, a +slice of bread, and a pipe of tobacco refreshed him; +and he rolled himself in his blankets, and went to sleep. +Like Marion in the “spare bedroom” far below, he +was awakened in the night by the savage hammerings +of the storm. The very rocks beneath him seemed to +be jarred by that cannonade; the wind, howling around +the cliff, threatened to drag him out of his cave; and +the rain fell in torrents on the platform, almost flooding +his stone bed. But he turned over in his blankets, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +and hoped the mountain would “keep it up” all night. +Even Sunnysides would be halted by a storm like that.</p> +<p>He arose at the first sign of dawn, hurried through +his scant and salty breakfast, quenched his thirst with +rain water scooped out of depressions in the rock, and +started on. Knowing the trail at this point, he rode +straight out along the platform, and came in half a +minute to the spot where the wall of rock was broken +down into a clutter of débris, in width some forty feet. +Up through this litter of disintegrated granite the trail +lurched with many twists and turns, and emerged at +last upon one of the lower levels of the summit.</p> +<p>Trixy was winded, and for a moment Haig rested +her, while he surveyed the scene. And in the thrill of +that moment, facing the undertaking in which he had +once failed, he all but forgot Sunnysides. The wind +was low, and scarcely more difficult to meet than a stiff +blow in the Park; but aside from that he saw little encouraging +in the prospect. Behind him, it was true, +the forests and all the hills and valleys lay clear in the +morning light, with just a thin mist clinging in the +gulches; and around him on all sides but one the sharp +peaks stood up shining white in the first rays of the +sun. But in front of him gray vapors, not yet dense +enough to be described as clouds, came swirling and +tumbling toward him across the stone-littered surface +of the flat. Unless the sun should dissipate those +vapors––He shrugged his shoulders, and rode on.</p> +<p>Almost fourteen thousand feet above the level of the +sea, the bald head of Thunder Mountain, stripped as it +has been of its ennobling peak, needs only three or four +hundred feet to be as high as the snow-clad summits on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +each side. Seen from afar, that bare head appears to +be as flat and smooth as a table, but in reality its entire +area, roughly circular in outline, and something more +than three miles in its largest diameter, is broken up +into terraces, into slopes and hillocks, into hollows and +mounds, all strewn with, bowlders and loose stones, with +here and there uprearing rocks of fantastic and suggestive +shapes. There is no life there,––no birds, no +conies or chipmunks that inhabit most high places of +these mountains; no flowers, no grass, no sign of vegetation; +nothing but granite. The trail runs sometimes +plainly across level reaches of loose stones, sometimes +over long smooth surfaces of rock, sometimes in and out +among wildernesses of shattered and tumbled fragments +of the mountain’s blasted head. At varying intervals, +particularly in its more difficult stages, it is marked by +small pyramids of stones, and by crosses cut crudely in +the rock. Care must be taken not to miss one of these +marks; for the trail, in avoiding inaccessible heaps of +granite, goes in places perilously near the edge of the +summit, which falls away in more than one known +precipice a thousand feet to the unknown gulch below.</p> +<p>The wind was cold, and Haig felt that its strength +was steadily increasing, though it yet blew fitfully. +He made the second level without mishap, but was +brought to a momentary standstill there by the fiercer +rush of wind on the higher terrace. It seemed strange, +at first thought, that the wind had not blown away the +vapors that now enveloped him; but he saw presently +that it was not blowing across the mountain, but rather +in a circular, whirlwind motion that gradually became +more violent. The terrace he now crossed was as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +smooth as a floor, and he found his way only by means +of the crosses carved in the rocks beneath his feet. +Then the trail dropped suddenly into a shallow trough; +mounted to another field of crumbled stones; and rose +unevenly to a barrier that he remembered with a pang +of chagrin. This was what at the first glance would +have appeared to be a solid and insurmountable wall of +rock, perhaps fifteen feet in height, and stretching +away to the very edge of the plateau at his right, and to +a wilderness of granite on the left. But directly ahead +of him the wall was cleft, and there was a narrow pathway +climbing up between two huge rocks that had been +carved by the elements into shapes bearing a fanciful +resemblance to human figures. These were the Twin +Sisters.</p> +<p>Here Haig had been caught by a storm that hurled +him back defeated; and he had, moreover, narrowly +escaped a worse thing than mere defeat; for the wind +had carried him off the trail, and almost to the brink +of the chasm that yawned some hundred yards away. +Now, remembering that experience, he spurred Trixy +forward to take the aperture in the wall before the +wind should suddenly become insupportable; and this +time he was more fortunate. The pony leaped and +clambered up the slippery path, and at the exit was +caught by a blast that hurled and pinned her, as if she +had been no heavier than a butterfly, against the base +of the righthand towering figure. For some seconds +neither horse nor man was able to move from that fixed +position, where the wind flattened them against the +rock. Then it swerved sharply, flung them against +the other Sister with such force that Haig’s leg was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +stunned and bruised, and finally released them with a +shriek that sounded like a cry of disappointed rage. +Trixy plunged forward with a snort, and Haig saw that +the trail was again plain across another field of scattered +stones.</p> +<p>Now, thrilled by this victory, he urged the pony onward +at all possible speed toward the worst of all the +perils of the mountain. The stone field was succeeded +by a series of mounds and hollows, and this by a second +slippery floor; and then he mounted the ridge that terminated +in the Devil’s Chair. Here was the highest +point attained by the trail: a flat rock measuring perhaps +twenty yards one way, and a little less the other, +lifted high above the surrounding slopes, and having +(hence its name) a huge back formed by the abrupt +termination of the ridge. From the chair the rock +dipped in a kind of hollow like a chute, worn smooth +by the winds and rains; and everything that ever fell +into that chute was swallowed by the chasm of unplumbed +and unestimated depth. Sometimes the wind +blew up through the chute across the Devil’s Chair; +sometimes it blew down through it into the chasm. It +was blowing out when Parker reached the chair, and +he was hurled back down, the slope three times before +he acknowledged his defeat; it was blowing in when the +three members of the English party were sucked down +into the chasm.</p> +<p>Haig could have cried aloud the joy that ran through +him, when, having spurred Trixy up the steep ascent +to a footing on the Devil’s Chair, he found that almost +a perfect calm reigned there, due to some sudden shift +in the currents of the air.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></div> +<p>“Quick, Trixy! On!” he cried.</p> +<p>The horse bounded across the platform, slid and +stumbled down the other side, and was up again, leaping +forward, and a little to the left, where there was +firmer going over another field of stones. And now at +length, to Haig’s relief, the trail bent sharply in toward +the middle of the plateau, and thus away from +the peril of the chasms.</p> +<p>But his elation was short-lived. If Thunder Mountain +had admitted him between the Twin Sisters, and +spared him at the Devil’s Chair, it was only to hurl +upon him its accumulated fury farther on. Engrossed +in the endless difficulties of the trail, he had not observed +the stealthy and insidious change that was taking +place in the atmosphere until it had advanced far +toward its climax. The un-looked for calm, so opportune, +was but a pause before an outburst of elemental +rage. The vapors lifted, and hung in still masses a +few feet above the earth. Haig picked his way along +in a strange, weird, yellowish light, in a stillness that +was all the more impressive by contrast with the recent +howling and hammering of the wind. There was not +a faintest puff of air on his cheek, and not a sound +except the click of Trixy’s feet among the stones, and +his own hurried breathing. All else seemed to have +paused, expectant, waiting.</p> +<p>It did not come as storms come in the valley, or on +the plain, or among the hills; not even as they come in +the mountains. It did not come from north, or east, +or west, or south, or from any known horizon; it had +no sensible direction; it was there. Out of the portentous +hush (not into it) there came first a whisper, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +something low and malevolent; then a singular moaning +sound, incomparably dismal and hollow and pervasive. +Haig moved his head from side to side, endeavoring +to trace it––before, behind, above––he +knew not where. The moaning murmur grew, and still +there was no perceptible movement in the air; it rose +whining up, up, up the scale until at last it was a shrill, +demoniacal shriek. And then, out of the darkening +mists, it leaped upon him.</p> +<p>In this whirling, wicked, wondrous thing there was +no orderly and recognizable succession of phenomena, +such as wind and lightning and rain. These came all +in one swoop, all in one frightful blend. It was black, +and it was bright. The lightning came not from the +sky, discharging its bolts to earth; it was on the very +surface of the plateau. It flamed and crackled on uplifted +rocks; it ran hissing like fiery serpents among +the scattered stones; it buzzed and exploded in the +very face of Haig, and under the pony’s belly. If he +had been caught in a burning storehouse of fireworks––rockets, +Roman candles, pinwheels, and all the ingenious +products of the pyrotechnician––the experience +might have been like this, only a thousand times less +terrifying. He dodged and ducked, and threw up his +hands to shield his face, expecting instantly that one of +those exploding things would make an end of him.</p> +<p>Then there were other horrors to be endured. The +din became incessant. Simultaneous with the hiss and +crackle and crack of the lightning there was a continuous +deafening detonation in the air above him, crash +on crash and roar on roar. The terrors of the first +few seconds had been chiefly those felt and heard. But +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +the wind had steadily increased in violence. It did +not blow against him, bowling him over, but whirled +around him with a speed that was every instant accelerated. +He felt that he had no weight. He seemed +about to be lifted into the vortex of the storm, to be +flung far out into space.</p> +<p>“Down, girl! Down!” he tried to shout.</p> +<p>But there was no sound from his lips. He felt the +pony stiffening under him, bracing herself stiff-legged +on the stones; and he knew that she shared his fear. +And all this time the rain beat down upon him, in +lead-like sheets, with intermittent bombardments of +hailstones. It occurred to him to wonder dully which +would win––the wind that sought to whirl him up +into the sky, or the rain that was for beating him to +earth, or the lightning that would burn him to cinders. +Then thought left him, and his last impression was of +being torn limb from limb, and atom from atom, in +excruciating pain.</p> +<p>He was roused at length to the consciousness of having +been lifted and hurled; and found himself prostrate +on the ground, face downward, with the rain +flooding him. Trixy lay at his side, flat like himself, +her head stretched out among the stones. They seemed +to lie in a vacuum, in the very hollow of the storm. +Around them the clatter, the clang and the uproar +were even more terrifying than before because they +were now separated from these noises, no longer a part +of them. All was blackness, shot through with fire. +Haig was no more tortured in his body, except for the +sense of being suffocated. He seemed to inhale raw +ozone; the air fairly stank with the odors of decomposition; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +the saliva in his mouth had a peculiar pungent +and disagreeable taste. He gasped and fought +for breath.</p> +<p>Such reason as was left to him told him that this +was the end of all. At any instant something would +flash out of that wall of blackness, and destroy him +with a blow. His spirit rose exultantly to meet and +welcome it; he rejoiced in such a death, slain by the +elements, on the roof of the world, alone, unseen; it +was a glorious exit, the finish he had sought for years +on years, his heart’s desire. Triumphant and defiant, +he tried to roar back at the thunder, to outscream the +wind, to face the lightning with undimmed eyes.</p> +<p>There came a blinding flash, exceeding in brightness +anything he had yet experienced. But with it, to his +amazement, there emerged from the blackness a vision +that brought life back to him with a shocking thrill. +For there, not ten paces distant, was Sunnysides. +Only for an instant; and then all was again obscure. +He must have been mistaken. It was only a figment of +fancy, a creation of his tortured brain, a phenomenon +associated with his passing from life to death. And +yet he waited, staring into the smothering void.</p> +<p>Another flash of fire across the black––and Sunnysides! +But now the lightning, as if directed by some +intelligence, became again continuous, its flashes joined +in one spouting flame. And in the very midst of it +stood the outlaw in his familiar attitude, with one forefoot +slightly raised, his head high, his nostrils distended, +his dark eyes filled with fire. There had never +been anything so bright and beautiful. His golden +hide gleamed with planetary splendor, like the mythical +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +horses of the sun. This was The Horse, the golden +epiphany of the brute, the answer to all of Haig’s fears +and resolutions. And in the very hour of his exit––</p> +<p>Rage rose again within him. Instinctively, for he +was scarce capable of thought, he tried to reach his revolver. +But his arms were leaden. His fingers +touched the butt of the weapon, and stopped as if paralyzed. +The horse wavered and danced before his eyes; +there was a culminating detonation; he felt a terrific +blow on his head. And he knew no more.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXII_THE_NARROW_PASSAGE' id='CHAPTER_XXII_THE_NARROW_PASSAGE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<h3>THE NARROW PASSAGE</h3> +</div> +<p>Light came with unutterable mystery. Yet Haig +lay for a moment waiting, mistrustful of the +peace that encompassed him. Then he cautiously +raised his head, and looked. Trixy stood near him, +panting and wild-eyed. The whole surface of the +plateau was glistening wet; a cold breeze poured over +him, without violence; and the sky above him was as +innocent and bright as a baby’s smile.</p> +<p>Where, then, was the storm? He moved his head +painfully, and searched the horizon; and yonder, +around the icy parapets of Silver Tip, with roll on roll +of reverberations in its wake, the black storm was in +full flight. His eyes followed it with a curious and +exaggerated interest; for he had seen its birth, and +tested its power, and it had given him a new experience.</p> +<p>Presently he tried to rise, and found that his limbs +were numb. His right arm ached to the tips of his +fingers. His head swam, and he had difficulty in arranging +his impressions in any sort of orderly succession, +especially those in which Sunnysides participated.</p> +<p>“I wonder how much of it really happened!” he +mused.</p> +<p>Unexpectedly his eyes lighted on his revolver, where +it lay among the stones at his side. Ah! It had +burned his fingers. He picked it up, and examined it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +curiously. But none of the cartridges had been exploded. +The gun, then, had been knocked out of his +hand before he could lift and aim it; and the storm +had taunted him with Sunnysides, and cheated him. +No matter! The game was not yet up.</p> +<p>He struggled to his feet, and stretched himself, and +pounded his chest, which ached from his heavy breathing. +Then his eyes sought the trail ahead, scanning +the level spaces and the heaped-up masses of granite; +and an instant later a cry escaped his lips. For there, +perhaps half a mile away, and mounting rapidly a gray +ridge of rock, his body outlined against the blue sky, +was Sunnysides. It had been no vision, then, no figment +of his tortured brain. But where had the horse +been all this time, to have been caught in the same storm +with his pursuer, despite his half-hour start, his greater +speed, and the night that came between them? True, +there had been a storm in the night; that might have +delayed, but it should not have kept him. True, too, +he might have lost the trail, and wandered over the +plateau; but Haig could not have missed him, if he had +been anywhere in sight before the storm revealed him. +No, nothing could explain it; and there remained only +one hypothesis, which was untenable, preposterous and +mad. And yet it fascinated and held him. He had +once said jocularly that Sunnysides was not a real horse +at all; that he was a demon––a spirit. Well, it was a +real horse, right enough, that had crushed him, and +thrown him again, and broken Bill Craven’s leg, and +fled; and that was a real horse yonder, outlined against +the sky. If some devilish instinct in the brute, or +some agent of Destiny, or mere fling of chance had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +held him on the plateau to tantalize and lead on his +pursuer––</p> +<p>“Dreaming again!” Haig muttered, with a wry +smile, and yet with a vague uneasiness that he could +not put down.</p> +<p>But in another instant he had leaped to his horse, +tested the cinches with trembling fingers, climbed stiffly +into the saddle, and dug the spurs into Trixy’s flanks. +When he looked again toward the ridge, the outlaw had +disappeared; but there was no ignis-fatuus trick in +that; and the horse would be seen again when Haig +too had topped the rise. For the trail was now leading +him in a relatively straight line toward the exact +spot where Sunnysides had vanished; and more assuring +than all else, a very material and comforting proof +that this was a real horse he followed, was the discovery +he made halfway up the slope. There, among the +stones, lay the outlaw’s saddle. Clearly the runaway +had only just now been able to shake it off, and its condition, +bruised and cut and dirty, showed that Sunnysides +had been put to some trouble to be rid of it, having +doubtless rolled over and over on it in his efforts to be +free. And there, too, was a plausible explanation of +the fact that Sunnysides was not now far on the trail.</p> +<p>From the top of the ridge, Haig saw the outlaw picking +his way through a wilderness of rocks that had the +grewsome aspect of a cemetery––the graveyard of the +gods. Following through this depressing scene, he lost +sight of Sunnysides, and on emerging upon another +floor-like expanse of solid stone he received a surprise +that caused him to rein up Trixy with a jerk. The +quarry was nowhere in sight, though Haig’s position +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +gave him a sweeping view of the flat ahead of him, even +to the edge of the summit, now scarcely three quarters +of a mile away. There was no possibility that the +horse could have traversed that distance in the time +Haig was passing through the “cemetery;” neither +was there any place on that part of the plateau where it +could be concealed.</p> +<p>The trail itself solved the mystery. It did not lead +straight on, as Haig had imagined; and he experienced +some difficulty in finding it on the smooth floor, from +which the elements had all but obliterated the crosses +made by the pioneers. Then his astonishment was +great to find that it turned at a sharp angle to the left, +dropped sheer over the edge of the flat rock, coiled down +a slope littered with débris to another field of loose +stones, and in a quarter of a mile brought up at the +brink of a cliff. Sunnysides, then, had crossed the +summit, and was descending to whatever lay below.</p> +<p>In ten minutes Haig himself was at the margin of +the chasm; for little wider than a chasm was that deep +and narrow gulch, far up the side of Thunder Mountain, +into which he now looked in wonderment and perplexity. +A thousand feet or more below him lay a +tiny patch of meadow of a brilliant green, with a thread +of water sparkling through it, and on all sides, excepting +that nearest him, black forests encompassed it, and +mounted dense to the timber line save where, at his +right, the stream ran down through its gorge. There, +evidently, would go the trail also, dropping into the +Black Lake country, of evil reputation.</p> +<p>But where now was the trail? He dismounted, and +leaned over the edge of the precipice; and there he discovered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +that he had missed the exact point of departure +by some fifteen yards, and that at this distance to his +left there was a break in the sharp brink, where the +trail fell off precipitately to a heap of broken stone +and sand. The cliff had been shattered in some convulsion +of nature, or loosened and disintegrated by the +elements, and enormous masses of it had fallen into the +gulch. These masses appeared to be in a state of instability, +and it was not clear to Haig, from where he +lay, how a trail could ever have been picked out among +those jutting rocks and slides of débris, or how, once +found, it could have remained intact on that shifting +foundation. Was it possible that any living thing had +ever made its way down (much less <i>up</i>) that steep and +treacherous rubble heap?</p> +<p>He was studying it incredulously, when Sunnysides +suddenly resolved all doubts. From behind a projecting +rock the horse came out on one of the many +rough ledges that had been formed by lateral cleavage of +the cliff in its fall. Hesitating a moment there, he +plunged down a short declivity, and landed sprawling +on another shelf perhaps twenty feet lower down, and +somewhat to the right of the first, where he once more +vanished from Haig’s sight.</p> +<p>“All right!” cried Haig. “If you can do that we +can. Eh, Trixy?”</p> +<p>He mounted quickly, urged the reluctant mare to the +break in the edge of the cliff, and forced her over. For +some thirty feet the trail went down the face of the +precipice, much like a fire escape on the wall of a tenement +house, barely wide enough to accommodate horse +and rider,––so narrow, indeed, that Haig’s left leg +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +was scraped and bruised by hard contact with the stone. +At the bottom of this incline, his amazement was great +at finding a solid platform of rock, on which, he was +able easily to turn and go down another incline underneath +the first. Plainly all this was not the result of +accident; the hands of men had been busy here; and +picks and shovels had supplemented the work of nature. +But below the next platform there certainly had been a +secondary slide of rock, for the trail was nowhere discernible, +though it should evidently have slipped down, +at a greater angle from the cliff than before, to a third +turning point on a shelf some forty feet away to the +left. Here the débris was loose and fine, and with a +little urging Trixy was induced to take the descent, +carrying quantities of sand and stones with her as she +slid and sprawled safely to the next goal.</p> +<p>Thus they went, sometimes finding the trail plain +over solid rock and hard-packed débris, sometimes slipping +and scrambling among stones and sand, but always +drawing nearer and nearer in a zigzag course, +now easy and then difficult, to the green vale below. +There were moments when Trixy was on her knees, +moments when she was on her haunches, moments when +she stood swaying above the pit, and moments when all +traces of the trail had vanished. But somewhere below +was Sunnysides.</p> +<p>Far down the declivity, so near the valley that Haig +was able to look across into the tops of the tallest pines, +they came to what appeared to be the last of the rocky +ledges. Having for some minutes seen nothing of the +outlaw, Haig supposed that the runaway had already +reached the meadow, and was by now on the trail +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +through the forest. But just as Trixy’s shod hoofs +struck the platform with a clatter, Haig caught sight of +Sunnysides far out on the narrow shelf. He was trotting +briskly along, for the shelf was smooth and level. +But, on a sudden he stopped, stood a moment with his +head thrust forward and down, and then turned cautiously +around, his four feet bunched together on the +narrow footing.</p> +<p>“What’s up now?” ejaculated Haig.