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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/37492-8.txt b/37492-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b2a73f --- /dev/null +++ b/37492-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9306 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Chalice Of Courage, by Cyrus Townsend Brady + +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 Chalice Of Courage + A Romance of Colorado + +Author: Cyrus Townsend Brady + +Illustrator: Harrison Fisher + J. N. Marchand + +Release Date: September 20, 2011 [EBook #37492] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHALICE OF COURAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE CHALICE OF COURAGE + + _A Romance of Colorado_ + + BY CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY + +Author of "The Island of Regeneration," "The Better Man," "Hearts and +the Highway," "As the Sparks Fly Upward," etc., etc. + + + _With Illustrations By + HARRISON FISHER and J. N. MARCHAND_ + + NEW YORK + DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY + 1912 + + COPYRIGHT, 1911 + BY W. G. CHAPMAN + + COPYRIGHT, 1912 + BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY + + _Published, February, 1912_ + + + + + To My Beloved Friend + _JOHN B . WALKER, JR._ + + Great-hearted, Great-souled, High-spirited + Man of Colorado. + + + + +[Illustration: "Leave me to myself, I would not take the finest, noblest +man on earth--"] + + + + +PREFACE + + +Prefaces, like much study, are a weariness to the flesh; to some people, +not to me. I can conceive of no literary proposition more attractive +than the opportunity to write unlimited prefaces. Let me write the +preface and I care not who writes the book. Unfortunately for my +desires, I can only be prefatory in the case of my own. Happily my own +are sufficiently numerous to afford me some scope in the indulgence of +this passion for forewords. + +I suppose no one ever sat down to write a preface until after he had +written the book. It is like the final pat that the fond parent gives to +the child before it is allowed to depart in its best clothes. I have +seen the said parent accompany the child quite a distance on the way, +keeping up a continual process of adjustment of raiment which it was +evidently loath to discontinue. + +And that is my case exactly. Here is the novel with which I have done my +best, which I have written and rewritten after long and earnest thought, +and yet I cannot let it go forth without some final, shall I say caress? +And as it is, I really have nothing of importance to say! The final +pats and pulls and tugs and smoothings do not materially add to the +child's appearance or increase its fascination, and I am at a loss to +find a reason for the preface except it be the converse of the statement +about the famous and much disliked Dr. Fell! + +Perhaps, if I admit to you that I have been in the caņon, that I have +followed the course of the brook, that I have seen that lake, that I +have tramped those trails, it will serve to make you understand, dear +reader, how real and actual it all is to me. Yes, I have even looked +over the precipice down which the woman fell. I have talked with old +Kirkby; Robert Maitland is an intimate friend of mine; I have even met +his brother in Philadelphia and as for that glorious girl Enid--well, +being a married man, I will refrain from any personal appraisement of +her qualities. But I can with propriety dilate upon Newbold, and even +Armstrong, bad as he was, has some place in my regard. + +If these people shall by any chance seem real to you and become your +friends as they are mine, another of those pleasant ties that bind the +author and his public together will have been woven, knotted, forged. +Never mind the method so long as there is a tie. And with this hope, +looking out up the winter snows that might have covered the range, as I +have often seen them there, I bid you a happy good morning. + + CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY + +_St. George's Rectory, Kansas City, Missouri._ + +_Thanksgiving Day, 1911._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + BOOK I + + THE HIGHER LAW + + I THE CUP THAT WOULD NOT PASS 1 + II ALONE UPON THE TRAIL 16 + + + BOOK II + + THE EAST AND THE WEST + + III THE YOUNG LADY FROM PHILADELPHIA 29 + IV THE GAME PLAYED IN THE USUAL WAY 43 + V THE STORY AND THE LETTERS 55 + VI THE POOL AND THE WATER SPRITE 72 + VII THE BEAR, THE MAN AND THE FLOOD 88 + VIII DEATH, LIFE AND THE RESURRECTION 101 + + + BOOK III + + FORGETTING AND FORGOT + + IX A WILD DASH FOR THE HILLS 123 + X A TELEGRAM AND A CALLER 136 + XI OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY 149 + XII ON THE TWO SIDES OF THE DOOR 166 + XIII THE LOG HUT IN THE MOUNTAINS 179 + XIV A TOUR OF INSPECTION 193 + XV THE CASTAWAYS OF THE MOUNTAINS 203 + + + BOOK IV + + OH YE ICE AND SNOW, PRAISE YE THE LORD + + XVI THE WOMAN'S HEART 223 + XVII THE MAN'S HEART 236 + XVIII THE KISS ON THE HAND 248 + XIX THE FACE IN THE LOCKET 261 + XX THE STRENGTH OF THE WEAK 276 + + + BOOK V + + THE CUP IS DRAINED + + XXI THE CHALLENGE OF THE RANGE 291 + XXII THE CONVERGING TRAILS 310 + XXIII THE ODDS AGAINST HIM 327 + XXIV THE LAST RESORT OF KINGS AND MEN 339 + XXV THE BECOMING END 357 + XXVI THE DRAUGHT OF JOY 368 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"LEAVE ME TO MYSELF, I WOULD NOT TAKE THE +FINEST, NOBLEST MAN ON EARTH--" _FRONTISPIECE_ + +"READ THE LETTERS," HE SAID. "THEY'LL TELL +THE STORY. GOOD-NIGHT." _FACING PAGE_ 70 + +"WAIT! I AM A WOMAN, ABSOLUTELY ALONE, +ENTIRELY AT YOUR MERCY" " " 156 + +IT WAS ALL UP WITH ARMSTRONG " " 354 + + + + +THE CHALICE OF COURAGE + +(Courtesy of _The Outlook_) + + + Drink of the Chalice of Courage! + Pressed to the trembling lip, + The dark-veiled fears + From the passing years, + Like a dusty garment slip. + + Drink of the Chalice of Courage! + Poured for the Hero's feast, + When the strength divine + Of its subtle wine + Is shared with the last and least. + + Drink of the Chalice of Courage! + The mead of mothers and men, + And the sinewed might + Of the Victor's might, + Be yours, again and again. + + Marie Hemstreet + + + + +BOOK I + +THE HIGHER LAW + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE CUP THAT WOULD NOT PASS + + +The huge concave of the