</p> +<p>And then he saw it. Twice before he had noted +where a similar error might have been made, on other +ledges farther up; and he himself had avoided them +only by carefully studying the aspect of the declivity +below him. Sunnysides had undoubtedly lost time +through such mistakes; and now he was trapped. At +the point where he stood, the shelf ended abruptly “in +the air”; and between him and the exit at the other +end of the platform was Haig. The trail had come +down to about the middle of this platform, which was +like an unrailed balcony, scarce three feet in width, +with a high wall of rock on one side, and on the other +a straight drop of twenty feet to a veritable chute of +stones that terminated in a widespread litter of débris +on the meadow.</p> +<p>“Caught like a rat!” cried Haig. “I’ve got you +now!”</p> +<p>But what could he do with him? His rope was useless +on that meager footing, where there was barely +room for his horse to stand, much less for Haig to swing +a noose. And worse: if Sunnysides was trapped, so +was his enemy; for the horse was already, through +fright or belligerency, moving slowly toward Haig. In +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +a flash it was clear to Haig that the outlaw meant to +have it out with him then and there; and that there +would be no time to turn Trixy, and find the outlet into +the valley.</p> +<p>“It’s too bad, but––”</p> +<p>He drew his revolver, and waited. There was yet a +chance, he thought, or hoped, that the horse would halt, +and postpone the issue. He did not want to kill him; +he had not come across Thunder Mountain to kill him; +he had come to take him back to Paradise Park. And +so he waited––fatally. The outlaw came slowly until +half the space between him and Haig had been covered. +Then, at a distance of perhaps a hundred feet, +when no choice was left to him, Haig swung up his +gun, and fired. At that very instant, Sunnysides uttered +a savage cry, a shrill neigh ending in a scream; +and, charged at the horse and rider in his path.</p> +<p>Haig fired again, and missed; threw himself forward +on Trixy’s neck, jerked the pony’s head in toward +the wall, and fired again; and missed. He tried to +shoot once more, into the very face of the oncoming +brute, but too late. There was a vision of flaming +black eyes and white teeth, in a yellow blur; and then +a tremendous impact, a crash. Trixy was flung back +on her haunches, with one hind leg over the edge of the +shelf, Haig barely hanging in the saddle. The outlaw +leaped back, and lunged again; thrust himself between +Trixy and the wall; toppled pony and rider off into +the void; and passed on, with a shriek of triumphant +rage.</p> +<p>Haig and Trixy turned in the air, struck the chute +of stones and sand, and rolled over and over as they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +went down in a flying slide of débris. But Haig did +not know that, for his head struck a stone at the first +contact with the chute.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Sentience returned to him through mists of pain. +He lay in a twisted heap on a patch of grass, surrounded +by the scattered detritus of the cliff. At first +he could not remember, and could not see. His head +rang with pain, and his eyes were filled with dust, and +with something wet. He managed presently to lift an +arm and wipe his eyes with his hand; and saw dimly +that the hand was covered with blood. His eyes then +filled again; and he swept his sleeves across them and +his forehead. That was better. Blinking, and wiping +his face again and again, he looked dully around him +until memory came back, and brought recognition of +his plight.</p> +<p>He tried to sit up, but sank down quickly with a +groan. One leg was bent almost double under the +other, and would not move. This fact struck him at +first as very queer––an inexplicable phenomenon. +Then he tried it again. His left leg moved at his will, +and that encouraged him. His right hip and part of +the thigh too moved, but the leg below lay loose and +dead.</p> +<p>The blood was in his eyes again. It exasperated +him; he could do nothing unless he were able to see. +He wiped his face again with his sleeve, then put his +hand to his head, and winced a little as the fingers +touched a gash just above the left temple, from which +the blood still flowed. By turning his head he found +that the blood ran down away from his eyes instead of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +into them. The new position also gave him a view of +several things that held his attention.</p> +<p>First there was the clutter of stones around him. +Then his eyes swept upward to the ledge whence he had +come rolling down––how far? He calculated the distance +curiously. Eighty feet––a hundred, surely. +How did he come to be still alive? he wondered. And +Trixy! Where was she.</p> +<p>Once more he tackled the problem of sitting up, and +it became easier now in his full understanding of his +condition. By ignoring the dead leg entirely, since it +was of no further use to him, he contrived to raise himself +with his hands on the ground behind him for support. +Then with a jerk that brought a cry of pain, he +sat erect, swaying but resolute. At this instant he +heard a soft whinny behind him. Twisting himself +around, he saw Trixy lying some twenty feet away, +with her forelegs doubled up beneath her, and her head +lifted and pointed toward him. He studied the little +mare a moment.</p> +<p>“Trixy! Get up!” he commanded suspiciously.</p> +<p>She lifted her head higher, made a desperate effort +to rise, sank back, and whinnied piteously.</p> +<p>“So! Yours too, eh! Nice fix, Trixy!”</p> +<p>He surveyed the scene. They were in a bright green +meadow about two hundred yards in width and perhaps +half a mile in length. Across the meadow from where +he lay the black forest mounted toward the sky. At +one end the vale narrowed into a mere ravine, which +vanished upward in deep woods; at the other it widened +to the forest, and by the way the pine-masses came +down to this spot from both sides he knew that there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +the trail ran down the mountain toward the Black Lake +country. The vale was very still under the bright +blue sky; there was just a murmur in the forest; and +no sound of birds came to his ears.</p> +<p>“A beautiful site––for a graveyard!” he said +aloud, and smiled.</p> +<p>The blood still trickled into his eyes, and annoyed +him greatly. It must be stopped, or he could do nothing +that needed to be done. In an inside pocket of his +coat he found a handkerchief, which he bound around +his head, after he had wiped his face once more. The +pain in his head had subsided to a dull throbbing, which +did not matter. But––</p> +<p>“God! I’m thirsty!” he muttered.</p> +<p>He looked again across the meadow. The thread of +water that he had seen from the top of the cliff was +a considerable brook that ran silently through about +the middle of the green. He measured the distance,––fifty +or sixty yards, maybe seventy, or more. He could +do it, by dragging himself along the ground, he thought. +But was it worth the effort, and the pain? It would +hurt him like the devil––that broken leg. Never did +like pain; would probably howl; and that would not be +nice, even with no creature but Trixy to hear him. +No; he would stay where he was. Then suddenly he +thought of Pete’s whisky, and thrust his hand into his +pocket, only to encounter fragments of glass.</p> +<p>“That’s a lesson,” he thought grimly. “Never +carry whisky in glass bottles.”</p> +<p>And now his roving eyes lighted once more on Trixy. +No good letting her suffer. He would send her away +first. On the thought, his hand went back to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +holster at his hip; and stayed there, while his heart +stood still, and a chill went over him, and thought +ceased. The holster was empty.</p> +<p>After a while he was able to think about it. One of +two things would happen to him. There were, very +probably, mountain lions in those forests. But they +were not the worst thing he faced. To be eaten were +perhaps preferable to dying little by little, of hunger +and thirst. He had been near starvation, twice in his +life; and once he had been thirsty,––that is to say, +<i>thirsty</i>,––and God save him from dying of thirst! +But wait! He hesitated; then held his breath; and in +a total suspension of thought slowly reached his hand +down into a side pocket of his trousers. And then he +almost yelled aloud for joy. His pocketknife was +there!</p> +<p>Meanwhile––Trixy. It was cruel not to be able to +end her suffering. What had become of the gun? It +was in his hand when he toppled over the edge of the +platform, and must have fallen with him. So it could +not be far away, though perhaps buried out of sight. +He began patiently to inspect every square foot of the +ground around him, as far as he could trust his eyes to +see clearly, separating the space into imaginary segments +of a circle, and scrutinizing each of them until +he had set apart every tuft of grass from every other +tuft, and every stone from its neighbors. Minute after +minute, with dogged perseverance, he kept himself at +this exhausting task until the sweat was rolling down, +his face, and his eyes burned deep in his head. Then +suddenly something leaped inside of him,––some nerve +that was quicker than thought in its response to vision.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></div> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>The gun lay against a stone, its muzzle upward, at a +distance of about forty feet, beyond and somewhat to +the left of Trixy. It would take some crawling; and +that would hurt. But when he had fixed the gun’s +position in his mind, so that he might not miss it, he +set his teeth together, and started.</p> +<p>No great distance, after all, is forty feet. That is +to say, no great distance after you’ve covered it. And +the pain did not matter now. He lay on the ground +again, flattened out, panting and gazing up at the blue +sky. The sweat stood in big cold drops on his face; +and he trembled as if stricken with ague. He could +not shoot in that condition; he must rest, and wait. +But the thirst was torture now.</p> +<p>After a time, he turned himself half around in order +to face Trixy, and rested his right elbow on the ground, +with the gun up in the air.</p> +<p>“Good-by, Trixy!” he said softly.</p> +<p>But wait! How many shots left? He examined +the revolver. Two! For an instant he was stricken +again with dread. Then his left hand felt for the belt +at his waist; and he laughed nervously. What a state +he was in! There were cartridges to burn!</p> +<p>The gun came slowly down to an aim, then waved in +his hand as he pulled the trigger.</p> +<p>“Hell!” he muttered.</p> +<p>He tried again, pulling himself together, and gritting +his teeth. The second report rang out, and echoed +high among the rocks. The mare’s head fell, her body +quivered, one hind foot kicked out; and she was +gone.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></div> +<p>Oh, yes! He could hit good horses! But not +Sunnysides.</p> +<p>He ejected the exploded cartridges, and filled the +chambers with fresh ones; then lay back and rested +again, the gun still clutched in his hand. And why did +he wait? To get strength, for one thing. He wanted +to sit up to do it, since he could not stand. And +then––there was another trouble. Four times before he +had tried to do it, and something had happened,––something +different and utterly unexpected each time had +checked him. It had not so much mattered then, because +he could afford to wait. But now––</p> +<p>He drew upon the last of his reserves of strength, +and sat up––too suddenly. An excruciating pain shot +through his injured leg, and radiated like flame through +every nerve and tissue of his body. The revolver, half +lifted, fell from his fingers. Swaying, he groped for +it, clutched it again, and frantically raised it to his +head. And when he felt the hard muzzle just above +his ear, he pulled the trigger. And so the third report +went ringing through the quiet valley, and Philip Haig +sank backward on the greensward, and lay still.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII_THE_MIRACLE' id='CHAPTER_XXIII_THE_MIRACLE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<h3>THE MIRACLE</h3> +</div> +<p>Between two storms, the peace that lay upon the +seared and battered head of Thunder Mountain, +like the peace that comes to a sufferer between paroxysms +of pain, was of a kind unknown to lower levels. +In all the range of natural phenomena, in all the gamut +of sensation, there is nothing else at once so beautiful, +inspiring, and appalling as utter silence; and nothing +else so rare. To the sea, the desert, and the peak it is +given in few and perfect hours; but neither to the +desert nor to the sea is it given in such transcendency +as to the peak. And on no peak could silence ever have +seemed so like a miracle as on the flat top of Thunder +Mountain between two storms.</p> +<p>It were hazardous to say how far Marion was conscious +of the beautiful, inspiring, and appalling nature +of that silence. She was too deeply intent upon her +purpose to be conscious of much besides the material +difficulties in her path. She knew that on the gray-black +surface of the mountain nothing stirred; that the +winds were still; that no murmur of forest or ripple of +water or soft pulsation of a living world was there. It +was a dead place, dead these many ages; and all its associations +in her mind were those of death and the living +terror of death. But she was not afraid. True, +she was beset by fears, but they only hovered over her, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +brushing her face with their black wings. True also, +her eyes roved wide, as if at any instant something unknown +and dreadful would come upon her out of that +blue sky, from behind the next rock barrier, or up from +the mountain’s ugly heart itself. But these were superficial +fears, and in her heart she was not afraid.</p> +<p>From the moment that she emerged upon the first +terrace, where Haig had stood some hours before, she +knew that she would not go back until (and unless) she +found him. That had been her purpose from the beginning, +from the time she ran down the hill above +Huntington’s, with Smythe following in alarm; but it +had been hidden from her until, in the exaltation that +ensued upon the finding of the ashes of Haig’s fire, she +drove her pony up the last ascent, and knew that if the +mountain had claimed Philip it must claim her too.</p> +<p>But this thought was, in a sense, as superficial as +her fears; for in her soul there lived a perfect faith. +Through all her grief and jealousy and anger and despair +she had never entirely lost the pure light of her +star. She never doubted deeply that her love would +triumph, even when reason told her that it had already +failed; and the very words with which she had consented +to leave the Park by the last stage were hollow, +though they contained a prayer. She had prayed for +a miracle; and the miracle had happened. Why should +she be afraid?</p> +<p>So she was not surprised when the Twin Sisters welcomed +her without so much as a gentle puff of wind +upon her cheek; when the Devil’s Chair, though she +held her breath at sight of what lay below, was scarce +more difficult than the ridge in Paradise Park; and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +when the central waste, where the storm had leaped on +Haig, held no evil in store for her. The only obstacles +encountered were those presented by the trail itself; +and these, as Smythe had told her, though by no means +trivial, were not insurmountable to one with a clear +eye and steady nerves. It was never the trail itself +that was deadly; it was the wind that would blow her +into a chasm, the mist that would decoy her from the +path, and the storm that would beat her down among +the stones. But there was no wind, no mist, no storm; +and if that was not a miracle––</p> +<p>Several times, to be sure, she missed the trail: once +in the second field of loose stones, before she had become +accustomed to the signs; once on a wide floor of +solid rock, where Tuesday slipped and fell, and she +rose a little stunned, and in a brief confusion; and +once, the most alarming of all, when she was for half an +hour lost in that granite wilderness that to Haig had +suggested a cemetery of the gods. But faith sustained +her, and her purpose stood in the stead of courage that +might have faltered and even failed. The one moment +when something like despair struck at her heart was +that when she found the bruised and dirty saddle cast +aside by the runaway, and thought at first that it was +Philip’s; and the one moment of real terror was that +in which, on the summit of the last ridge, she looked +back and saw that dark gray vapors were surging up +out of the chasm below the Devil’s Chair.</p> +<p>It chanced that in following the trail from the sharp +turn on the last rock floor to the brink of the cliff (the +last pyramid stands some fifty yards back from it), +Marion arrived at about the same distance to the left +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +of the drop-off as Haig had brought up at the right of +it. From this point even less of the meadow was visible +than Haig had seen at the first view, and the mass +of fallen and tumbled granite appeared even more formidable. +Her immediate sensation was of tragic despair, +as the evidence of her eyes for one instant overwhelmed +her faith. But where was Philip? And +Sunnysides?</p> +<p>Then a suspicion flashed into her mind. Perhaps +she had missed the trail,––the real trail. She could +not have been mistaken in the signs; there was the last +pyramid in plain view still from where she stood. But +it was not unlikely that there was another trail from +the sharp turn where she had been confused for a moment, +another exit made necessary by the disruption +of the cliff. She paused uncertainly, looking now at +the great heap of stone below her,––a thousand feet +of jagged rock and sliding sand,––and now back at the +toilsome way she had come. And then her eyes were +caught by something that held her spellbound with +horror. Up to the rocky skyline from beyond the +barrier she had lately crossed there swept a tumbling +mist, as gray-black as the rock itself; and an instant +after she felt a stinging blow of wind on her cheek, and +heard a low whisper in the air around her.</p> +<p>She was roused by a sound that brought her up rigid +and alert in the saddle. What was that? A faint report, +as of a gun––from somewhere. She listened, +turning her head slowly and cautiously, and holding her +breath. A long time, it seemed to her, she listened; +and heard only that warning whisper of the wind across +the flat. But there! Another! It came up faintly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +from below, expiring at the very edge of the precipice. +She peered guardedly down into the chasm, and saw +nothing but the vast pile of débris, and a bit of green +meadow over against the edge of the black forest. But +it was a gun! She began now to examine the edge of +the cliff. To her left it fell sheer away hundreds of +feet to the lower masses of fallen stone; and there was +no trail on that side. Dismounting, she led her horse +slowly along the brink at her right; and so came at +length to the spot where the trail dropped to the first +incline. It seemed incredible; but then, even as the +word framed itself in her mind, her heart bounded +up into her throat. There––there––under her eyes +were hoofprints, the print of steel shoes in the sand; +and they went down, down, down. And, as if to remove +the last of doubt and hesitancy, there came wavering +up from below a third thin report, a little more +distinct than the others, and undeniable.</p> +<p>She lifted her face toward the sky, and pressed her +hands upon her breast.</p> +<p>“God help us! God help us––both!” she murmured.</p> +<p>Then she remounted Tuesday, and forced him over +the edge of the cliff.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Haig lay on his back, his head against the stone by +which he had recovered the coveted revolver. A handkerchief +dyed red and blackened with powder stains +lay against one cheek. His right hand still clutched +the revolver.</p> +<p>He did not move, and she thought him dead. Then, +through the blackness that enveloped her, she dully +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +and slowly comprehended that his eyes were closed, not +staring up at her. She knelt swiftly, and pressed her +head to his breast; and then leaped to her feet with a +wild outcry.</p> +<p>Tuesday stood a few yards away, with tail outstretched +and nostrils distended, gazing affrightedly at +the body of Trixy lying in her wretched heap. Marion +ran to the saddle, and tore at the thongs that held her +bundle; jerked it loose, and bore it quickly to Haig’s +side; and in a few seconds had placed the mouth of her +whisky flask between Haig’s lips, and let a little of the +liquid trickle down his throat. But there was no response, +and she stood up again, looking for water. +The brook that had seemed so far away from Haig was +at no distance for her flying feet; and she was back on +the run with her sombrero filled. Dashing the water +into Philip’s face, she was off again for more. With +this she bathed his face and neck and wrists; and then +set herself to slapping the palms of his hands with her +own.</p> +<p>Still there was no response. But when she pressed +her head to his breast once more she was assured that +she had not been mistaken; his heart was beating feebly––but +beating. A second time she put the whisky +flask to his lips; and returned to the limp hands, rubbing +them, slapping them until her own burned and +ached.</p> +<p>Hours it seemed, and ages flowing away into eternity. +The sky was darkening, and from the top of +Thunder Mountain came a muffled roar that was echoed +back and forth across the valley. She looked up at the +towering cliff, and trembled. And then, with the last +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +fading reverberation, there came another sound that +brought her leaning down close to Philip’s face. Was +it a sigh, or only––</p> +<p>“Philip! Philip! Philip!” she called, softly at first, +then in a cry that rang across the meadow.</p> +<p>At last a quiver went through the limp figure; the +eyes were opened, only to be quickly closed again, as +if the light had hurt them. She called to him again, in +pleading accents. The eyelids fluttered, and he looked +up into the face of the girl bending over him. It was +a puzzled, uncomprehending look. And thereupon his +lips moved.</p> +<p>“Yes, Philip! What is it?”</p> +<p>“I don’t understand,” he whispered.</p> +<p>“It’s Marion!” she cried. “Don’t you know me?”</p> +<p>“But––where?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. Thunder Mountain.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know that!” he said, with a note of impatience. +“Sunnysides and––all that. But––you?”</p> +<p>“I followed, and found you.”</p> +<p>A weak smile flickered on his lips. She saw that he +did not believe her.</p> +<p>“Look! Look!” she cried. “It’s Marion. And +yonder––is Tuesday.”</p> +<p>He moved his head a little, and stared at the pony +still standing fascinated and terrified by the stillness +of poor Trixy.</p> +<p>“It’s––impossible!” he muttered. “You couldn’t––”</p> +<p>He made an effort to look up at the cliff down, which +he had come.</p> +<p>“But it’s quite true, Philip. I’m here.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></div> +<p>But she saw that he was still groping in the dark. +He lifted his right hand, and touched his head, while +the expression of perplexity grew rather than lessened +on his face. She saw that there was not only a gash in +the left temple, but a furrow on the right side of his +head, a swollen red streak where the hair had been +burned away. And the black stains on the handkerchief, +and the revolver clutched in his hand.</p> +<p>“Philip!” she said softly, reproachfully.</p> +<p>“I don’t understand!” he reiterated, and closed his +eyes.</p> +<p>She studied him, and the place where he lay, and the +dead pony; the two wounds in his head, the bloody +handkerchief––And it was only partly clear to her. +He had fallen, and been hurt; but Philip, as she knew +him, would have made nothing of that cut on his temple. +Why, then, had he abandoned the pursuit, and tried to +kill himself?</p> +<p>A groan escaped him.</p> +<p>“What is it, Philip?” she asked.</p> +<p>“You’re hurting me!” he answered, opening his +eyes again.</p> +<p>“Hurting you?” she exclaimed. “No! Where?”</p> +<p>“My leg’s broken.”</p> +<p>With a sharp cry she moved away from him, and saw +that in her eagerness she had pressed against his right +leg. For just a moment she was so concerned with the +pain she had caused him that she did not realize the +full significance of his answer. Then it came to her +with a shock. She looked slowly around her: at the +black forest on three sides of the little meadow; at the +cliff on the other; at the terrible trail down which she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +had come, she scarce knew how; and at the storm clouds +on Thunder Mountain.</p> +<p>He saw the thought in her face.</p> +<p>“You see, it’s no use!” he said. “With a broken +leg.”</p> +<p>She met his eyes with a clear and steady gaze; and +smiled. And that look he could not read.</p> +<p>“Now, then, Philip!” she said at length, rising +quietly to her feet. “I’ll go to work.”</p> +<p>“To work?” he repeated.</p> +<p>“Of course!” she replied, with brave lightness. +“There’s a lot to do. First, there’s your leg.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s broken,” he answered sardonically.</p> +<p>“We’ll mend it. And the cut on your head needs +to be dressed. And I’m dreadfully hungry, and––”</p> +<p>She stopped, and the smile fled from her face, and the +strength ran from her limbs.</p> +<p>“I told you. It’s no use,” said Haig.</p> +<p>But she had one resource of courage of which he was +unaware: her faith.</p> +<p>“Well,” she answered stoutly, “I’ve enough in my +bundle for one meal anyhow. After that––who +knows?”</p> +<p>“Will you give me a drink of water, please?”</p> +<p>She stooped quickly for her hat, the only vessel she +had.</p> +<p>“Look in the roll on my saddle,” he said. “Murray +put some things there.”</p> +<p>She glanced around uncertainly; then understood. +The saddle was on Trixy still. But Trixy was dead, +and she did not like the idea of touching her. She +hesitated just the length of time required for an unpleasant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +smile to twist Haig’s lips. She saw it, and +her face flamed with shame. A fine start she was making! +And it was only a dead horse! She walked resolutely +to the prostrate body, hurriedly untied the roll +of blankets, and returned running.</p> +<p>“Oh! Oh! Oh!” she cried, as she unrolled the +bundle. “A cup! A pan! And bacon and bread! +And matches.”</p> +<p>“Murray,” said Haig.</p> +<p>“Yes, I know. Mrs. Murray told me, but I’d forgotten.”</p> +<p>She ran to the stream, and brought him a cupful of +water; and another; and while he drank the second, +she picked up his revolver, and carried it to a stone +fully as far away as it had been when he crawled for it. +He was on the point of calling her back, but thought +better of it; to have done that would only have confirmed +her suspicions.</p> +<p>“Now then, sir!” she began. “Your leg.”</p> +<p>“What about it?”</p> +<p>“We’ve got to set it.”</p> +<p>“That’s absurd!”</p> +<p>“Why is it absurd?”</p> +<p>“You can’t do it, in the first place.”</p> +<p>“But I can. I’ve seen my father do it.”</p> +<p>“It won’t heal––in the fix we’re in.”</p> +<p>“We’ll do our best,” she rejoined bravely.</p> +<p>“Listen!” he said, with some sternness. “If it +should knit, which I doubt, it will take six weeks or two +months before I can use it. Do you know what will +happen before two months––before one month––before +two weeks, even?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></div> +<p>She only looked at him questioningly.</p> +<p>“Snow!” he said shortly.</p> +<p>She could find no answer, unless it were an answer +that she dared not give him––yet.</p> +<p>“Well, then!” he said, with an air of finality. +“You can’t start to-night, of course. It’s too late, and +there’s a storm going up there besides. But to-morrow +morning––” He looked up at the cliff and frowned. +“Perhaps Tuesday can make it. If he balks, you’ve +got to do it on foot. The mountain let you pass once. +Maybe it will spare you again. Maybe! God knows! +But it’s your only chance. I’m done for, and can’t +help you. It’s sure death for you to stay here. It’s +sure death to try the trail into the Black Lake country. +You have just one chance. You’ve got to take it to-morrow +morning. And God help you for being such +a fool!”</p> +<p>She heard him through, and smiled; and he noted, +for his own information, that this smile of hers was getting +on his nerves. What did she mean by it? There +was something very superior about it, though very +gentle and indulgent; and a thing or two she had said +to him before flashed back into his mind. Was she +trying to mother him? The thought made him angry.</p> +<p>“Well?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“Of course I’ll not go!” she said simply.</p> +<p>“You will go!” he retorted wrathfully.</p> +<p>She knelt quickly at his side, and took one of his +hands between both her own.</p> +<p>“Philip!” she said gently. “I know that––perhaps––it’s +a foolish question to ask. You mustn’t +call me silly. But––do you believe in miracles?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></div> +<p>“Miracles be damned!” he blurted out. “I’ll +see––”</p> +<p>She put her hand over his mouth.</p> +<p>“Listen, Philip!” she went on. “I prayed for a +miracle, and it has happened. Perhaps there’ll be another; +who knows? We’ll wait and see. If nothing +happens, why––Do you think I’m afraid?”</p> +<p>He made no answer, and she needed none.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV_HAIGS_ARGUMENT' id='CHAPTER_XXIV_HAIGS_ARGUMENT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<h3>HAIG’S ARGUMENT</h3> +</div> +<p>When she had unsaddled Tuesday, and left him +grazing near the “camp,” Marion set out with +Murray’s hatchet and knife to cut splints for Haig’s +broken leg. Haig watched her run across the meadow, +leap the brook, and hurry on to a grove of quaking +aspens at the edge of the forest. Then he lay back to +consider the logic of the situation, with the following +result, which appeared to him unanswerable:</p> +<p>First. The girl yonder had already saved his life +once, and was doing her best, though against impossible +odds, to save it again. Her motive was one that +need not be dwelt upon in this fatal crisis. The fact +remained that for him she was facing certain death, +and he must do all in his power to save her. That was +the starting point from which all reckonings must be +made.</p> +<p>Second. His own case was hopeless. Long before +he should be able to move from where he lay, the valley +would be buried in snow to half the height of those +pines yonder. If she remained with him her case +would be hopeless too. Death would be inevitable for +both of them: death from starvation, from exposure, +from cold. They had neither food, nor proper clothing, +nor shelter of any kind. The hardiest mountaineer +would not dream, of attempting to pass eight +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +or nine months of winter in a place like that, even with +his two arms and two legs free. He, with his broken +leg, and she, a woman, would not survive an eighth or +a ninth of that period.</p> +<p>Third. The chances of rescue. There would be no +search for him, he reflected with a grim smile. But +for Marion, undoubtedly. To-morrow morning, Marion +not having returned, Murray would start out to find +her. There was not one chance in a thousand that, at +this season, there would be such another day as the one +now ending, and ending in storm. But suppose that +Murray should make his way across the summit, and +find them. Murray could do nothing for a man with +a broken leg at the bottom of a gulch with a cliff on +one side and miles on miles of mountain forest on the +other sides. As for Marion, if she would not go at his, +Haig’s, command, she would certainly pay little heed +to Murray. So Murray would accomplish nothing. +However, it would not come to that. Murray would +be driven back by the winds. He would ride down to +the Park and give the alarm. Search parties would +be formed, and they would assail the mountain. But +fifty men would be no stronger than one man on Thunder +Mountain. It was just possible that some of them +might force their way across the flat between storms. +But every day that possibility, such as it was, would +grow less. It would be madness for the girl to wait. +She had crossed the mountain once; she knew the way; +and if the winds should permit rescuers to come to her +they would permit her to go to them. It was her only +chance, however desperate; to remain where she was +meant certain death.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div> +<p>Fourth. She would not, it was quite clear, stir from +his side as long as he was alive. Therefore he must do +quickly what he had tried to do before.</p> +<p>The idea was so familiar to him by now that it required +no contemplation. He raised his head, and +looked toward the stone where his revolver lay; and +then toward the aspen grove where Marion labored. +His gaze rested on her for some minutes. It was too +late for her to start to-night, even if there were no +storm on the mountain. And if he did it now she +would face a night of solitude and terror, perhaps would +not live through it. He would wait till morning; and +when she should have gone for wood, or water––</p> +<p>She came back presently with an armload of small +limbs she had hacked from the youngest trees. Her +left hand bled where she had awkwardly struck it with +the hatchet; and there were tears in her eyes, which +she tried to conceal from him. He was sorry for her––and +angry. It was not his fault; he had done all he +could, even to brutality.</p> +<p>“Did you tell Huntington, or his wife, what you +were going to do?” was his first speech.</p> +<p>“No. But I sent Mr. Smythe––he rode with me +as far as Norton’s––I sent him back with a message +that I was going to stop the night at Murray’s.”</p> +<p>“And the Murrays? What did you tell them?”</p> +<p>“That I’d be back before night. But why do you +ask?”</p> +<p>“I’m thinking that Smythe is a fool, and Murray is +a blockhead.”</p> +<p>“They did all they could to stop me,” she answered +quietly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></div> +<p>She had begun to strip the bark and twigs from the +green limbs; and he watched her crude efforts for a +moment.</p> +<p>“I think I might manage that part of it,” he said at +length. “You must build a fire.”</p> +<p>She started to obey him, but stopped short, and +looked at him in sudden fear and suspicion.</p> +<p>“No, you can trust me with the knife,” he said. “I +promise.”</p> +<p>She handed the limbs and the knife to him; and he +saw that her hands trembled.</p> +<p>“You’ll find plenty of dead wood at the edge of the +forest,” he said. “Don’t venture far among the +trees.”</p> +<p>The shadows were deepening along the other side of +the meadow, and he watched her a little anxiously while +she made half a dozen trips for dry limbs and small +chunks of half-rotted logs. And now she felt a curious +thrill as she began to employ the knowledge she had +gained on her camping expedition. She had never +dreamed that it would be so useful to her! And she +found new courage in thinking, while she worked, how +all her life she had been undergoing preparation, training, +education for this hour. She wished that she +might run to Philip and tell him all this––and of her +faith! But he would not understand her.</p> +<p>Soon a fine fire was crackling on the grass, against +one of the largest stones that had fallen from the cliff. +Then she brought a small package from her bundle, +and made a cup of hot chocolate for Haig and another +for herself. This, with a small slice of bread for each +of them, made their supper for that day; for such +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +provisions as they possessed must be treasured scrupulously.</p> +<p>Haig had by this time finished trimming the aspen +sticks; and by the fading light of day and the red light +of the fire they set to work to mend the broken leg. +Between them they knew something of surgery: she by +recollecting all that she had seen in her father’s office, +where she had more than once helped Doctor Gaylord +with his needles and bandages; he by recalling experiences +on battlefields, in lumber camps, and in various +rough places of the world. She brought his blankets, +and helped him to move until he lay flat on them, with +his head propped against a stone. Then the leg was +stripped, and the ordeal began.</p> +<p>It was not the pain so much as the uselessness of it +that exasperated Haig; and he was tempted to drive +her away from him, and have no more of it. But this, +he realized, would only have caused more arguments, +and tears, and protestations, and perhaps the revelation +of his purpose. So he endured it to satisfy and divert +her.</p> +<p>Luckily the fracture was a simple one; and with +strips of linen for which Marion sacrificed some of her +scanty supply of clothing, and the thin sticks of tough +aspen wood, the leg was bound straight and firm.</p> +<p>“If we only knew!” said Marion at last, leaning +back to contemplate her work.</p> +<p>“Knew what?” he asked between his teeth.</p> +<p>“If it’s right!”</p> +<p>Between pain and rage he could not answer her; and +thinking that he was near to a collapse, she ran for +water and bathed his face, and gave him a little of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +precious whisky that remained in her flask. After that +he lay quiet, and she went to her preparations for the +night.</p> +<p>The vale now lay in deep blackness, impenetrable +walls of it beyond the red circle of firelight. The cliff +made a dim, dark line against the blue-black sky; the +forest on the other side a ragged tracery. The stars +were few, and far. A low breeze murmured among +the pines, and swept softly, but very cold, across the +meadow. Marion began to feel the chill; and having +wrapped Philip’s blanket tight around him, and spread +over him the leather coat she had found in his bundle, +she heaped more wood on the fire, and sat down before +it, with her blankets around her, and her rifle at her +side, to watch and wait.</p> +<p>She was very tired, but she dared not lie down to +sleep. A long time she sat there, glancing now and +then at Haig, where he lay very still, and oftener out +into the blackness. But drowsiness gradually overcame +her, and her head sank forward on her uplifted knees.</p> +<p>She was awakened by a terrifying cry that rang +shivering across the valley. She started to her feet, +and listened. It must have been a dream, she thought. +No! There it was again––a cry that started low, like +a child’s peevish wail, and ended in a piercing scream. +She grabbed up her rifle, and stood peering into the +darkness.</p> +<p>“Don’t be afraid!” said the voice of Haig from the +edge of the firelight. “It’s only a bobcat. He’ll not +come near the fire.”</p> +<p>“Thank you––Philip!” she answered. Then, with +a nervous laugh: “It did frighten me, though!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span></div> +<p>She stood a moment, still listening. But the cry +came no more.</p> +<p>“Aren’t you sleeping?” she asked softly.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>With trembling limbs, and eyes fixed on the darkness +from whence had come the scream, she stepped +cautiously to the pile of wood, and threw more limbs +and bits of logs into the blaze. Then she seated herself +again, resolved that she would not fall asleep. But +presently she started to her feet in another panic at +sight of a dark form moving in the blackness. But it +was only Tuesday, coming nearer to the fire, as if he +too had been alarmed by the wild beast’s cry. She +settled down once more to her vigil, her rifle across her +lap.</p> +<p>In spite of her resolution, her head sank to her knees +again, and she was aroused at length by the cold. It +bit through the blankets and clothing into the flesh of +her limbs; sharp shivers ran up and down her back; and +she was very miserable. Rising stiffly, she walked a +while before the fire until she stumbled from weariness; +then sat down again, and nodded, only to be waked by +the frost gnawing at her flesh. Again and again she +slept and woke in accentuated misery. But finally she +saw, with unspeakable relief, that the stars were paling +in their blue-black vault. She turned toward Thunder +Mountain, and watched the dim line of the cliff sharpening +against the whitening sky. Yet all was blackness +in the gulch, and it seemed a long time before a soft +gray light began to steal in upon the red light of the +fire, and a new crispness came into the air. She waited +until she could make out the forms of trees across the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +valley, shrouded in thin morning mist, before she threw +the last few sticks of wood on the dying fire, and crept +to the side of Haig, where she lay down close beside +him, with her blankets wrapped around her. There +she fell into a heavy sleep, and did not waken until the +sun, rising above Thunder Mountain, shone warm in +her face.</p> +<p>For some seconds she lay luxuriating in the warmth +that seemed incredible after that night of cold and +terror. Then she moved softly, raised herself on one +elbow, and looked at Philip. He slept. His face was +haggard under his three days’ growth of beard. She +leaned over him, and pressed her lips ever so lightly to +his forehead. He did not stir.</p> +<p>Tuesday grazed a few yards away; the vale lay green +and peaceful in the sunlight; and from the pine woods, +where that hideous cry had lifted in the night, came +now only the gentle murmur of the breeze in the +massed foliage. By contrast with the chill horror of +the night, the scene was positively exhilarating; and +Marion rose to her work with hope throbbing through +every vein, and courage singing along every nerve of +her body.</p> +<p>First she fetched wood to renew the fire, now only a +heap of smouldering embers. That done, she went to +make her toilet in the brook, with the soap and towel +she had stowed in her bundle for the shooting trip. +Poor Seth! she thought, with a momentary pang; he +would not get the deer he wanted, after all. And by +this thought was set in motion a little current of regrets +that filled her mind until it was diverted by the stream. +She had intended only to wash her face and hands, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +now grimy after her labors at the fire. But chance led +her to a deep, still pool with a bottom of fine sand and +a tiny shore of pebbles that seemed to have been +designed for bathing. Temptation seized her, and on +the very impulse, seeing that a clump of willows +screened her from the camp, she eagerly undressed, and +plunged into the water, uttering quick gasps at the cold +contact, and short-clipped shrieks of pleasure.</p> +<p>And so, behold a marvel! Three days ago, in the +security and familiarity of the Park, where no hardships +or perils threatened, and where she knew that +Philip was safe in his cottage across the ridge, and that +her own pink bedroom awaited her at night, so deep +was she in dejection that nothing could have induced an +outburst of mere physical enjoyment such as this. But +now, while Philip lay on his blankets, a prisoner in +that narrow vale, and death stood at her side uncovered +and undisguised, her spirits rose as they had never +risen since her confession, on Mount Avalanche, and if +Haig had been listening he might have heard her low +laughter across the meadow.</p> +<p>Had she yet failed to realize her situation? Or was +it that tragedy had put on its comic mask, and +laughed at death? The truth is simple. Her faith had +triumphed over what seemed to be insuperable obstacles; +and she was with Philip, for better or for worse. A +miracle had been wrought; and miracles are not +meaningless, or idle, or without purpose. It was a +feeling perhaps unknown to man, who is merely a +reasoning creature, much given to material consideration +of natural causes and effects, and so compelled by +his limitations to grope in outer darkness. And it was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +not so much a feeling as an instinct, and not so much an +instinct as a law, of which she was the involuntary +instrument. Her purpose was so strong within her +that there was no need of thought; and so she did not +think.</p> +<p>Leaping to the pebbly bank, she rubbed herself +swiftly with the towel, and felt the glow of health +rushing through her body, all pink and gleaming in the +sun. Then she dressed, and combed her hair; rinsed +and wrung out the towel, and hung it on the willow-limbs +to dry; and started back toward the camp in the +highest spirits, and eager for service. And then, at +twenty paces, she was stricken cold and rigid by the +sight that met her unsuspecting eyes.</p> +<p>Haig had left his blankets, and was now dragging +himself like a wounded animal along the earth. Already +he had covered more than half the distance to the +rock on which his revolver lay; and it seemed as if she +would stand rooted there in helpless horror until he +reached it. Then, with an incautious cry, she bounded +forward. Haig heard her, and flung himself toward +the stone with reckless determination. Where he had +inches, Marion had yards to go; it was a race that might, +in another age, have done credit to the ingenuity of a +Roman emperor. If Philip was mad with pain and +anger, Marion was frantic with fear and love. It +seemed to her that the turf gripped her feet, that the +wind in her face would strangle her, that her skirts were +leaden sheets around her knees. And she barely resisted +falling in a senseless heap when, at ten yards +from the goal, she saw that she would be too late.</p> +<p>He beat her to the rock by merely a few seconds; but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +he was fairly spent. His fingers bled where he had dug +them into the sand; the sweat rolled down his face; and +exhaustion bound him as with bands of iron. Yet he +was able to reach for the gun, and clutch it; and with a +final effort that seemed to tear the heart from his breast, +he dragged the weapon under him, pressed the muzzle +upward, pulled the trigger, at the very instant that +Marion threw herself upon him.</p> +<p>There was a muffled report, the fumes stung their +eyes and nostrils, and for a moment both lay still. +Then Marion felt a movement under her, and guessed +that Haig was fumbling with the revolver. An indescribable +energy seized her, something tigerish in its +fury, and beyond her own proper powers, so that she +flung him over on his back as if he had been a child in +strength and size. With both hands she gripped the +wrist below the clutched revolver, and while she held it +away from his body she drew her own body over his, +and threw herself on his extended arm, between his +hand and his breast.</p> +<p>There was a savage struggle still, the man affirming +his right to die, and the woman denying it. But the +issue could not be long in doubt; for Haig’s strength +was at the ebb, while Marion’s flowed in from earth and +air and sky, from the future and from the past. And +she wore him down at last, until the revolver dropped +from his grasp, his eyelids closed, his limbs relaxed, and +he lay still. Waiting a moment for certainty, she +cautiously loosened one of her hands from his wrist, +and grabbed the revolver, and flung it with all her +might. Then, seeing it land twenty feet away on the +grass, she rolled away from him, and sat up panting, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +hollow-eyed, disheveled, and trembling on the verge of +a collapse.</p> +<p>For some seconds there was no sound but their +labored breathing; and not until Haig opened his eyes +and looked at her, with a hunted, baffled, and still +defiant expression in their somber depths, did Marion +break down. Then suddenly, after a premonitory +quivering of her chin, she buried her face in her hands, +and wept without more effort at restraint, in utter +abandonment to her agony. Haig watched, at first in +anger, and then in some confusion of emotions. Once +before he had looked upon her thus bowed and shaken; +and now as then he felt a strange upheaval, and an +unfathomable sensation that had no likeness to anything +he had ever before experienced. He wanted very much +to speak to her, but could not trust himself; and after +all, what was there to be said?</p> +<p>It was she who rescued him from irresolution. She +dropped her hands from her face, and cried out in a +voice that was broken with sobbing: “Why, Philip, +why did you do that?”</p> +<p>“Why?” he asked, in something like amazement.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I’ve already told you why.”</p> +<p>“But––no––you haven’t told me!”</p> +<p>“It was to save you––for one thing.”</p> +<p>“To save me?”</p> +<p>“I told you that your only chance is to go at +once.”</p> +<p>“But I told you I wouldn’t go!”</p> +<p>“I know. That’s the reason.”</p> +<p>“But––don’t you know, Philip, that––don’t you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +see that––if you killed yourself you’d––kill me +too?”</p> +<p>There should have been no necessity for these words. +Perhaps any other man in the world, certainly most +men of far less intelligence and less acuteness of feeling, +would have known long ago just what she meant. He +knew, indeed, that this girl loved him; but he did not +believe that she or any other woman was capable of the +sacrifice implied in her answer.</p> +<p>“You mean that––you would have––” He hesitated.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>There ensued a silence that fell like a mist between +them, through which neither knew the way. She saw +that he had begun, by ever so little, to understand; and +she feared to say more lest a wrong word should overtake +a right one. As for Haig, his incredulity persisted +notwithstanding the unquestionable sincerity of +her speech. He did not doubt that she contemplated, in +this moment of emotion, the complete and final sacrifice. +But he was quite convinced that she would take a different +view of the situation when the test should come. +She did not yet appreciate, he argued, the peril of their +position; she had not realized the hazard of her adventure +or she never would have undertaken it; and +undoubtedly she still thought there would be a way out +for them. Under such a delusion it was easy for her, +he concluded, to talk about dying with him. But she +was tragically in error. His eyes lifted to the cliff. +She should have been up there on her return hours ago. +Now it was too late again; for the clouds were black +and ugly on the summit, and a distant roaring came to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +his ears; and he knew what was happening or in +preparation in the middle of the flat. But he must find +a way to send her up that trail at dawn the next day; +and his gaze dropped to where the revolver lay just +visible in the thin grass into which she had thrown it.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXV_DIANA' id='CHAPTER_XXV_DIANA'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<h3>DIANA</h3> +</div> +<p>Still no speech came to either of them. After a +while Marion rose silently, and went about her +work. First, however, she sought the revolver in the +grass, and carried it, with her rifle, to the clump of +willows by the brook, where both weapons were safely +beyond the present limits of Philip’s powers. Then +she returned to him with her towel, one end of it wetted +and soaped.</p> +<p>“May I, please?” she asked, smiling down at him.</p> +<p>“If you wish,” he answered.</p> +<p>She knelt, and began to wash the grime from his face, +to cleanse the wound on his head, and readjust the +bandage. Then his hands, after another trip to the +stream to rub out the soiled end of the towel; and she +was still busy with one of them, when she started back +with a cry. His coat had opened wider, and she saw +that his shirt was stained with blood. She had forgotten +the revolver-shot!</p> +<p>“It’s nothing,” said Haig. “Only a flesh wound, +I think.”</p> +<p>“But why didn’t you tell me!” she cried, almost +with anger in her alarm.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter, does it?”</p> +<p>“Let me see it, quick!” she commanded.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></div> +<p>He looked at her a moment, then opened the front of +his flannel shirt and of the undershirt, and disclosed a +flesh wound where the bullet had cut a streak across his +chest. Marion bent close, and touched it with her +fingers.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she sighed at last, in deep relief.</p> +<p>Haig’s reply was a laugh of which the irony did not +escape her.</p> +<p>“Philip!” she cried reproachfully.</p> +<p>“Well, isn’t it rather droll––and ludicrous, when +you come to think of it? First, Sunnysides’ punch in +my stomach. And now, with my head cut open by a +stone, and a broken leg, and two bullet-wounds––I’ve +still got a splendid appetite. I ought to be on exhibition +somewhere!”</p> +<p>His sardonic humor hurt her worse than his anger; +and she went quickly to the brook to cleanse the towel +again. Returning presently, she washed the new +wound, and bandaged it; then examined the splints on +the broken leg to assure herself that, as nearly as she +could determine, no serious damage had been done to it +by his reckless crawl; and finally brought his blankets, +and insisted on making a sort of bed for him. After +that she cooked two slices of bacon, and on this, with a +little bread, they made their first meal of the day. +And this brought her to the next and most pressing +problem.</p> +<p>“Will you help me think, Philip?” she asked, +when they had eaten.</p> +<p>“About what?”</p> +<p>“Food.”</p> +<p>“What’s in the larder?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span></div> +<p>She smiled at his tone, in spite of her own seriousness.</p> +<p>“Bacon––perhaps enough for three days, with the +bread, if we don’t eat much; and chocolate for four or +five breakfasts. That’s all.”</p> +<p>“And then?”</p> +<p>“Are there deer in those forests, do you think?”</p> +<p>“Very likely. This is an un-hunted country, I +imagine.”</p> +<p>“Great!” she cried.</p> +<p>“What do you propose to do? Whistle for them?”</p> +<p>She could afford to smile at that.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you see my rifle?”</p> +<p>“Just now––yes. What’s it for?”</p> +<p>“You’ll see.”</p> +<p>“Diana of Thunder Mountain, eh? Well, I’m +ready to admit you’re some huntress. But deer! +That’s another thing.”</p> +<p>The color flooded her cheeks.</p> +<p>“Cousin Seth taught me to shoot,” she answered, +turning her face away. “I killed a deer on Mount +Avalanche.”</p> +<p>“But where did Cousin Seth learn to shoot? The +last time he––”</p> +<p>“Please, Philip!”</p> +<p>“Well, when you’ve brought down your deer, what +will you do with it?”</p> +<p>The color deserted her face at that.</p> +<p>“I watched him do it,” she said, shuddering at the +recollection.</p> +<p>“But you can’t do that alone.”</p> +<p>“I’ve got to,” she replied simply. And then, on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +a sudden thought: “There should be grouse too, +shouldn’t there?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps.”</p> +<p>“I learned to kill grouse with my rifle.”</p> +<p>He looked at her with a wicked grin. This time he +had her!</p> +<p>“How many cartridges have you?” he asked.</p> +<p>She ran for her belt, and counted the cartridges.</p> +<p>“Twenty-seven.”</p> +<p>“So. If you never miss, you’ll get twenty-seven +grouse. That would mean twenty-seven, meals. One +meal a day, twenty-seven days. I’d still be on my +back, our ammunition would be gone, and––”</p> +<p>“Don’t!” she cried, in tears. “I wasn’t thinking.”</p> +<p>“Never mind!” he replied, almost gently. “But +we’ll deny ourselves the grouse.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s got to be the deer. I’ll begin now.”</p> +<p>“No, there’s something else that must be done first.”</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“We’ve got to move.”</p> +<p>“For shelter, you mean?”</p> +<p>“Partly. But look there!”</p> +<p>He pointed to the dead body of Trixy.</p> +<p>“It will be easier––and perhaps even nicer––to +move me than poor Trixy. See that big pine yonder––the +one that stands out from the forest? Well, you and +Tuesday must drag me there.”</p> +<p>“But how?”</p> +<p>He explained his plan to her, and she set herself at +once to executing it. And her spirits rose again; for +she thought he had abandoned his desperate resolution. +So, indeed, he had––for the moment. But he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +deliberately beguiled her; their situation he knew to be +quite unchanged in its inevitable termination, since a +food supply would save them from starvation only to +deliver them to the snow; and he must disarm her of +suspicion in order to find a way to send her back on the +trail. For he had reflected on the implication of tragic +finality in the speech that had surprised and disturbed +him; and he did not doubt that when the time should +come, and she should find herself alone, her high resolve +would prove to have been mere emotional exaggeration.</p> +<p>Mounted on Tuesday, Marion attacked the boughs +of a small pine with the hatchet until she had severed +three large branches, to which she tied Haig’s rope, and +hauled them back to the camp. Of these branches Haig +contrived a crude drag, on which he crawled, and lay +flat; the free end of the rope was hitched to the horn of +Tuesday’s saddle; and the journey was begun. Twice +the saddle slipped, and progress was interrupted while +Marion tightened the cinches. Once the drag itself +came to pieces, and Haig was left sprawling on the +ground. But eventually, with no more serious injury +to Haig than a bruised elbow, not counting his torn +clothing, they reached the goal.</p> +<p>There Marion made a wide bed against the exposed +top roots of the tree, filling the spaces among the pine +boughs with moss, and placing the two saddles at the +head for pillows. Night had come before she had completed +this labor, and gathered another supply of dead +limbs and rotted logs, and cooked their meager supper. +Then she wrapped Haig in his blankets, and rolled herself +in her own, and lay down at his side. What with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +watching and replenishing the fire, and listening to +night-cries heard or imagined, and waking from restless +slumber chilled to the bone, she slept as little as on the +preceding night, and was glad of the dawn, which came +peacefully enough on the heels of a storm that raged on +Thunder Mountain and sent a cold and beating rain +upon the valley.</p> +<p>This day brought its own bitter disappointment. +After her bath in the clear pool among the willows, and +their mere taste of bacon and bread in the name of +breakfast, and a promise exacted from Haig, as a condition +of her leaving him, that he would do nothing of +which she would disapprove, she set out to get her deer. +Rifle on shoulder, and eyes alert, she skirted the edge of +the wood along the base of the cliff, through tall grasses +of a golden green, among yellowing aspen groves, and +under a fair blue sky. But presently she plunged into +the thick of the forest, of which the trees towered to a +height exceeding that of any she had ever seen before. +In their tops the breeze was singing sonorously, but +among their massive boles the silence was so tense that +twigs cracking under her feet sounded like gun-shots +echoing through the dim aisles.</p> +<p>For some hours she wandered fruitlessly in that dark +labyrinth, not only mindful of Philip’s warning that she +must not penetrate too deep into its depth, but fearful +on her own account of an encounter with some such wild +beast as that whose cry had terrified her. In time the +hollow indifference of the woods began to weigh upon +her spirits, which had been high and hopeful on her +setting out. Worn out at last, she was just on the point +of turning back toward the camp, defeated, when she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +came upon an open space, a lovely little glade, in which +the grass grew rank and green, unripened by the sun. +She started to cross it, but stopped suddenly, staring +straight ahead. In the very middle of the lush and +silent glade, a young doe rose swiftly to its feet, and +looked at her. Marion stood and looked at the doe. +Then there was a streak of pale yellow across the grass, +the forest closed around it, and the doe was gone. +Thereupon, Marion remembered her rifle, and saw with +something like surprise, to begin with, that it was +pointed foolishly toward the ground. She gazed at it +a moment, then sat plump down on the mossy earth, +and cried.</p> +<p>“Oh, what a fool!” she groaned. “What a poor, +silly little fool! I ought to starve, starve, starve!”</p> +<p>And on the words the hunger that she had bravely +kept back rose and punished her. To be hungry in a +world of plenty, where she had only to reach out and +help herself! To think of Philip, hungry too, and depending +on her, on her boasted prowess! Humiliation +scorched her like a flame. And this was Marion Gaylord!</p> +<p>When she had recovered a little, she made directly for +the open strip, having no more heart for her task, and +nerving herself to confess the truth to Philip. Coming +out upon the knoll through thick underbrush, she was +startled by the leap of a rabbit from under her very +feet; and before she was aware of what she was doing, +she had thrown up her rifle, and fired. There was +really no aim; the action was a gesture merely; and if +she had tried to hit the rabbit she would have undoubtedly +missed it clean. But the unlucky little beast, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +happening in the path of Marion’s angry disgust, turned +a somersault in the air, and fell dead.</p> +<p>“Of course!” cried Marion. “Of course I can kill +rabbits.” Then mercilessly: “A rabbit a day for +twenty-seven days––” And rage choked her.</p> +<p>But she picked up her rabbit, and walked on. In +half an hour she reached the camp, strode straight to the +pine tree under which Haig lay, and held up before him +the puny prize.</p> +<p>“Now I know you’re proud of me!” she exclaimed, +while her face crimsoned.</p> +<p>Haig smiled indulgently. It was a little better than +he had expected.</p> +<p>“Don’t be downcast!” he said. “I didn’t think +you’d get a deer the first day. You didn’t even see one, +I suppose.”</p> +<p>“But I did, though! I had one right under my eyes, +not thirty feet away. And what do you think I did?”</p> +<p>“Stood and looked at it, of course. That’s buck +fever.”</p> +<p>“But it was only a tiny little doe!”</p> +<p>“Doe fever then, which is probably worse, if I know +anything about––”</p> +<p>“That will do, Philip! You’re laughing at me.”</p> +<p>“Not at all. You’ve brought home something to eat, +and that’s more than I can do. Bunny looks big and +fat. He’ll make a fine dinner, and leave something for +to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Philip!” she said gratefully. “You +make me feel as if I were not such a failure after +all.”</p> +<p>“If you’ll trust me with the knife,” he said in a tone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +that took some of the edge off her satisfaction, “I’ll +clean him for you.”</p> +<p>She gave him the knife reluctantly, and did not +leave his side until he had finished cleaning and cutting +up the rabbit, when he handed the knife back to her with +a gesture that made her blush again. Two things she +did not know: that he had a knife in his pocket much +better suited to his secret purpose; and that his purpose +was a purpose no longer. But even he was not yet +aware of this last.</p> +<p>It was not the next day, but the third, when the rabbit +had been eaten to the bone, and the pangs of hunger +prodded her, that Marion restored herself in her own +eyes. In the edge of the forest, not more than two +miles from the camp, she detected a mere brown patch +in the browning bush. This time she did not forget +her rifle. The brown patch moved just as she pulled +the trigger; but when she reached the spot, in a fever +of anxiety, she fairly shrieked to the wilderness. For +there in the grass, still jerking spasmodically in its +death agony, lay a doe, a larger one than that she had +seen in the glade. No more “one a day for twenty-seven +days!”</p> +<p>What followed haunted her dreams for many nights +thereafter––a repulsive and sickening ordeal. She +had seen Huntington do it, but then she had been able +to turn her face away; and her hands––But necessity, +responsibility, and pride, and perhaps some primitive +instinct also, nerved her to the task. And she staggered +back to camp, and stood before Philip, white and +trembling, but triumphant.</p> +<p>“Take a drink of whisky!” ordered Haig sharply.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span></div> +<p>She obeyed him, gulping down the last of the precious +contents of her flask.</p> +<p>“It’s down there––covered with leaves!” she gasped +out at length. “Will anything––disturb it before I +can––take Tuesday and the rope?”</p> +<p>“Do you mean you’ve cleaned the whole deer?” he +asked curiously.</p> +<p>She nodded, still shuddering.</p> +<p>“Well, you’re a brick!” he said heartily. Then he +added: “I thought perhaps a bobcat had stolen your––rabbit.”</p> +<p>She laughed with him, and then was off with Tuesday +to bring her quarry home. She was not strong +enough to lift and fasten the carcass on the horse’s back; +but the route was through clean grass along the cliff, and +Tuesday made short work of that, with the deer dragged +at the end of the rope.</p> +<p>They had no salt, but there were a few rinds of bacon +that Haig had told Marion to keep, and these were made +to serve for seasoning. That venison, moreover, needed +nothing to make it palatable; for they were ravenously +hungry. Sprawled before the fire like savages, they +feasted on a huge steak, broiled on two willow sticks, +and well-browned on the outside at the start so that the +tenderness was retained; and for an hour forgot. For +so the stomach, at once the tyrant and the slave, has +sometimes its hour of triumph, when heart and soul and +brain are its willing captives, and the starkest fears and +forebodings lose their sway, and death itself, though +visible and near, has no power to ferment the grateful +juices of the body.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVI_THE_SNOW' id='CHAPTER_XXVI_THE_SNOW'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<h3>THE SNOW</h3> +</div> +<p>In the night they were awakened by a terrific outburst +on the mountain top, surpassing all they had yet +heard since their arrival in the valley. The forest +roared under the onslaughts of the wind that swept +down through the gorge as through a funnel. Protected +though the camp was, in a measure, fierce gusts +now and then assailed it, and later the rain came, almost +in torrents, beating through the canopy of foliage, and +half-flooding the bed.</p> +<p>Marion, rising to renew the fire, felt that a sharp +change had come in the atmosphere. It was colder than +any night they had yet endured. Wrapped again in +her blankets, she was unable to keep warm. Her feet, +near the fire, were too hot, while her back and shoulders +ached as if they had been packed in ice. Turn which +way she would, on her back, on her side, or face downward, +there was no relief from that acid cold. She did +not complain, but cried softly, trying to hold back her +sobs so that he should not hear her.</p> +<p>“You’re cold,” he said, hearing her nevertheless.</p> +<p>“A little––not very,” she answered bravely.</p> +<p>But he knew very well how keenly she was suffering. +His injured leg pained him almost beyond endurance, +as if the frost had been concentrated there. There was +nothing he could say or do for her or for himself.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span></div> +<p>Toward morning, the fury of the storm having abated, +they slept a little, fitfully and uneasily, in the half-insensibility +to suffering that complete exhaustion brings. +But they were glad when the first gray light of morning +stole in among the shadows and touched their eyelids. +With one accord, as if in a common apprehension, and +moved by a single fear, they raised their heads, and at +the first glance about them, sat up staring.</p> +<p>The meadow lay white under its first coverlet of snow, +the trees were draped in their winter mantles, their very +bed had its downy quilt of snowflakes that had sifted +through the branches of the tree.</p> +<p>“It’s come,” said Haig simply.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered, in a voice that echoed a tragic +calm.</p> +<p>“But it was due.”</p> +<p>“Seth kept saying we’d have a hard and early +winter.”</p> +<p>“Huntington’s not such a fool as he looks,” retorted +Haig drily, as he lay back to look up resignedly into +the foliage, where white now mingled with the green.</p> +<p>For some time there was no more speech. Marion +arose, and went silently about her work. She heaped +wood on the fire until the flames leaped high, and the +heat began to drive out the settled chill from her limbs, +and she could move again without dull pain. Then to +the brook; but her baths in the pool were ended. She +washed face and hands, and brought back the wet towel +for Philip. And breakfast was eaten almost in silence, +and without appetite; for the good venison that had so +rejoiced them the night before had already lost its +flavor.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span></div> +<p>“Do you see the circles on the trees yonder, where the +moss begins?” asked Haig at length.</p> +<p>“Yes,” Marion answered.</p> +<p>“That’s the snow line. It will lie thirty feet deep +here.”</p> +<p>She had no answer to that. But she was thinking. +There must be a way. She had no idea what it would +be; but there must be some way out of it.</p> +<p>When the camp had been cleaned up, and the pan +and cup had been washed and put aside, and the fire +replenished, she brought her rifle from its place behind +the tree.</p> +<p>“I’m going for a walk,” she said.</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. Down along the cliff perhaps. I +may see another deer.”</p> +<p>“Yes. You might as well. Deer meat will keep––longer +than we––”</p> +<p>He checked the unnecessary speech. She rewarded +him with a smile and left him.</p> +<p>And now he faced a curious situation within himself. +He saw clearly, but strangely without sensation, that it +was too late for Marion to attempt the passage of the +mountain. Whatever chance she might have had before––and +that was perhaps even less than the one in +a thousand of which he had spoken––she had now no +chance at all, supposing that he should force her to seek +it by measures of desperation. And why had he delayed? +He did not know. Had he weakened? Had +his injuries taken something from his courage? He +drew his treasured knife from his pocket, opened the +largest of the three keen blades, and passed it slowly but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +lightly across his wrist. No; his hand was steady; he +could do it without a tremor. He could have done it +yesterday, the day before, or any day. Well, then; had +he become sceptical of such a solution of his problem? +Perhaps. Six times in his life he had attempted that +solution, and always he had failed. And yet, what +could have thwarted him when Marion was far away in +the forest, and he lay quiet and undisturbed on his +blankets, in full possession of his faculties?</p> +<p>By such process of elimination he arrived at the final +question: was it she? Was it this girl that now stayed +his hand, in spite of all his logic and clear vision and +resolution? This girl, with her foolish faith, and misplaced +love, and futile talk of miracles? Was it written +that they should die together––written in some volume +of the book of life into which he had never looked? Or +was she right? And would there be––</p> +<p>He looked out again upon the gleaming whiteness of +the meadow, at the snow line on the pines, at the remorseless +mountain. He passed slowly in review again +the chances of a rescue, the chances of their wintering +in that (soon-to-be) snowbound valley, the chances of +a––miracle. And he shook his head. The odds were +beyond all reckoning; their fate was now as certain as +if the cliff yonder, rent by another cataclysm, had +tumbled down upon them while they slept. But he had +known this in the very hour of his awakening to find her +kneeling at his side; he had delayed giving her the one +chance of escape. And so, was it because she had commanded +him and he had unconsciously obeyed?</p> +<p>It was mystery; it was enigma. He tried to think +if he had erred in any way, if there was any fault to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +be attributed to him. No; he had dealt more than +fairly with this girl; he had spoken frankly and brutally; +he had never once consciously, by word or look, enticed +her. Unconsciously, perhaps; but how could he ever +have foreseen such consequences of the infatuation of +which he had become slowly and incredulously informed? +He would have gone raging out of the Park, +between two suns (and Thursby be damned!), if he had +ever dreamt of this tragic end of her midsummer +madness.</p> +<p>For two hours he lay thinking, torturing his brain +for an explanation of this mystery, an understanding +of this coil. And he was no nearer a solution than at +the beginning, when his thoughts were interrupted by +Marion. She came running out of the forest––not +running, but fairly bounding, as if her feet were too +light to rest on earth. Her face was flushed, her eyes +danced with excitement. But then, seeing his grave +and questioning face, she stopped short in front of him, +suddenly embarrassed.</p> +<p>“Well?” he asked gently.</p> +<p>“Would––a cave do?”</p> +<p>Her voice trembled between timidity and shortness +of breath.</p> +<p>“A cave?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“What kind of a cave?”</p> +<p>“A big cave––really two caves joined together.”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“In the cliff––down there.”</p> +<p>She pointed in the direction from which she had come +at full speed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></div> +<p>“How high above the level of the valley?”</p> +<p>She stared at him, and was again embarrassed.</p> +<p>“I forgot that!” she said, in deep chagrin. “But +wait, please!” She looked around her. “I think––I +know what you mean! It’s higher up than the marks +on the trees there, surely it is!”</p> +<p>“Tell me about it!”</p> +<p>“It’s only a little way from here. There’s a narrow, +clear space all along between the forest and the cliff, +where the grass grows high. But there’s one place––I +missed it before, when I was just looking for deer––where +the cliff––How can I describe it? It sinks in, +and there’s a slope up to it, solid rock. And at the top +of the slope I saw a black hole, and got off my pony to +look in. The slope is easy to climb. Tuesday climbed +it with me. The mouth of the cave is partly hidden +by a rock that sticks out so that you can see the opening +only from one side. The entrance is no bigger than the +door of your stable. I was afraid at first, but––”</p> +<p>“You thought of your miracle,” he suggested, with +a smile.</p> +<p>“I knew something must be done, so I held my rifle +ready, thinking it might be a wild beasts’ den, and +listened a minute, and went in. There’s the big cave +first, as large as the sitting-room and kitchen together +at Cousin Seth’s, and there’s a smaller one at the side, +with a narrow opening between them. The small one +has an opening outside too, just big enough for me to +squeeze through, and look out on the forest below.”</p> +<p>“Was it cold in there? Did the wind blow +through?”</p> +<p>“No, I think not. It seemed very dry and warm.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></div> +<p>He looked at her intently, and so strangely that she +blushed again, she knew not why.</p> +<p>“Who are you, anyhow?” he asked, in a curious +tone.</p> +<p>“I?”</p> +<p>“Yes, you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t understand,” she faltered in confusion.</p> +<p>“No matter!” he said. “We’ll try the cave.”</p> +<p>He had no faith in the experiment. Even with food +and shelter, there was still the cold that would steadily +sap their strength, and stretch them lifeless before half +the winter should have passed. But she should have +her way; it would divert her mind from the inevitable; +and they would, at least, be doing all their best. The +trip to the cave would be hell for him, in his condition, +but all that would be, at its worst, soon ended.</p> +<p>A whole day being needed for the removal, they ventured +to wait until the following morning. Storms +raged through all the night on Thunder Mountain, and +they woke again in utter wretchedness to find another +and heavier sheet of snow upon the meadow.</p> +<p>But Marion was soon up and at work in eagerness +and hope. The fire and the broiled venison renewed +them; and even the snow offered something by way of +compensation, for Haig’s journey on the freshly constructed +drag was smoother over the snow than it had +been in the first instance over the stone-littered earth. +The ascent to the opening of the cave was, however, another +matter; and there was imminent danger of Tuesday’s +sliding backward on the slippery rock, and crushing +Haig beneath him. Twice, indeed, such a fatal +accident was narrowly averted, and a less sure-footed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +animal than Tuesday would have resolved all Haig’s +doubts in one swift catastrophe. But there was no +alternative, and Haig at length lay safe enough, though +racked and exhausted, at the mouth of the cave; and +when he had rested he raised himself on his elbows and +looked around him.</p> +<p>The top of the slope was almost level, and made a +kind of porch in front of their new abode, about thirty +feet in length and of half that measurement in its +greatest width. Haig calculated the height of the platform +above the valley––fully forty feet. Below was +the strip of grass, and then the forest towering high +above them, protecting the cave, in some degree, from +the winds that would come roaring down the gulch. At +this height they should be able, in all probability, to +defy the snows. With a sufficient store of food and +fuel, and any kind of luck, there would have been––God! +Was there a chance?</p> +<p>With his back to the wall! He had always been at +his best against long odds. None of the adventures of +the ten years that he counted as his life had ever been +for any kind of gain; and the finest of them had been +those in which there were the most tight places. So +this coming struggle with the elements, though it should +be a trial not of valor but of endurance and resourcefulness, +lacking swift action and a culmination in one +stirring hour, would once have allured him like a +splendid game. And even now, for one instant, while +he sat there keenly counting the forces on one side and +the other, the pride of battle lighted up his features, +and for that instant he was himself again. But a cruel +and timely twinge in his injured leg recalled him to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +realities. His back was not to the wall; it was flat on +the ground. He could not walk, he could not stand; +and for weeks to come he would continue to be as helpless +as in that moment. To endure a siege of eight +months in the cave its garrison must have huge stores +of food and fuel; pine boughs and moss in lieu of bedding; +solid barricades at the entrances; and countless +makeshifts for the comforts that were denied. And +before he should be able to stir it would be too late. +No, it was an idle dream; a month would see the end +of both of them. So he lay back again, and looked up +vacantly into the cold, blue sky.</p> +<p>But Marion, standing at one side and watching him, +had seen that flicker of the fire within, and was grateful +for it beyond all reason or belief. It was all she +needed. Her hands were already raw and bleeding, +but she would work them to the bone if he would only +guide and advise and comfort her; and she knew now +that she could trust him, since there was no longer any +question whether she should go or stay.</p> +<p>All that day was spent in bringing up fresh boughs +and moss for their beds, and in making them against +the wall of the cavern where draughts would be the +least likely to sweep over them; in bestowing their +meager belongings; in hanging the venison from sticks +thrust into a crevice in the rock; in finding the best +place for the fire that must never be allowed to go +down, and in planning the storage of food and fuel.</p> +<p>Marion had no pressing anxiety about food, now that +she had brought in her first deer; but fuel was a different +matter. To her own appreciation of the problem +Haig, that evening after dinner, added some calculations +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +that revealed it to her in its baldest aspects. The +morning, too, disclosed another layer of snow upon the +valley. The winter was coming on without pity, and +each succeeding day would see its lines drawn a little +closer round them. There was not an hour, not a moment +to be lost.</p> +<p>At dawn she began, with Tuesday and the rope, to +haul dead limbs and logs, the largest she was able to +handle, going far at first in order to leave the nearest +supplies for the last harvesting in deep snow. Under +Haig’s instructions, she filled all the space in the caves +that would not be actually needed for their living quarters. +Then she built the logs into a square and solid +pile on the platform at one side of the entrance. These +were not logs in any formidable sense, being for the +most part half-rotted fragments of tree trunks that had +long been decaying in the mold. But they were dry +now, after the summer, and they made excellent slow-burning +fuel. The dead limbs she cut up into small +sticks, and filled the interstices of the heap, and all the +space between it and the wall of rock. And eventually +the whole platform was covered, and the slope on each +side, until there was no longer room for Tuesday to +mount to it, and barely room for Marion herself.</p> +<p>In the meantime, varying her exertions, she made +several trips into the woods for deer. After many disappointments, +she succeeded, before the snow became +too deep for further expeditions, in bringing back to +the cave a splendid buck and three young does. Haig +made for her a rabbit snare, and taught her how to set +it, and with this device she had the luck to add a dozen +rabbits to their store. And all this time she was piling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +up every stick of wood that she could find space for, +even making a great heap at the foot of the slope to be +drawn upon before the snow should cover it.</p> +<p>Always the snow fell, steadily, remorselessly. Every +night it snowed, and every day more or less, with intervals +of brilliant sunshine. The wind blew with increasing +violence, tossing the snow into huge drifts +upon the meadow, which Marion still saw sometimes in +her wood gathering, and sifting it in level masses among +the trees, and flinging it in great banks against the +cliff. Up and up crept the drifts and banks and levels +until there came a day when she could do no more.</p> +<p>And that day it seemed that she could have done no +more in any kind of weather, under any inspiration or +necessity. The record of what she did is but a footnote +to the page of what she suffered. Time after time she +had sunk down in the snow and lain there exhausted +until strength came to her again from somewhere, and +then had risen <i>manfully</i> to her work. For it was a +man’s work she did, with a courage as much greater +than a man’s as her strength was less. She was strong, +for a woman; she had lived all her life much out of +doors; and she had entered upon this ordeal in perfect +health. But her willingness outsped her powers; and +when the snow had spared her by driving her into the +cave, she fairly staggered and groped and leaned against +the wall, and knew that if she should now collapse she +would never rise again. But even in that climax of +her suffering, when for a moment she dared not move, +in fear of toppling over on the floor, and could not keep +back her sobs, there was an answer ready when Haig +called to her across the cave.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span></div> +<p>“What is it, Marion?” he asked softly.</p> +<p>“Tuesday!” she answered chokingly.</p> +<p>“What about Tuesday?”</p> +<p>“He’s a good horse.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“He never balked or––hesitated. He never threw +me––but once, and that wasn’t his fault. It was––”</p> +<p>She stopped. And out of what black depths, and +across what vistas of hope and despair and love and +anguish, she looked back to that scene in the golden +summer, in the Forbidden Pasture.</p> +<p>“Yes, I remember,” said Haig.</p> +<p>Then she told him brokenly how she had just said +farewell to Tuesday; how he stood at the foot of the +slope, thin as a specter, belly-deep in snow, his nose +lifted inquiringly toward her.</p> +<p>“Good-by, Tuesday!” she cried; and fled stumbling +up the slope, her hands on her ears to shut out his +plaintive whinny.</p> +<p>Haig watched her narrowly, and was not deceived. +Through the first few days of Marion’s struggles he had +lain on his pallet in almost complete indifference, in +full acceptance of the fate that awaited them; not callous +to her sufferings, but resigned, as he thought, to +endure what could not be prevented. Having resolved +to humor her, he went from the extreme of resistance +to the extreme of submission, and hardened his heart to +endure what galled and humiliated and degraded him. +Then anger seized him once more,––anger at Marion, +anger at himself, anger at Thursby, anger at circumstances, +chance and destiny: blinding and suffocating +anger. To have been brought to this shameful state, to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +lie there watching a woman, a mere girl, perform these +menial tasks for him––for him who had execrated and +despised and scorned her sex––for him who had accepted +such services grudgingly even from men––for +him who had stalked around the world in defiant independence, +indebted to no man and obligated to no +woman: this was odious and intolerable. And it must +be tolerated!</p> +<p>Marion knew nothing of this fiery ordeal through +which Haig came. Even in the fiercest and most maddening +moment of his agony, when honor and pride and +self-respect were being reduced to ashes, he did not fail +to realize that to cry out, to rave or curse or denunciate, +would only be to add something cowardly and contemptible +to the sum of his disgrace. He did not even cast +a stealthy glance toward his revolver, where it lay in a +niche in the cavern wall, though Marion was out in the +snow somewhere, and could not have stopped him if he +had crawled to seize it. That, too, would have been an +act of cowardice and of infamy; and something deep +within him now continually spoke for her, and for +whatever it was she stood for in this chaos that was the +end of all.</p> +<p>His fury slowly passed, and he had but emerged from +its strangely purifying fire into a calm that was well-nigh +as terrible, when she entered sobbing into the cave +to tell him the pitiable little lie that all her visible distress +was for a pony to whom she had said farewell. +He saw her presently totter forward to put more fuel +on the fire and begin to prepare their evening meal. +With eyes from which the smoke of passion had now +lifted, he saw what he had only vaguely seen before: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +that she was thin and haggard; that her pale face took +on a hectic flush in the glow of the blazing pine; that +her clothes were all in tatters, her riding-skirt slit in +many places, her coat and flannel waist so worn, and +torn that they barely covered her, and did indeed reveal +one white shoulder through a gaping rent; that +one dilapidated boot was quite out at toe; and that she +was ill and faint and silent.</p> +<p>“Marion!” he called to her.</p> +<p>“Yes, Philip!” she answered, turning to look at +him.</p> +<p>“Come here, please!”</p> +<p>She came and stood before him, unsteadily.</p> +<p>“Let me see your hands!”</p> +<p>She knelt, and held them out to him. Taking them +in his own hands, which were then far softer and whiter +than hers, he looked long at the raw and bleeding +cracks, at the swollen joints, at the bruised and calloused +fingers, at the nails (they were once so pink and +polished) worn down to the quick, and at one nail that +had been split back almost to its root.</p> +<p>“They’re not very pretty, are they?” she said, with +a weak little laugh that ended in a quiver of her chin.</p> +<p>He lifted the hands, the right one and then the left, +and touched them with his lips. She was very weary +and faint and miserable; and he had never done anything +like that before; and so she drew back her hands, +and buried her face in them, and sank sobbing on the +floor.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVII_THE_VOICE_IN_THE_HURRICANE' id='CHAPTER_XXVII_THE_VOICE_IN_THE_HURRICANE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<h3>THE VOICE IN THE HURRICANE</h3> +</div> +<p>Their sufferings, as the days went crawling into +weeks, attained a certain dead level of wretchedness. +At that level, should nothing worse befall, they +felt that they might exist through the eight months of +their imprisonment; beyond that level lay deliverance +by death. So they kept a painstaking account of time, +and made a sort of solemn ceremony of that hour when, +as night let down its black curtain before the entrance +of the cavern, Marion cut another notch in the wall, +and they clasped hands in a brave effort at good cheer, +and said to each other, “One more! One more!”</p> +<p>The cold had steadily increased until it was just +barely endurable. By day it was possible to combat it +in some measure, but at night they were stung and +tortured by the frost that invaded the cave, and defied +their meager clothing. If they tried lying closely side +by side with their blankets spread over them, the cold +crept under the coverings, and bit through their garments +into their emaciated limbs. If they wrapped +themselves tightly in the blankets, one pair to each, and +lay near the fire, they were able to catch only a few +fitful moments of sleep before the frost on one side and +the heat on the other forced them to move.</p> +<p>At inexorable intervals the fire must be replenished. +Heavy with sleep that was not sleep, feeble from lack +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +of nourishment, and stiff from cold, Marion would rise +and stumble to the nearest heap of wood, and carefully +lay two or three pieces on the dying embers. The fire +itself was to Marion a source of continual dread; for +not only did it consume their precious and unrenewable +supply of wood with a terrifying voracity, but she was +fairly obsessed by the fear that she might let it go out. +In that event they might never waken, clutched by the +cold in their sleep; or wakening, find that something +had happened to the matches. There remained a good +store of these in the box enfolded carefully in a bit of +cloth and a strip of deerskin, and bestowed in a high +niche of the cavern; but there was sometimes moisture +in the night winds, and there could be no absolute assurance +that the matches would ignite in an emergency.</p> +<p>The winds blew irregularly, sometimes roaring +through the cave, and filling it with a whirl of smoke +and snow, and sometimes creeping along the floor with +the malevolence and stealthiness of a serpent. Marion +had blocked up the entrance with small logs and limbs, +but the winds and draughts made scorn of this loose +barrier. Her clothes were fast falling from her body. +She essayed crude patchwork with strips of deerskin +and pins of wood, but these efforts were rendered futile +by wear and tear and the rotting of the cloth itself. +She began to be embarrassed when her flesh showed +through the rents in her garments; but Haig, with a +mingling of frankness and tact that might indeed have +been less easy in other circumstances, effectually helped +her to banish all false modesty from a situation in +which they were reduced to primitive habits and almost +to primitive familiarities.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span></div> +<p>She was less able to accustom herself to the dirt, +from which there was no escape, but which irked her +nevertheless more than all else. She was no longer +able to keep clean in any sense of cleanliness associated +with civilization. Washing with water melted from +snow, without soap or towels, had only the effect, as it +seemed to her, to fix the grime more deeply in her skin. +And the hair that had been her pride had now no more +the golden lights in its tawny masses, and was becoming +dark and harsh and sheenless in spite of her most assiduous +attention.</p> +<p>“Don’t worry!” said Haig one day, in a grim attempt +at humor. “Just imagine you are a belle of +the Eskimos.”</p> +<p>“Philip! How can you?” she cried.</p> +<p>“Washing,” he went on, “is only another error of +civilization. I have seen whole tribes of most respectable +aborigines that never bathed. And they seemed +to be quite happy. It saves a lot of time. But that’s +another queer thing. The more time we need, the more +we waste it on matters that are really unimportant. +Like most of our attempts to improve on nature, it costs +more than it’s worth, and––”</p> +<p>“That will do, Philip!” she protested. “I can +forget I’m hungry, but––ugh! not this!”</p> +<p>But she spoke too bravely about her hunger. Their +food by this time had begun to pall. The good venison, +of which they had eaten joyously at first, became tasteless +and then disgusting. They had no salt. The +bacon and the bread had long since been consumed, and +the chocolate also. There was left nothing but the +flesh of deer and rabbits. Marion stewed it, broiled it, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +baked it under hot ashes; and they even nibbled at it +raw; but the time came when only the relentless pangs +of hunger, the hunger of the animal, the sheer clamor +of their stomachs could force them to eat the nauseating +food. In consequence of this revulsion, they were always +hungry; and sometimes, in spite of their resolution, +they descended to torturing each other with talk +of the good things there were in the world to eat.</p> +<p>“Claire makes the most gorgeous apple dumplings!” +said Marion on one of these occasions.</p> +<p>“Apple dumplings? Ye-es,” replied Haig judiciously. +“But what about plain dumplings in chicken +gravy?”</p> +<p>“Fricassee!” cried Marion.</p> +<p>“No. Maryland.”</p> +<p>“Still, Philip, if I had my choice it wouldn’t be +chicken at all.”</p> +<p>“What then?”</p> +<p>“Potatoes. Big, baked potatoes, split open, you +know, with butter and salt and paprika.”</p> +<p>“Or sweet potatoes swimming in butter.”</p> +<p>“And salad––lettuce and tomatoes and oil and +vinegar.”</p> +<p>“And then pie. Think of blackberry pie!”</p> +<p>“And jam. I do love jam spread on toast.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you something,” said Haig recklessly. “I +could even eat sauerkraut!”</p> +<p>Their worst craving was for salt. Marion could +fairly taste the spray of the Atlantic on the bathing +beaches. She dreamt of salt,––barrels of salt and +oceans of salt and caves she had read of in which salt +hung in glittering stalactites. And Haig too. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +described a desert where salt had risen to the surface +and gleamed in crystals in the sand. And once he had +lived a long time on salt pork, which he had thought the +most insufferable food. But now! The taste of it +came back to him, and went tingling through every +nerve.</p> +<p>To free their minds from such tormenting memories, +Haig went deep into his adventures, his wanderings, his +search for excitements. He told her of strange lands +and peoples, of the beautiful spots of the world, of +battles and perils and escapes,––everything he had been +through, with one exception. That––the story of +Paris––was still a closed book to her. And similarly, +there was one chapter of her life that she did not open +to him. A certain delicacy, rendered more vital by their +very situation, in which few delicacies could be maintained, +restrained them from the uttermost self-revelation. +The one subject that was not touched upon in the +most intimate of their conversations was that dearest to +Marion’s heart and most incomprehensible to Haig’s +reason. Partly this avoidance was intuitive, and +partly deliberate; where there was so much suffering +that could not be escaped, they were scrupulous to inflict +upon each other no unnecessary pain or embarrassment. +Between a more common man and a less +fastidious woman, placed in such propinquity, there +would almost inevitably have been concessions and compromises +but between these two there remained a barrier +that might have been passed by Marion’s unquestioning +love, but never by Haig’s inclinations, curbed +as they had been through many years, and still reined +in by his distrust.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></div> +<p>The day came when it seemed safe for Haig to stand +and to move a little about the cave. He had fashioned +slowly a pair of rude crutches, if they could be so +called,––two pine limbs trimmed down with his pocketknife, +with their natural forks left to fit under his +arms. Marion protested that he was attempting this +feat much too soon, but she was compelled to watch him +in an agony of suspense lest he should fall on the hard +floor of the cave, or rest his weight on the injured leg, +and so undo all that had cost them so much of care and +labor. But caution restrained him; for he was aware +of the danger, though he was also half-mad with impatience +to be a man once more. Venturing only a few +tentative steps at first, he steadily accustomed himself +to movement with the aid of the awkward crutches, and +in a few days was able to take up some of the work +of their wretched habitation. Marion saw that this +pleased him immensely, almost as if he had been a boy +entrusted with a man’s responsibility; and once, too, +she saw him stand a long time before the row of notches +on the wall, and thought his figure straightened, and a +flush came into his pale cheek.</p> +<p>And then, in the sixth week of their imprisonment, +Marion fell ill. She had caught a cold, which was +not the first by any means, but much more severe than +its predecessors. With watery eyes and red noses and +distressing coughs they had become familiar, but this +was plainly a more serious matter. For three days +more she dragged herself about, trying to conceal her +state from him and from herself, but crying softly +when he did not see her.</p> +<p>One morning, as the dawn crept into the cavern, she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +tried as usual to rise from her hard bed, and fell back +with a stifled moan. Haig heard her, and raised his +head quickly, struck by an unaccustomed note in her +low cry.</p> +<p>“What is it, Marion?” he asked in alarm.</p> +<p>“It’s no use, dear!” she whispered. “I can’t get +up.”</p> +<p>For a moment he lay stricken, incapable of thought. +Not that the event was unexpected. He had been reckoning +on that; he had seen her steadily failing, and +knew that she could not go on indefinitely under such +privations. And yet, when it came, it was appalling. +The grayness of the cave settled down upon him like a +pall. Once he would have been indifferent to it, resigned +to the knowledge that it was inevitable. But +now he had come, if not to share her hope, at least to +sympathize with it, and to wish ardently for her sake +that her faith might be justified. And it seemed a +pitiable thing that she should have been deceived, an +intolerable thing that she should die there so uselessly,––for +him.</p> +<p>He moved over to her, and placed his hand on her +forehead. It was burning hot.</p> +<p>“Water, please!” she gasped.</p> +<p>He hobbled to the entrance, and brought a cupful +of snow, and melted it over the fire. She drank the +water greedily, and begged for more. But he told her +gently that she must wait a little while. Then he sat +thinking. What should be done with fever? It would +probably be pneumonia, or something as fatal. And it +would take her as the north wind takes the drooping +petals of a rose.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span></div> +<p>He bent over her, and tried to soothe her with such +futile words as came. The look she gave him went +straight into deep, dark cells of his being that he +thought had been closed and sealed forever. She +begged him to eat; he must cook his own breakfast. +Oh, but he must eat, or he should not be able to help +her, she said. She would be quite well in a day or +two; she was sure of that; and he must not get sick too. +After he had been so patient and so good to her!</p> +<p>Haig turned away with a groan, and tried to obey +her. But eat? Eat that repulsive food that he had +choked down these many days only to please her, only +to subscribe to her foolish faith? He could not! But +presently she raised her head, and saw that he was +not eating, and chided him. Whereupon he swallowed +some morsels of the venison, and assured her that he had +eaten heartily.</p> +<p>All that day she lay there, her face flushed, her eyes +gleaming with a brightness that was more than the +brightness of her indomitable spirit. When she smiled +up at him he turned his face away that she might not +see what he knew was written on it. And then he +realized how much that smile had come to mean to him––how +all unawares he had come to covet and to prize +it––how he had half-consciously of late resorted to unexpected +words and gestures to coax it to her lips.</p> +<p>There was no sleep for either of them that night. +The next day Marion grew steadily worse, and toward +evening she became delirious. And there was no concealment +in this delirium as there had been in his. +All that he had not seen and heard and guessed before +was now wholly revealed to him. He was permitted to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +see deep into the pure soul of the girl, into her very +heart that was brimming over with love for him. His +name came riding on every breath. It was Philip, +Philip, Philip! And bit by bit, and fragment by fragment, +he heard all the pitiful story of her love, of her +petty stratagems, of the wicked little plot she had made, +of the traps from which he had extricated himself, of +the pretended sprain in her ankle, of her watching and +waiting, of the anguish he had caused her, of her solitary +communion with the stars on Mount Avalanche, of +her dismissal of Hillyer, of her faith in the love that +should not be denied and unrequited, of her prayers for +a miracle that should bring him to her at last.</p> +<p>He looked down at the poor, small foot in its ragged +shoe; yes, that was the foot that was “sprained.” And +how it had trudged, and dragged itself along for him, +when every bone and muscle of her body ached! He +looked at her hands, thin even in their swollenness, raw +and bleeding, hard as a laborer’s on the palms. How +they had toiled and bled for him! For him! And +what about him? What about Philip Haig?</p> +<p>He leaned back from her, and closed his eyes. And +suddenly it seemed as if something fell away from +them, as if something that had bound and imprisoned +and blinded him had been rudely shattered. In one +terrible, torturing revelation he saw clearly what he +had been, what he had done, what a miserable wreck he +had made of life, what a pitiable, dwarfed, misshapen +thing his soul had become in comparison with the soul +of this girl whom he had despised. He saw that he had +lived a life of almost untouched egoism, setting his +own wrongs above all the other wrongs in the world, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +counting his own griefs the greatest of all griefs, nursing +his own tragedy as if it had been the first tragedy +and the last. Bitterly, remorselessly he reviewed his +selfishness, his hatred, his senseless rage, the heartlessness +wrought by himself in a nature that had been, in +the beginning, as pure, if not as precious and fine and +beautiful, as hers.</p> +<p>And that was not all. He had taken woman for the +special object of his hatred. He had made himself believe +that all women were alike. Was there, then, only +one kind of woman in a world filled with many kinds +of men? Because he had been a fool, because he had +been deceived by one woman, he had concluded, in his +folly, that every woman was a vampire or a parasite,––“a +rag and a bone and a hank of hair”!</p> +<p>And now there lay before him indeed (and the words +took on a new and more terrible meaning) “a rag and +a bone and a hank of hair.” Yes, this was all that was +left of her. This was what he had made of the most +joyous and most beautiful creature that had ever +crossed his path; this was the best he could do for one +who had had the misfortune to love him and the courage +to tell him so. This was his work! His memory +went back to that day before the post-office. How beautiful +she was then, how strangely beautiful, coming out +of that halo of light by the side of the golden outlaw. +Something had stirred within him then, as it had +stirred again and again: at Huntington’s when she +reached for his revolver; in his cottage that last afternoon +of her nursing. And he had repulsed it, put it +down, and trampled on it, as if it had been an execrable +thing instead of the very treasure he had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +seeking all his life without knowing what he sought. +And now he recognized it for what it was––too late!</p> +<p>He bent nearer to her, listening.</p> +<p>“Philip! Philip!” she was saying, in tender, +coaxing accents, with that quivering of her chin that +had many times been almost irresistible.</p> +<p>Then came the final break-up of everything within +him. He felt lifted as upon a flood, and a wild and +passionate longing surged through all his being. He +leaned swiftly over her, and clasped her in his arms, +and pressed her hot cheek against his own. And then––it +was unendurable; he felt one of her arms softly +encircling his neck. There was just one gentle pressure, +and then the arm fell to her side, and her head +sank weakly away from him. He laid her back tenderly +on her hard bed.</p> +<p>He sat up again, looking at her and listening. She +rambled on in half-coherent speech. She had not heard +him cry out her name; or if she had heard him it had +been only a part of her fevered dreams. And this was +the crowning bitterness: that he should want to speak +to her, to tell her that he loved her, and she could +not hear; that he was too late, and she would never +know.</p> +<p>He leaped to his feet in a whirling tempest of rage. +He stumbled to the mouth of the cave, and thrust himself +half through the barricade, and looked out into the +wilderness of snow, and stood shaking his fist at it, +quivering with passion, and uttering the wildest imprecations +upon the world, upon the outlaw, and upon +himself. And gradually they centered upon himself +alone; and he stood presently, as it were, naked before +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +God, with something like a prayer unspoken, a silent, +voiceless petition rising from his tortured soul.</p> +<p>He became calm after that. A curious peace, it +seemed, had flowed in upon him. Mechanically he renewed +the fire, brought water and held it to Marion’s +lips, and eased her position on the bed. Then he sat +by her side to wait!</p> +<p>Well, this was the end. She would be going soon,––to-morrow, +or the day after. He glanced toward the +shelf where Marion’s rifle and his revolver lay. She +would not be there now to snatch the weapon from his +hand! But she would be waiting for him. And there +came back to him the strange feeling he had experienced +in his cottage––the pressure of her hand still +warm on his own––her hand helping up and up and +out of the Valley of the Shadow. And her hand would +be stretched out for him––in the Beyond––</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It must have been about the middle of the next forenoon––he +had ceased to reckon time, and there were no +more notches cut on the black wall of the cave––when +Philip, sitting at Marion’s side, observed a curious, +restless movement of her head. She had lain all morning +in a stupor, very still, with only an occasional +murmur from her dry lips. But now, moving her +head from side to side, she tried to lift it, as if to +listen.</p> +<p>“What is it, Marion?” asked Haig, leaning close to +her.</p> +<p>“Listen!” she whispered.</p> +<p>He obeyed her, or pretended to, and turned an ear +toward the mouth of the cavern. The wind was up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +with its wailing and its snarls and shrieks. He heard +it for a moment, then looked at her again.</p> +<p>“My poor girl! My poor Marion!” he said.</p> +<p>“Listen!” she repeated, with a touching emphasis, +almost childish, almost petulant.</p> +<p>He heard the storm.</p> +<p>“Yes, Marion,” he said, humoring her.</p> +<p>“Can’t you hear it?” she pleaded. “Listen!”</p> +<p>It was the delirium again; she was hearing things +that were not, except in her disordered mind. Perhaps––he +had read somewhere that the dying, those of them +that are pure at heart, sometimes hear the calling of +the––</p> +<p>“Somebody’s––coming!” she cried in the thinnest, +most childlike treble. Her face shone; she tried to sit +up; she raised one hand feebly toward him.</p> +<p>“Please lie down, dear!” pleaded Haig, pressing +her gently back.</p> +<p>She resisted him, smiling and frowning at the same +time.</p> +<p>“Be––very––still. And––listen!” she persisted.</p> +<p>To please her, he sat erect, and listened. They were +very still then, one of her hands between both of his. +And the storm was raging. It was wilder, wilder. All +the fury of Thunder Mountain seemed to be behind the +wind that came shrieking and bellowing down the gulch.</p> +<p>The seconds passed, with dead silence in the cave, +and that bedlam let loose outside.</p> +<p>Then suddenly Haig lifted his head. What was it? +There seemed to have come––No, it was but a mocking +voice of the hurricane, one of the myriad voices of +that wintry inferno, mocking them with a half-human +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +cry. He looked sadly down at Marion, and saw that +wondrous smile again upon her emaciated face. Oh, +but this was maddening! Yet because she wished it, +he listened again. And then, out of that tumult––very +faint and far––</p> +<p>“My God! My God!” he shouted.</p> +<p>He leaped to his feet. He forgot his crutches. He +flung himself across the floor of the cave in three reckless +bounds, flung himself on the barrier of logs and +limbs, clawing it like a maniac, or a wild beast, tore his +way through it, and stood in the snow on the platform, +calling into the storm, shrieking, bellowing, out-shrieking +and out-bellowing the storm, swaying dizzily in the +wind, and clutching at the air before him in a frenzy.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVIII_THE_MAN_WHO_DID_NOT_FORGET' id='CHAPTER_XXVIII_THE_MAN_WHO_DID_NOT_FORGET'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<h3>THE MAN WHO DID NOT FORGET</h3> +</div> +<p>Out of the tempest came the answering halloo; +and Haig redoubled his outcries. Twice it +came, whipped and broken by the wind; and then there +was but the wind itself. Exhausted by his efforts, and +sick of desperation and despair, Haig sank back weakly +against the rock. Round and round him whirled the +snow; across his face the wind cut him with savage +lashes; in his ears there was nothing, nothing but the +storm. Then, all grew black before him. After all, it +had been an hallucination; he had been as mad as +Marion in her delirium; he had peopled the storm with +imaginary beings, had given the wind a voice it did +not know. Crushed by disappointment, acknowledging +the end, he was sinking down upon the snow-covered +platform, when, suddenly––</p> +<p>“Hal-lo-o-o!”</p> +<p>It was nearer and louder than before. Haig straightened +up, and again filled the tumultuous air with +hoarse cries. Once more the voice came; and then out +of the white chaos at the right of the cave, almost level +with the platform, a dark form appeared, striding forward +with a peculiar swinging motion, clumsily but +sure.</p> +<p>Haig uttered one more call that dribbled into a sobbing +cry.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span></div> +<p>“All––right!” answered the figure, in a smothered +tone.</p> +<p>Huge, hunchbacked and cumbersome, the figure +shuffled up the slight slope between the level of the snow +and the snowy platform, and halted. A mittened hand +went up to its head, and brushed the snow from the +face.</p> +<p>“Pete!” cried Haig.</p> +<p>He attempted to move forward, stumbled, lunged +toward the Indian, and collapsed in his arms. Pete, +holding him, looked around until he saw the opening +of the cave, and fairly carried Haig inside. For a +few seconds, seeing nothing in the sudden change from +the dazzling whiteness of the snow to the dim red light +of the cavern, Pete stood still. Then Haig stiffened, +stood erect, and pushed the Indian from him.</p> +<p>“There! Look!” he gasped, pointing to where +Marion lay, wild-eyed on the bed, wrapped in her +blankets. Then he sank down on the floor, with his +back against the wall, and gave himself up to dizziness +and exhaustion.</p> +<p>Pete quickly removed his thick mittens, unstrapped +the bundle that rested on his back, and took off the +snowshoes that had caused his approach over the snow +to appear so like a lumbering animal’s. Flinging all +these on the floor, he went swiftly to Marion’s side, and +knelt there.</p> +<p>“Sick?” he asked.</p> +<p>She did not answer, but stared at him, and smiled.</p> +<p>“Listen!” she whispered. “Somebody––coming!”</p> +<p>Pete stood up, and looked at Haig.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span></div> +<p>“How long like this?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I forget. Three or four days.”</p> +<p>“You well?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Haig answered weakly.</p> +<p>Pete came closer, and pointed to the leg that Haig +kept thrust stiffly out before him.</p> +<p>“Broke?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“How long?”</p> +<p>“Six weeks.”</p> +<p>The Indian asked no more questions just then, but +hastened to open his pack. First he found a bottle of +whisky, and made Haig take a long drink. Pete believed +in two remedies for all human ills. He had a +brew of herbs that he had inherited from his tribal ancestors, +his sole inheritance besides his iron body. This +brew was good for fevers; and whisky was good +for everything else. Having doctored Haig with the +whisky, he now turned to Marion with the brew. From +a flask he poured some of the dark brown liquid into a +cup, let it come just to a boil among the embers of +the fire, and when it had cooled a little placed it to +Marion’s lips. It was bitter, and she tried to draw +away from it, but Pete forced her gently to drain the +cup.</p> +<p>Whatever the brew might be worth, the whisky certainly +was efficacious. Haig sat erect, and began hurling +questions at the Indian.</p> +<p>“How did you get in here––in God’s name?” was +the first.</p> +<p>“Black Lake country.”</p> +<p>“But how did you get in there?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span></div> +<p>“Simpson’s Pass.”</p> +<p>Haig stared at him. He knew that to reach Simpson’s +Pass the Indian must have gone far south below +the canyon of the Big Bear, made a wide detour over +the lower range, and ascended to the Pass around the +shoulder of Big Bear Mountain. He had never heard +of the Pass being crossed in winter, and it was almost +unbelievable.</p> +<p>“But the snow!” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>Pete pointed to the snowshoes.</p> +<p>“But the Pass doesn’t let into the Black Lake +country,” said Haig. “There’s another range of +mountains.”</p> +<p>“Yes. I come over them.”</p> +<p>“How long did it take you?”</p> +<p>“I been four weeks. But most of time looking in +forest down there.”</p> +<p>“But how did you find us?”</p> +<p>The Indian drew from his pocket a ragged and soiled +piece of paper, and spread it out on the floor. It was +a crude map, with Paradise Park outlined at one side, +and at the other a labyrinth of lines and stars and +crosses. The stars were peaks, the crosses were foothills, +and the lines were creeks and valleys. Through +the maze ran one heavier line that indicated the trail +through the Black Lake country up to the cliff at the +back of Thunder Mountain.</p> +<p>“Old Parker made it,” said Pete.</p> +<p>“Tell me all!” commanded Haig. “But wait!” +He pointed to Marion.</p> +<p>Marion’s babbling had slowly subsided, and ceased. +Pete rose and went to her noiselessly on his moccasined +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +feet; and after looking at her a moment stepped +cautiously back.</p> +<p>“She quiet now. Sleep soon,” he said.</p> +<p>And it was so. The next time he slipped over to her, +the girl’s eyes were closed, and soon she had sunk into +a profound slumber from which she did not awake until +late the next morning.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Pete took up his story. Smythe had +delivered Marion’s message, and had told them what he +feared. Claire’s knowledge of the state of Marion’s +heart and mind enabled her to guess the worst, but Seth +scouted the idea of her trying to reach the top of +Thunder Mountain, or of Murray permitting her to +try it. So two days were lost before the alarm was +sounded by Murray, who, after two attempts to reach +the top of the mountain, had given up and ridden to the +Park for help.</p> +<p>The whole valley responded to the call, and the most +desperate efforts were made to reach the plateau, but the +storms that Haig and Marion had heard in their +sheltered gulch were of such fury and continuity that +the hardiest of the ranchmen were unable to prevail +against them. Huntington, half-crazed by the thought +of the two days he had allowed to be lost, had gone +farther than any of the others, and had been rescued +with difficulty by some of his neighbors, who found him +lying senseless at the foot of the ascent to the Devil’s +Chair, where the wind had hurled him back down the +slope. Smythe was among those who saved him, for +the little tutor had let the last stage go without him, +and was one of the most reckless in the attacks on the +mountain.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span></div> +<p>All these efforts having failed, and the winter having +fallen with exceptional suddenness and severity, even. +Huntington was forced to accept the general opinion +that nothing more could be done; that they could only +wait for summer, when they could go to the mountain +top and bring back Marion’s body––and doubtless +Haig’s too. And so, said Huntington, the feud was +ended.</p> +<p>One person alone in the Park refused to admit all +this. Pete was forced indeed to admit it in theory, but +he was resolved to prove it or disprove it on his own +account. He had studied Thunder Mountain from the +ridge above the ranch house all that day of Sunnysides’ +escape, and the next. And he remembered now that a +period of calm had followed the storm on that second +day. If Haig or Marion, or both of them, had by +chance reached the flat top in that interval, they might +have crossed, and might be now somewhere in the forests +on the other side.</p> +<p>He went to Parker, talked with him long about the +character of the Black Lake country, induced him to +draw the crude map, and then visited Seth and Claire. +Seth shook his head gloomily, but Claire eagerly proceeded +to assemble enough supplies to have loaded down +a pack horse. There followed a pitifully comical struggle +with her before her “first aid” was reduced to +what Pete could carry in his canvas knapsack,––a small +roll of underwear, needles and thread, bandages and a +packet of household medicines in addition to Pete’s own +selection of a strip of bacon, a dozen onions, two score of +vegetable soup tablets, two cans of condensed milk, small +quantities of coffee and tea, salt and pepper, two cakes of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +soap and (especially insisted on by Pete) a plug of black +tobacco and a pipe.</p> +<p>All these supplies Pete had saved untouched, living +himself on game shot on the long journey. For nearly +five weeks he had struggled against unbelievable hardships, +fighting like primitive man against the fiercest +enmity of nature; had searched the whole Black Lake +country; and that day, slowly following the direction of +the trail up through the narrowing gulch among the tree +tops, the smell of smoke was brought to his nostrils on +the wind, and he traced it along the foot of the cliff.</p> +<p>“But did you really expect to find us alive?” asked +Haig.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Then why did you do all this?”</p> +<p>“All I could do. Indian never forgets.”</p> +<p>Thereupon he brought out Haig’s pipe and his own, +and they smoked over it in silence, late into the night.</p> +<p>Marion awoke the next morning with another look in +her eyes. Her fever was still high, but she was no +longer delirious. Too feeble to ask questions, she only +smiled, and took obediently the remainder of the potion +that Pete poured from his flask and heated in the tin-cup +among the embers. On her wakening again it was +seen that the fever was broken. But life in her was +only a tiny flame, at times the merest spark that every +gust of wind through the cavern threatened to extinguish. +Hour after hour Haig and the Indian watched +it, the one in such anguish as the repentant murderer +suffers as he kneels over the poor victim of his rage, +the other in stolid resignation, seeing that perhaps he +had come too late.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span></div> +<p>But the spark was the bravest little spark in the +world; and it did not go out. In time Pete dared to +give Marion a little weakened milk; and then, when she +responded to the milk, a few sips of soup that was +scarcely thicker than water. And thus from day to day +they nursed her back to some recognizable shadow of +what she had been two months before.</p> +<p>There came an evening when they sat down to a +veritable feast. Haig had stubbornly refused to taste +any of the delicacies in Pete’s store, excepting salt and +pepper. Besides, with seasoning, the venison was no +longer quite repugnant to his palate; and he and the +Indian did very well on that until the feast was spread. +And it was a feast remembered. There was soup, to +begin with, drunk from the two cups they now possessed; +then a rabbit stew, seasoned with <span class='smcap'>SALT AND +PEPPER</span>, and flavored with an <span class='smcaplc'>ONION</span>; and black coffee +(very black indeed, to be quite exact). Then Haig’s +and Pete’s pipes were lighted; and the Indian must tell +them again the story of the rescue; and let the wind +howl its savagest!</p> +<p>“Poor Claire!” said Marion, with a tremulous little +laugh, when Pete told her how the knapsack was packed.</p> +<p>And Haig looked across at her dizzily, as if the fumes +of the strong tobacco had gone to his head.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Their situation was still miserable enough, but the +Indian contrived to make it less unendurable. He +knew some knacks of cookery that availed to make their +venison and rabbit palatable; and the tea and coffee +cheered them beyond all possibility of expression. No +longer required to toil; with clean underwear; with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +soap for her blackened face and hands, Marion recovered +her strength, or much of it, with amazing swiftness. +Pete made a rough coat and even a skirt for her +of deerskin. The coat was of double thickness, and +very warm indeed, and so she gave back to Haig the +remnant of the leather coat she had been wearing, which +was now needed to cover his ragged corduroy. Then +came moccasins, and better crutches for Haig; and so +they settled down with new courage for what they +thought would be a long wait through the implacable +winter.</p> +<p>Haig kept his secret, or supposed he was keeping it. +Marion did not indeed remember how he had taken her +in his arms in her delirium; rather, if there was a faint +but insistent recollection of the embrace it was intangible +and unreal. She had dreamed so often of that +longed-for embrace that the reality was inseparable from +the imagined. Nor was she aware of the revelation +that had come to Haig, as if a dazzling light had broken +through the walls of the cavern. But though he might +keep his secret he could not conceal from her the change +that had come over him, the tenderness and wonder and +humility that had succeeded his hardness and scepticism +and belligerency. She detected that alteration in every +look he gave her, in every movement he made in waiting +upon her, in every tone of his speech, though the words +were the most commonplace. And in her great faith +she was not surprised. But she was thrilled. The +knowledge ran through her veins like a living fire, a +better nourishment than food, a more potent cure than +any medicine.</p> +<p>So the long days, not quite so long as they used to be, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +marched on. Despite the skilful services of Pete they +were still always cold, always hungry, always weary for +want of sleep, and always dirty and unkempt. Then +there came a day when Pete astonished them. He +brought in from the forest certain small limbs of tough +wood, and began to trim them and bend them into shapes +that they were presently able to recognize. Snowshoes!</p> +<p>“You don’t mean––Can we do it?” cried Haig +incredulously.</p> +<p>“Can’t stay here,” was Pete’s short reply.</p> +<p>True; they could not stay there; it was just what +Haig had been thinking, or trying to avoid thinking. +But how would Marion be able to endure that terrible +journey over Simpson’s Pass? For her part she said +nothing, but her eyes met Philip’s; she reached her +hand to him, and he clasped it tightly.</p> +<p>Three weeks after Pete’s arrival he began gradually +to inure Haig and Marion to living and moving in the +snow. He taught them to walk on snowshoes, to climb +steep slopes on them, to pick their way among the trees. +There were countless falls in deep drifts, and headlong +plunges, and ungraceful wallowings in the snow. But +they knew their lives depended on these labors, and they +were even able to laugh at some of their awkward performances. +These exercises were, moreover, very good +for them. Ill-nourished though they were, the natural +color crept back into their cheeks, the blood flowed +briskly again, through their chilled veins, their muscles +were strengthened by their struggles with the winds and +the snow that still came on with unremitted vigor. +Then Pete went a step farther in the preparations for +the crucial test. Not only must they spend the greater +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +part of the day outside the cave, but they must sleep, or +try to sleep, a few hours every night in the snow, +wrapped in their blankets, in holes scooped out under +the lee of a snowbank, while the Indian stood guard +nearby.</p> +<p>It was near the end of December when Pete thought +his charges had become sufficiently hardened to undertake +the long journey. The weather, if it had not +moderated (it would not begin to moderate there until +long after spring had brought out the flowers in the +distant Park), had settled a little after its first fury. +The storms came with less frequency, and the snow +had assumed a certain stability with the steadily added +weight. Both Marion and Haig bad mastered their +snowshoes, and were able to travel slowly after Pete. +Moreover, all the delicacies that Pete had brought had +been consumed, despite their most careful husbanding, +and even the meager supply of salt and pepper would +soon be exhausted, leaving only the unseasoned venison +of odious memory.</p> +<p>The night before the day set for their departure, Pete +broiled strips of venison sufficient for a week or more, +and stowed them in his knapsack. At dawn they were +up, and eagerly making the final preparations. Haig +and Marion, in their impatience, would have eaten +nothing, but the Indian, true to his tribal habit of filling +the stomach before a march, insisted that breakfast +should be a methodical and leisurely business. From +some recess he drew the last soup tablet, the last onion, +and the last of the ground coffee, which he had +clandestinely saved against this great event. The feast +with which they had celebrated Marion’s recovery was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +now repeated in celebration of their farewell to the cave,––the +soup, the rabbit stew and the black coffee.</p> +<p>Then, when Pete had fastened their snowshoes +securely on their moccasined feet, and had gone out to +trample down the fresh snow on the platform before the +cave, Haig and Marion stood together for a last look +upon the scene of their sufferings. They looked at the +dying fire, at the flattened beds of boughs, at the long +row of notches on the wall, at the crutches lying among +the firewood, at crumpled and ragged boots and bits of +worn-out clothing.</p> +<p>“Good-by––you!” cried Marion, laughing tremulously, +very near to tears.</p> +<p>“Yes, good-by!” said Haig.</p> +<p>That cave––what had it not meant for him! There +was his Valley of the Shadow, into which he had again +descended to seek and find the better part of him that +he had left there long ago.</p> +<p>“Go on out, please!” he said presently. “I’ll come +in a minute.”</p> +<p>She looked at him curiously, but obeyed. Haig +waited till she had gone, and then shuffled clumsily on +his snowshoes across the floor to where, beyond the fire, +lay one of Marion’s boots. It was a torn and misshapen +thing, the sole worn through, the leather curled up from +the open toe. He picked it up hastily, and with a +swift glance at the mouth of the cavern, thrust it into an +inside pocket of his leather coat.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It was a wonderful, thrilling, terrifying journey, +filled with hardships and perils. Caution and sheer toil +of travel held them to slow progress. They went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +through vast forests, among the very tops of the tall +pines; they climbed wide, bare slopes where the winds +had almost stripped the snow from the gaunt rocks; they +descended into sheltered valleys where the deer went +scurrying at their approach; they crossed deep gulches +packed half-full of blown and drifted snow; they passed +close to the edges of precipices where a false step would +have sent them whirling down into white abysses spiked +with pines. Storms overtook them, and forced them to +remain many hours in such shelter as they could find. +Sometimes they slept under overhanging rocks with a +fire blazing at their feet, but more often the night was +spent in burrows dug in the snow. Their supply of +venison ran out, and a day was lost while Pete hunted +and killed a deer, and cooked strips of its flesh, to be +seasoned with the very last of their salt and pepper, +and kept in his knapsack. But even Marion did +not lose courage or once falter, though many times her +heart was in her mouth and a cold sweat on her forehead +as they passed some formidable and terrifying obstacle.</p> +<p>At length, on a bright and glittering day, when it +seemed the storms had finally abandoned their enmity, +they climbed slowly up the long slopes to Simpson’s +Pass, and stood at noon high above a wide and wonderful +world of snow, with white mountains succeeding one +another, range on range, as far as their eyes could reach +before them and behind. And that afternoon, as they +toiled around the shoulder of Big Bear Mountain, they +stopped and gazed,––Marion with tears streaming down +her cheeks, and Haig with his hands clenched tightly at +his sides. For there, still far away below them, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +<i>there</i> beyond all mistake, lay Paradise Park, very white +and still and glittering in the sun; and off at the right +was Thunder Mountain, squatting among the silver +peaks, its sullen head half hidden by gray-black +clouds.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIX_GHOSTS' id='CHAPTER_XXIX_GHOSTS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<h3>GHOSTS</h3> +</div> +<p>The lamp had not been lighted in the sitting-room +at Huntington’s, but the pitch log blazing in the +great fireplace reddened the farthest corners of the room, +and flushed the somber faces of Seth and Claire. +Their habit, in these days of grief, was to sit the winter +evenings through almost in silence, their self-reproaches +long since spent, their hopes turned to ashes, which +Claire alone tried sometimes to fan into a glow. They +had eaten their supper before twilight, without speech, +and then, as always, waited wearily for sleep.</p> +<p>“It will be three months and two weeks to-morrow,” +she said, without looking away from the fire.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Huntington.</p> +<p>“Isn’t it possible she may have reached––”</p> +<p>“It’s no use, Claire, thinking such things.”</p> +<p>“But Pete! He hasn’t come back, and maybe that +means––”</p> +<p>She did not even finish the sentence, which simply +faded away on her lips, a useless and foolish conjecture.</p> +<p>Another long silence followed. Seth’s cigarette went +out, and hung dead from his bearded lips, while he +stared gloomily into the blaze. He sat with his back +toward the front door. Claire, near a corner of the big +stone chimney, leaned forward, her head inclined to one +side, the cheek resting on her open hand, the elbow on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +her knee. Her eyes, which had been lifted from their +long gazing at the fire at the moment she addressed her +husband, were fixed on vacancy, looking past Huntington +toward the door that led out upon the veranda, where the +rising wind tossed little whirls of snow and dead leaves +from the flower garden. She was torturing herself +with a conjured vision of a wild, high place among snowbound +rocks, in the midst of which a slender figure was +slowly sinking down, and a white and stricken face was +turned toward her. This was the vision that had become +for her the settled picture of Marion’s fate, a +picture that was burned into her brain by many, many +hours of imagining, day and night.</p> +<p>The wind was howling around the ranch house, wailing +among the gables, shrieking across the chimney top. +It rattled at the door, as if to fling it open with sudden +violence. And what was that? A footstep on the +veranda? She shivered; it was only her shaken nerves +again! Then came another rattle at the door. It +moved. It <i>was</i> flung open. And there was the figure +of her dream, but strangely and fantastically clad; and +with a face that glowed, and lips that were parted in a +smile.</p> +<p>For a moment Claire did not move. Then slowly she +lifted her head; her eyes grew round and staring, her +mouth opened. Seth caught the look; it was one he had +seen many times before.</p> +<p>“Claire!” he cried. “Stop that!”</p> +<p>His voice, perhaps, served to break the spell. Claire +leaped to her feet. And the next instant there was a +voice from the doorway.</p> +<p>“Hello!” said Marion cheerily, in a “good evening” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +kind of tone, as if she had returned from the post-office.</p> +<p>Huntington bounded from his chair, and whirled +around with an oath,––one oath surely that was forgiven +him. But past him, with a scream dashed Claire.</p> +<p>“Marion!” she shrieked.</p> +<p>“Marion!” bellowed Seth.</p> +<p>And then the two women were in each other’s arms, +and Seth grabbed one of Marion’s hands, and the air +was filled with hysterical cries and mighty, spluttered +expletives. Then silence fell, while Claire and Marion +wept without restraint, and Huntington searched for his +handkerchief without finding it, and strode across the +room and back, pounding one clenched hand into the +palm of the other. But Marion presently tore herself +out of Claire’s embrace, and turned to grab an arm of +Pete, who stood just outside the doorway, through which +the wind unheeded was flinging snow and leaves into +the room.</p> +<p>“Here he is!” cried Marion. “He did it!”</p> +<p>Claire promptly threw her arms around the Indian’s +neck, or as nearly around as she could reach, and stood +on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his leathery cheek. Huntington +too leaped on him, seizing his shoulder and hand, +and dragging him farther into the room. Then he +broke away, and ran for a bottle; and the two men +clicked glasses and drank in silence. And two big +chairs were drawn close to the fire for Pete and Marion; +and while Claire sat crying softly, and Huntington, between +“damns” and “hells,” wiped his eyes with the +back of his hand, and Pete sat impressive, Marion +quickly narrated the chief incidents of her pursuit of +Haig, their long imprisonment, and the rescue.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span></div> +<p>“But Haig! Where’s he?” asked Huntington.</p> +<p>“He left us at the junction,” answered Marion.</p> +<p>On that a moment of silence fell. Something in +Marion’s face told even Huntington to keep still. But +Claire, seeing it, was secretly, wickedly, triumphantly +glad. A very practical thought, however, came to her +in time to prevent embarrassment, and Seth was sent +bustling into the kitchen to relight the fire in the range. +The cook had gone to bed, but Claire would get supper +for them; for Pete must stay, she insisted. But at this +the Indian rose, and said he must go to Haig, who had +told him to hurry back for supper with him in the +cottage.</p> +<p>“Well, then, Pete,” said Huntington from the door +of the kitchen, “you’ll have another drink, anyhow. +And you’ll come up to-morrow to tell us how you found +them, won’t you?”</p> +<p>Pete promised; the whisky was solemnly drunk +again; and the three others followed him to the +door.</p> +<p>“But you must have a horse!” said Huntington.</p> +<p>So he jumped past him, and ran to the stable, bellowing +for Williams.</p> +<p>“Now take off your coat, Marion!” cried Claire.</p> +<p>“No. Not here,” said Marion. “You’ll see why.”</p> +<p>They waited before the blazing log for Huntington to +return, whereupon he was sent to build a fire in Marion’s +room. When it was crackling finely, Marion, removed +her deerskin coat and skirt. Claire stared at her, gasping; +and then sank down on the bed in another fit of +weeping. For Marion stood before her in rags and +dirt.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span></div> +<p>“Oh, but you should have seen me the day Pete +came!” cried Marion, with a pathetic little laugh. +“I’ve actually got some flesh on my bones now.”</p> +<p>Indescribable luxuries followed: a hot bath, wonderful +clean garments, and Claire’s happy fingers combing +the tangles out of the tawny hair.</p> +<p>“But I’ll never be really and truly clean again, +Claire!” cried Marion ruefully, holding out her hands.</p> +<p>Claire clasped them tenderly, while Marion, on +a sudden thought, related to her Haig’s speech about +baths; and they laughed together.</p> +<p>“You’ve so many things to tell me,” said Claire, with +a curiosity she could not quite repress.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Marion, blushing.</p> +<p>It was nearly midnight when they sat down to supper, +but none of them cared for time. Marion was not +sleepy. She and Haig and Pete had slept well in a +deserted cabin the last night of their journey, before a +huge fire, in circumstances positively pleasant in comparison +with what they had passed through. But she +was hungry. As she never expected to be really and +truly clean again, she doubted that she should ever get +enough to eat. Claire did the best she could on that +score, and that was something. There was chicken +with cream gravy; and potatoes, baked in their skins, +and seasoned with butter and salt and paprika; and +three kinds of jelly to be spread on buttered toast; and +angel cake. In the midst of the feast there were steps +on the veranda, and a knock on the door; and Curly +appeared, bearing two bottles of champagne.</p> +<p>“Mr. Haig says you’re all to drink Pete’s health, an’ +he ought to live to be a hundred,” said Curly, grinning, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +and gazing in wonderment at Marion, whose exploit +had caused her to assume somewhat the nature of a +goddess in his simple mind.</p> +<p>When the door had closed on Curly, Huntington stood +for a moment awkwardly holding the bottles, an expression +almost of consternation on his face. He had +once made some remarks about Haig’s champagne. +But he had the sense not to act the part of a skeleton +at the feast. Pete’s health was drunk by all; and might +he live to be a hundred!</p> +<p>In another hour Marion was in bed, in a real bed, in +her own pink room, between sweet, clean sheets, and +warm again at last, but shivering in sheer excess of comfort, +and crying a little perhaps from overwhelming joy. +For she knew in her heart––something she could not +yet tell even Claire.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Bill Craven was mending a bridle by the light of a +smoky lantern in the stable, when he saw a ghost. It +just opened the door, and walked in, and said, “How +are you, Bill?” Craven fell backward off his stool, then +leaped to his feet with a yell that caused a commotion +among the barn swallows under the eaves, and brought +Farrish and Curly tumbling down the ladder from the +loft. Thereupon discipline, for which Haig had always +been rather a stickler, suffered a bad half hour. They +had given him up for lost; and had found on comparing +experiences that each of them had many reasons for +counting that loss his own. In the days following the +attempts to rescue Miss Gaylord, these three had gone +about the Park with chips on their shoulders, inviting +any outspoken citizen to say to them anything that was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span> +not strictly proper and complimentary about Haig. So +now, though the words were few after the first noisy +demonstration, they were the kind of words that are +worth hearing, from man to man.</p> +<p>Haig and Bill Craven presently compared notes in the +matter of “busted” legs. Bill’s had mended much +sooner than Haig’s, which was quite easily understood, +considering the great difference in their circumstances. +Curly had “nigh killed” the sorrels, getting the doctor +for Craven, but they were all right now. “Fat and +sassy,” Curly added.</p> +<p>“I’ll take some of that out of them, to-morrow,” said +Haig. “I’ll want the sleigh, Farrish. Please look +after it in the morning.”</p> +<p>Then, seeing their impatience, he told them of Sunnysides’ +final escape, and of all the events that followed––as +much as was good for them to know.</p> +<p>“But where’s Pete?” asked Craven.</p> +<p>“He went to Huntington’s with Miss Gaylord. +He’ll be along soon.”</p> +<p>“Well, jest wait till we git our hands on that damned +Indian!” cried Bill. “Eh, men?”</p> +<p>It was evident that there would be a considerable disturbance +in the barn on Pete’s arrival.</p> +<p>A few minutes later Haig had his surprise. On +entering the cottage he first encountered Slim Jim in +the outer room. Perhaps Jim’s face turned a trifle +yellower, perhaps his thin legs trembled a little under +the sky-blue trousers; but that was about all, except the +light that flickered an instant in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Glad you back!” he said simply. “Want supper?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span></div> +<p>“Want supper! Why, you scrawny, evil-eyed +heathen! Want supper! I want everything you’ve +got to eat, and everything you haven’t got, and don’t you +tell me there’s ’vellee lil’ either, or I’ll break every bone +in your body. And be quick about it too!”</p> +<p>Jim hurried into the kitchen with so much of a departure +from his oriental poise that the first pan he +picked up fell to the floor with a clatter. That was the +most eloquent testimonial he could have given, unless it +was the supper that was ready for Haig in an hour––and +no “velle lil” supper at that––to his participation +in the general rejoicing.</p> +<p>Haig, meanwhile, opened the inner door, stepped +into the library-bedroom, and halted dead still on the +threshold. At his entrance, a tall, thin young man, +with a very pale face, rose like an automaton and stared +at him. It was a question which of the two was the +more amazed.</p> +<p>“Thursby!” cried Haig, recovering the more +quickly.</p> +<p>“Haig!”</p> +<p>“Where did you come from?”</p> +<p>“From the other side of the world. And you?”</p> +<p>“From the very bowels of the earth, man!”</p> +<p>They walked slowly toward each other until they met, +and clasped hands.</p> +<p>“You found him?” asked Haig, searching the other’s +face.</p> +<p>“In Singapore.”</p> +<p>“And then?”</p> +<p>“He’s dead.”</p> +<p>“And she?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span></div> +<p>“I’ve sent her back to her people in Devonshire.”</p> +<p>Haig gripped hard the hand that was still clasped in +his own, and there was a moment of silence.</p> +<p>“Well,” said Haig, “we’ll have a nip of whisky, and +then––You’ve come back to take your ranch, of +course.”</p> +<p>“I <i>came</i> back for that, but I can’t figure out that it’s +mine now.”</p> +<p>“How’s that?” asked Haig, pouring out the drinks.</p> +<p>“I left three hundred head of cattle, and now I learn +there are thirteen hundred head, almost.”</p> +<p>“Don’t let that worry you. I’ve sold enough of the +increase to bring back all the money they cost me. So +we’re quits.”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Be sensible, Haig. First thing, why did you do +it?”</p> +<p>“For the fun of it, partly.”</p> +<p>“And after that?”</p> +<p>“Well, your fine ranch here wasn’t making much +money, and I thought you’d need a good deal, perhaps, +before you got through with your––affair.”</p> +<p>“And yet you say we’re quits!”</p> +<p>“I’m satisfied.”</p> +<p>“But I’m not. You’ll take a half interest, and we’ll +go partners.”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“I say yes,” persisted Thursby. “But I’m forgetting +to ask questions. How the devil did you get +back?”</p> +<p>“I will a tale unfold will harrow up thy bones––and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +the rest of it,” replied Haig, laughing. “But first: +when did you arrive?”</p> +<p>“By the last stage in.”</p> +<p>“And what have you told them––my pleasant neighbors?”</p> +<p>“Nothing. But they have the impression that I +came for the final payment on the ranch, and that I remained +because you were lost in the mountains.”</p> +<p>“Good. Now, old man, I’ll tell you how you can +repay me in full for anything you may think I’ve done +for you.”</p> +<p>“Go on!”</p> +<p>“Are you ready to assume the responsibility for my +acts? I mean in the matter of the land and cattle? +The rest is still my affair.”</p> +<p>“Most certainly.”</p> +<p>“Well, then. I’ve very special reasons for needing +peace with Huntington.”</p> +<p>Thursby looked at him curiously. This from Philip +Haig!</p> +<p>“And you want me to––”</p> +<p>“Don’t misunderstand me. I’ve gone up there before, +and I’m going again to-morrow. But I want to +give Huntington a chance. So if you’ll go to his house +to-morrow morning, and tell him that I’ve finished, +that the ranch is not mine, and––”</p> +<p>“But the ranch is yours––or half yours.”</p> +<p>“Never mind about that now. We’ll talk it over +later. Just tell Huntington that the ranch is not mine, +and never has been, and––whatever else you like. +Then say to him that if he still wants to fight me I’ll +meet him anywhere, and we’ll settle it. In any event, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span> +you will tell him, I’m coming to his place to-morrow +afternoon, and I’ll have no gun.”</p> +<p>“I see.”</p> +<p>“And you’ll do it?”</p> +<p>“Of course. With all my heart.”</p> +<p>And he made a thorough job of it. He told them––Huntington, +Claire and Marion––that he had been in +great trouble. What that trouble was concerned nobody +but himself, but it was enough to send him around the +world, reckless of everything but the immediate object +of his pursuit. Philip Haig, an old friend, had volunteered +to look after his ranch for him, and to provide +him with money when he needed it. So, if Haig had +seemed too aggressive and selfish in his methods, all that +he had done had been done in a spirit of––he might say +a spirit that was almost quixotic. And having done all +this, increasing Thursby’s holdings of cattle four times, +Haig refused to accept anything for his time and labor, +and insisted that their account was closed.</p> +<p>Marion had known nothing of all this, save for the +hints she had received from Smythe, following the +conversation overheard by him. Philip had told her +nothing of it in recounting his adventures. With +glistening eyes she looked from Claire to Huntington, +where they sat open-mouthed, and was thrilled with +pride and triumph. Claire at length turned, and +looked at her, and smiled. As for Huntington, he was +simply (as he explained afterwards, seeking to justify +his ready acquiescence) flabbergasted.</p> +<p>“This has been a very bitter business, Thursby,” he +said. “It’s cost me a lot of cattle and money, and I’ll +not take back a thing I’ve said about Haig’s grabbing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span> +everything in sight, and ruining his neighbors. But I +will say, after what you’ve told me, that––damn it, +Thursby! he is a man.”</p> +<p>“He’s ready to fight with you or talk with you, as +you wish.”</p> +<p>Huntingdon eyed him suspiciously.</p> +<p>“Did Haig say that?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“He certainly did.”</p> +<p>“Then tell him, if he’s on the square, it’ll be talk.”</p> +<p>Claire, ignoring Thursby’s presence, ran and snuggled +close to Seth, while he put his arm around her. +But it was at Marion, <i>to</i> Marion, that Seth looked, seeking +the approval that he had never before been able to +get from her. Their eyes met, and she nodded, smiling.</p> +<p>“Very well!” said Thursby. “He’s coming to see +you this afternoon.”</p> +<p>“What?” cried Huntington.</p> +<p>“He’s coming this afternoon. And he wished me +to say explicitly that he will have no gun.”</p> +<p>To Huntington this seemed almost incredible. He +was heartily sick of the warfare, and glad of any way +out of it that would not be too humiliating to himself. +But Haig was coming to him; and this meant, surely, +that something had occurred to his enemy that would +make the event easy for himself, if not quite free from +embarrassment. He looked again at Marion; and at +last, seeing her radiant countenance, he understood that +this was her achievement, that it was for her Haig +would be coming unarmed to the house of his bitter foe +that afternoon.</p> +<p>“I’m ready,” he said to Thursby, with an elation he +was only partly able to conceal.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span></div> +<p>Smythe was the next visitor, arriving in a state of +such contrition that Marion pitied him. His jaunty +air was gone. He was quite unable to respond to +Marion’s gentle jesting, seeing that her cheeks were still +sunken and pale, that the body whose graces he had so +much admired was now palpably thin under her loose +clothing. He had blamed himself bitterly for the disaster +that had overtaken her, and his sufferings had been +real and lasting.</p> +<p>“If I’d been half a man I’d never have let you go on +alone that day,” he said after she had greeted him +brightly, giving him both her hands.</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed!” retorted Marion. “And what +would you have done?”</p> +<p>“Gone with you.”</p> +<p>“But I sent you back.”</p> +<p>“I was a fool!”</p> +<p>“A fool to do as I told you, Mr. Smythe?” she demanded +archly.</p> +<p>“Yes. You didn’t know what you were doing.”</p> +<p>“But I did know what I was doing.”</p> +<p>This come with such depth of feeling that he knew he +would no longer be able to bring her news of Philip +Haig.</p> +<p>“Then I’m glad,” he said simply.</p> +<p>Presently she told him her story; but much was +omitted, especially the keenest of her sufferings, since +remorse still haunted Smythe’s solemn eyes.</p> +<p>“And what have you been doing?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Trying to read and study, but it’s been no +use.”</p> +<p>“And you’ve lost a year in your career!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span></div> +<p>“That’s nothing. I can make it up, if you’ve forgiven +me.” She gave him her hand again.</p> +<p>“There’s nothing to forgive!” she answered warmly. +“You’ve been a good friend to me. I owe you––more +than you know––more than I can tell you––now!”</p> +<p>On that she rose hurriedly, and went to her room for––a +handkerchief. It was quite ten minutes before she +returned to finish their talk, and to tell him that he must +come to see her often through the long months of winter +that remained.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXX_THE_LAMP_RELIGHTED' id='CHAPTER_XXX_THE_LAMP_RELIGHTED'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<h3>THE LAMP RELIGHTED</h3> +</div> +<p>Marion, at the window, was the first to see him; +and what she saw caused her to clutch at her +throat to stifle a cry. He was not on horseback, though +the roads were quite passable, but in a sleigh; and +there was a jingle of sleigh bells on the frosty air. He +had come with the sorrels––for her––at last!</p> +<p>She opened the door for him, giving him her hand––was +it possible?––a little shyly. Huntington, at Haig’s +entrance, rose from his chair before the fire; and Claire +too, clinging to the chimney, scarce able to believe that +there would not be such another scene as that of one +evening long ago.</p> +<p>Silence, a little awkward for all of them, followed +Marion’s greeting, while the two men stood looking at +each other. Then Haig walked direct to Huntington, +frankly smiling.</p> +<p>“How are you, Huntington? And Mrs. Huntington?” +he was saying quietly.</p> +<p>“All well,” replied Huntington, rather stiffly, meaning +to be very reserved in this business.</p> +<p>Claire inclined her head without speaking. Her blue +eyes were round, her lips parted, and something of the +old terror showed in her face, though she knew very +well why Haig was there.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span></div> +<p>“Thursby has told you?” asked Haig.</p> +<p>“Yes,” was Huntingdon’s answer, still putting +everything up to his enemy.</p> +<p>“Well then, Huntington, since you’ll deal with +Thursby now, I thought we might as well ask each other +a few questions, and give straight answers.”</p> +<p>“I’m ready,” said Huntington gruffly.</p> +<p>“Thank you. First, did you drive that bunch of +cattle off the cliff?”</p> +<p>“No. But did you scatter those twenty head of +mine?”</p> +<p>“No. Both mere accidents undoubtedly. Second, +did you advise setting an ambush for me?”</p> +<p>“No. That was––no matter who. I talked them +out of it, and was sorry for it afterwards.”</p> +<p>“But you did say you’d drive me out of the Park.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and I’d have done it any way short of––”</p> +<p>“Sending me out in a coffin! But we all lost our +tempers, of course.”</p> +<p>“And with good reason on our side,” retorted Huntington +stoutly.</p> +<p>“Perhaps. But I’ll ask you to remember that everything +I did was open and aboveboard. If any of your +cattle strayed, if any of <i>your</i> fences were cut, I had +nothing to do with it.”</p> +<p>“I believe you––now, after what Thursby’s told +me.”</p> +<p>“Thank you. We make progress. But there are +two things more. Who cut the fence of my winter +pasture?”</p> +<p>For a moment Huntington was silent, his face reddening.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span></div> +<p>“I did that,” he replied at length, half defiantly, but +in great confusion.</p> +<p>“But why? There was nothing to be gained by +that. There were no cattle in the pasture or near it.”</p> +<p>Huntington hesitated, shifting his weight uneasily +from his left foot to his right, and back again to the left. +Then he looked at Marion, saw the appeal in her eyes, +and plunged.</p> +<p>“I wanted to make you angry.”</p> +<p>“To make me angry?”</p> +<p>“To make you do something reckless.”</p> +<p>Haig studied him, and saw that he was dealing with +a man who was in some respects, and for all his physical +strength, a boy––a child. He felt his anger rising, +but put it down resolutely.</p> +<p>“That was very foolish, Huntington!” he said, with +some sharpness. “It certainly made me furious, as +you saw later at the post-office.”</p> +<p>“But you were wrong to call me a liar and a thief. +And that’s something you’ve got to––”</p> +<p>“Got to what?” demanded Haig quickly.</p> +<p>Huntington did not answer at once. Claire’s face, +already as pale as it could well be, became drawn and +ashen, while Marion, seeing the danger, unconsciously +took a step forward, as if to throw herself between the +two men. For some tense seconds Huntington and +Haig faced each other belligerently.</p> +<p>“Got to what, Huntington?” repeated Haig. +“There’s nothing I’ve <i>got</i> to do.”</p> +<p>Huntington had not meant the “got” in the sense in +which it was taken by Haig. He had begun to say, +“You’ve got to admit that was pretty hard.” But his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +unfortunate pause on the uncompleted sentence had +justified Haig in putting the worst possible construction +on the objectionable phrase. And now Huntington +could not finish it as he had intended, without seeming +to back down, or weaken. Nor could he afford to drop +the mischievous word for another. In his desperation +he took the boldest course, and made a more aggressive +speech by far than any he had rehearsed for the occasion, +and forgotten.</p> +<p>“You’ve got to take that back!” he blurted out.</p> +<p>It was Haig’s turn now to ponder deeply. His first +impulse was to tell Huntington to go to the devil, and +thereupon to walk out of the house. But he had come +there to make peace; and he bethought himself in time +that to give way to anger would only be to allow Huntington +the first victory he had ever had over him. Besides––he +turned toward Marion, and saw her face +distorted with apprehension. That decided the issue.</p> +<p>“All in good time, Huntington,” he said, with a +smile. “Your actions certainly justified everything I +said. What have you to say about your scheme to take +my horse?”</p> +<p>Huntington groped in vain for one of the crushing +retorts that he had valiantly prepared for this meeting. +Then he caught Marion’s eye again.</p> +<p>“That was a mistake,” he said. “But I’m no thief +and no liar.”</p> +<p>“I grant you’re honest enough, Huntington, when +you stop to think. As for Sunnysides, he’s settled that +business for himself. And if you’ll give me a straightforward +answer on one more point, I’ll acquit you of +being a liar.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span></div> +<p>“What’s that?”</p> +<p>“You killed my bull, didn’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I did! But it was a question of yours or +mine. They were fighting, and mine was getting the +worst of it.”</p> +<p>“And it never occurred to you to let the best one +win?”</p> +<p>“No. I was angry. It was the day that––” He +caught himself, and looked in fresh alarm at Marion.</p> +<p>“The day that––” Haig prompted.</p> +<p>“No matter. I was angry. I’ll pay you what the +bull was worth.”</p> +<p>“No. Settle that with Thursby. Is there anything +more?”</p> +<p>“Nothing except the cause of the whole trouble. +You took more than your share.”</p> +<p>“We might talk all day and all night about that, and +come to no understanding. But I’ll tell you what I’ve +done. I’ve suggested to Thursby that he and you and +the rest of them go into a pool. There’s enough pasture +for all of you if––”</p> +<p>“That’s an idea!” cried Huntington. “What does +Thursby say?”</p> +<p>“He’s willing. He doesn’t like trouble as I––did. +He’ll even sell off some of his stock.”</p> +<p>Huntington was silent a moment, looking doubtfully +at Haig. Then the best of him rose to the occasion.</p> +<p>“I told Thursby that––I hadn’t anything to take +back, but that––you’re a man, for all of it And if +you––Damn it! There’s my hand.”</p> +<p>“Done!” said Haig heartily.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span></div> +<p>“Oh!” cried Claire, breaking away from the mantel, +to which she clung through all the interview, trembling +between hope and fear. She stepped up to Haig, her +eyes shining through tears.</p> +<p>“Mine too!” she said, offering her hand to him.</p> +<p>But when it was all finished there was another awkward +interval of silence. For years of controversy and +enmity are not so quickly resolved into perfect peace. +It was Haig who brought back a certain ease to them.</p> +<p>“Would you mind, Mrs. Huntington, if I asked Miss +Gaylord to go for a drive with me?”</p> +<p>“Indeed, no!”</p> +<p>“And if she took dinner with me? I’ll bring her +back early.”</p> +<p>“If Marion thinks––”</p> +<p>But Marion, who had stood silent and anxious until +then, did not reply to Claire’s glance of inquiry. She +heard the last words as if in a dream. But dreams +were coming true these days; miracle followed miracle. +With a stifled cry she ran past them, and into her room. +There she sank down on the edge of the bed, and +crossed her hands over her breast, and stared at vacancy, +her face burning, a mist before her eyes. Weakness +overcame her for a moment. Then she leaped to her +feet, dressed quickly for the drive, and went out befurred +and radiant to put her arms around Claire and +kiss her.</p> +<p>“You’ll be welcome, Haig, if you want to––to come +in any time,” Huntington was saying awkwardly.</p> +<p>“I will!” replied Haig.</p> +<p>Then Philip and Marion were gone, and Seth and +Claire stood staring at the door.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span></div> +<p>“Oh, I’m so happy, Seth!” cried Claire at last, +holding up her arms to him.</p> +<p>“Umph!” said Huntington, submitting to her +ecstatic endearments.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The Park glittered in its robe of white; the sun +shone with cold brilliancy out of a steel-blue sky; the +air was still and sparkling, stinging their cheeks into a +glow as they sped down the valley. Under the runners +of the sleigh the dry snow sang and crackled, and flew +up in a fine shower like dust of diamonds beneath the +swift feet of the sorrels.</p> +<p>Haig gave Marion no chance to say a word while the +sleigh went swinging and bounding down the road, and +the fields slipped past them in a dazzling succession. +When he was not leaning forward to urge the sorrels to +greater speed he was talking rapidly. He told her of +the scenes at the stable and the cottage on his return, +elaborating the description until Marion’s laughter +rang above the sounds of their swift traveling. He was +talking to keep up his courage, and to postpone the +speech that was in his heart and that now, after all, +when the time had come, filled him with doubts and +fears, and seemed to him the boldest thing he had ever +set himself to do. For the first time in ten years he +was afraid, and doubtful of himself.</p> +<p>The door of the cottage was thrown open by Slim +Jim, in his newest and brightest costume of blue silk. +Marion smiled at him as she passed, for she could not +trust herself to speak; and then she was in that room +whence she had gone one day in utter dejection, praying +for a miracle. She stood for a few seconds looking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span> +around her, recognizing all the familiar objects: the +bed where Haig had undergone his agonies, the table +where the medicines had stood, the window and a +glimpse of the slope outside, now white instead of yellowing +green. There was a roaring fire, and tea things +stood on the table.</p> +<p>Silence enveloped them while Philip helped her with +her wraps, and saw her seated in an armchair before +the fire. Despite the color that the cold drive had +brought into her cheeks, her features were still pinched +and pale. Many weeks would be required, a summer +perhaps, to restore her to what she had been before her +terrible experience. And yet she seemed to him more +beautiful than ever. Watching her furtively and anxiously, +he endured a raging conflict of emotions, recalling +with a poignant feeling of shame all that he had +said to her in that room and elsewhere, in return for +what she had done for him. An impulse seized him to +rush to the door and lock it, to turn on her savagely, +forbidding her to leave him as he had forbidden her to +come to him. For all the proofs he had had of her love +and devotion seemed inadequate to quiet the doubts +he now confessed. He found speech strangely difficult; +he went out of the room twice to give quite unnecessary +instructions to Jim; and returned to busy himself arranging +things in the room that obviously needed no +arranging.</p> +<p>“Thursby was good enough to go somewhere to-day, +and let us have the cottage,” he managed to say at +length. “Do you mind if we are quite alone?”</p> +<p>“Philip!” she responded reproachfully. “How +you talk!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span></div> +<p>“Then we’ll have tea.”</p> +<p>He called the Chinaman, who brought in the steaming +teapot, the hot milk, and the buttered toast. +Marion poured the tea in silence. They drank, too, +almost in silence, and nibbled at the toast, forgetful +that two days before, and for three dreadful months, +tea and toast and milk, served on a table laid with +white linen, would have seemed like a heavenly dispensation. +Their very experience in the cave, which +had broken down so many barriers between them, +seemed to have reared a new one that neither understood. +It was Marion who made a beginning to scale +that barrier.</p> +<p>“You have made Claire very happy, Philip,” she +said.</p> +<p>“That was easy,” he answered.</p> +<p>“But it was grand!”</p> +<p>“And you too––a little?” he ventured.</p> +<p>“You know that, Philip!” And then, a little mischievously: +“Remember I tried to make peace between +you once.”</p> +<p>“And a fine job you made of it!” he retorted.</p> +<p>Then they both laughed, and lapsed again into silence. +But presently Haig arose, went to a cabinet standing +against the wall, and brought back a faded photograph, +which he handed to her.</p> +<p>“My father,” he said.</p> +<p>She saw a face that seemed a little sad, but the kindest +of eyes, with a half serious twinkle in them.</p> +<p>“The dear man!” she exclaimed softly.</p> +<p>“We were great friends,” he said. “We used to +take long walks together of a Sunday afternoon. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +was a silent man, rather, and we did not talk much, but––shall +I tell you one thing he used to say to me, +often?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Philip.”</p> +<p>“I believed it then. But things happened to make +me think that father was mistaken. For ten years I +didn’t believe it at all.”</p> +<p>“What was it, Philip?”</p> +<p>“He used to say: ‘My boy, there’s only one thing +in the world that’s worth while. And that is love.’”</p> +<p>“Why, that’s what Daddy always said, almost his +very words!” she cried, her eyes filling.</p> +<p>“If I only knew––” he began.</p> +<p>But she could endure no more. She rose swiftly to +her feet, her eyes devouring him, her arms stretched +out.</p> +<p>“Marion!” he cried, and leaped to catch her, and +folded her close, as he had clasped her in the cave. But +now the arms that stole up around his neck did not +fall away weakly as before, but tightened, and held +him.</p> +<p>A long time they remained thus, in a silence broken +only by the crackling of the flames, which they did not +hear, and the wind rising outside the cottage, for which +they did not care. At length he put his fingers under +her chin, and raised her head so that he could look into +her eyes.</p> +<p>“I believe it now!” he said.</p> +<p>“It’s true!” she answered, so low that he scarcely +heard it.</p> +<p>“I love you!”</p> +<p>“I’ve loved you always!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span></div> +<p>Then even in her joy the recollection of all that she +had come through to this moment brought back that +quivering of her chin, which had become only too +familiar to him in days past. His head sank toward +her, and their lips met.</p> +<p>After a while he led her back to her chair, and knelt +down to look up at her. For there were other difficulties. +He had nothing to give her, he said; neither +riches nor family nor honor nor any future of which +he could be assured. She stopped him, with a hand +laid gently on his lips. He held it there, kissing it. +How it had toiled and hurt for him, that little hand, +still rough and scarred!</p> +<p>“Can you ever forgive me?” he pleaded.</p> +<p>“There’s nothing to forgive, Philip. You did not +understand.”</p> +<p>“There! You’re treating me like a child again!” +he protested, smiling contentedly.</p> +<p>“And once you scolded me dreadfully for that!”</p> +<p>“But you were right. I’ve been a child; for +ten years I’ve been a child that thought it was a +man.”</p> +<p>She did not reply to that, fearing to wound him. +So another golden silence fell between them, while he +held her hands, stroking the hard, cracked skin of them. +After a while he brought a chair, and sat close by her +side, and told her all that had been left untold,––about +his boyhood, his ambitions, his ignorance and innocence, +his work in Paris and the future it seemed to +hold for him; and then the girl on the Seine boat, and +what he saw one night in her apartment, and his despair; +his father’s death, and the wanderings that followed; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span> +and how the shy and introspective boy had become +in one day a man of violence and desperation, his +heart full of hatred and bitterness.</p> +<p>“And so I thought, Marion, that you were all alike; +not alike in all things, but the virtuous more dangerous +than the vicious, because more calculating and cold. +You even––I thought you were the most dangerous of +all. I knew you were good, but I said your goodness +was only another form of selfishness, that you had been +reared in luxury, and taught to expect as your right +many things you had never earned and never could earn +or deserve. I said––Wait, dear––I said that the +man who should marry you would be nothing but a +beast of burden, a slave. It was so difficult to believe +you could be content with––”</p> +<p>“With love!” she whispered.</p> +<p>“But <i>can</i> you?” he demanded, a ghost of the old incredulity +rising in spite of all.</p> +<p>“I haven’t told you about Robert,” she said softly. +“He has wealth, and will have much more. He loves +me. He offered me all, to do with it as I wished. I’ve +known him all my life––almost. He’s good too, poor +Robert! But that day, after you’d told me that I +must go back to New York at once, I––”</p> +<p>“Marion!” Haig cried.</p> +<p>“No, listen! I told him that day that I could never +marry him. He couldn’t understand––like you, +Philip. He thought––dear Robert!––he thought +that money––I know it’s what they want most––so +many women. But, Philip, dear heart! Don’t you +know that if a woman really loves there’s nothing she +won’t do––on her hands and knees––to the end of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +the world? And if she has love, what else is there––that +matters?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know,” he answered, “and I couldn’t have +believed it until––that day in the cave, when you fell +ill.”</p> +<p>He told her then of the revelation that had come to +him, and how he had taken her in his arms, in a fury +of love and despair.</p> +<p>“But I thought it was a dream!” she murmured.</p> +<p>“No. I found you then––and myself––and +thought it was too late!”</p> +<p>Later, across the table, when Slim Jim had brought +in the after-dinner coffee, Haig looked at her gravely, +and said:</p> +<p>“May I become very practical for a minute, +Marion?”</p> +<p>“Yes, but not too practical.”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s like this: I’ve got––”</p> +<p>He paused to reach for her hand, to clasp it on the +cloth.</p> +<p>“<i>When</i>, Marion?” he asked, leaning toward her.</p> +<p>“Oh, we must talk with Claire about that, mustn’t +we?” she protested, blushing. Then softly: “She’s +the only mother I’ve got, you see. And besides, there’s +no––”</p> +<p>“No, not even a justice of the peace!” he said, +laughing. “We might strap on our old snowshoes, and +go to Tellurium.”</p> +<p>“The idea!”</p> +<p>“Well, listen. Do you know what I’ve been thinking?”</p> +<p>She shook her head.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span></div> +<p>“Paris.”</p> +<p>“Paris?” she repeated, a little startled, after all +that he had revealed to her.</p> +<p>“Yes. I’ve got a little money in the bank in Tellurium, +and I––”</p> +<p>“You needn’t be so proud of it!” she retorted. +“So have I, in New York. So you needn’t think it’s +your money I’m after, sir!”</p> +<p>They laughed, and then he had both her hands across +the table.</p> +<p>“It isn’t much, I assure you,” he went on. “But +it will do for a while in Paris. I mean––if you will +go with me––to find my old master, or another. You +know, Marion, he said to me many times: ‘You’re +going to be a painter some day, <i>mon petit</i>; you’re going +to do big things, if you’ll work, work, work.’ And +so––”</p> +<p>“You’ll paint again!” she cried. “Oh, and I shall +keep house for you! You may not believe it, but I’m a +splendid cook. But I’ve got to have salt. You must +earn enough to buy salt!”</p> +<p>“I’ll try.”</p> +<p>At that he rose, and went again to the cabinet from +which he had brought the photograph, and returned +with his hands behind his back.</p> +<p>“What do you suppose I’ve got for our mantelpiece––if +we have such a thing in our attic?”</p> +<p>“What in the world, Philip?”</p> +<p>“Shut your eyes, please!”</p> +<p>She obeyed, and in the middle of the table he set +down the tattered and grimy little boot that he had carried +away from the cave.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span></div> +<p>“Now open!” he commanded.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she cried, staring at the eloquent memento.</p> +<p>Then she flung back her head, with a quick indrawing +of her breath, and looked up at him through a +bright mist that gathered in her eyes. And her face +was radiant.</p> +<p>He went quickly to her, and leaned down to kiss her +hair, her eyes, her lips; and her arms crept once more +around his neck.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXI_SANGRE_DE_CRISTO' id='CHAPTER_XXXI_SANGRE_DE_CRISTO'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<h3>SANGRE DE CRISTO</h3> +</div> +<p>Late October in the San Luis, and the raw day +near its close. Across the melancholy flats the +north wind’s plaintive note rose at intervals into a +wailing cry. The thin grasses bent before it, the sagebrush +took on new and fantastic shapes, and danced +like demons to the tune. In gray-brown desolation the +sand dunes rolled away to the foothills, far and violet +and dim. All was cold and bleak and forbidding, and +the sun itself appeared to be retiring eagerly from a +scene so dreary and disheartening.</p> +<p>Then came magic. Sangre de Cristo, sharp against +the eastern sky, began to change its hue. A pink +flush came into the gleaming white. It grew deeper, +darker, more vivid; it spread, and ran in richer and +richer tints along the range. Now it was rose, and +now vermilion, and at last a deep and living scarlet, +staining the snowy slopes, and flowing like new blood +down the gulches and ravines. The foothills caught +the color, and the violets became purple and then red; +the sand dunes caught it, and their gray-browns were +overlaid with crimson; the flats too caught it, and the +sagebrush bending low, and the grass quivering in the +wind were touched with some reflection of that far-reaching +hue. From the green along the river the +color swept, indefinable and dim at first, then by degrees +intensified upon the flats, across the sand dunes, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span> +among the hills until at length it was passionate and +deep and indescribable on the Sangre de Cristo peaks.</p> +<p>A cowboy, searching for lost mavericks, rode slowly +to the top of a low sand dune, reined up his pony, and +sat silent in the midst of this solemn spectacle. He was +not emotional. He was looking for calves, and “sore” +at not finding them, and hungry, and far from the X +bar O; and night was coming on. But he sat still in +his saddle, removed his flopping sombrero, and looked +toward the east. Bareheaded, the wind stinging his +cheek and flinging dry sand in his eyes, he gazed and +wondered at the familiar but never negligible mystery +of Sangre de Cristo.</p> +<p>But suddenly he rose in his stirrups, and shaded his +eyes with his hand to make out what it was that had +caught his vision in that flood of red among the dunes. +Again it came, a flash of yellow in the red. It was +there, and gone. And then it came and lingered, as if +inviting him, like a jewel in the sand, or rather, like a +challenge and a taunt.</p> +<p>“So you’re back, are you?” cried Larkin, of the X +bar O. “Well, you c’n jest stay there. I’m done with +you. You ain’t no horse at all, damn you! You’re a +devil! But I wonder––”</p> +<p>Then Sunnysides was gone. At the same time the +light paled on the distant peaks. The wind blew colder, +and swept the color off the dunes. The flats darkened +under the advancing shades of night. And Larkin, +muttering, put spurs to his pony, and galloped away +toward supper and bed.</p> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>THE END</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='adpage' src='images/illus-ad1.jpg' /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='ad page' src='images/illus-ad2.jpg' /> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0814 --> +<!-- timestamp: Fri Aug 14 09:20:29 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Heart of Thunder Mountain, by Edfrid A. 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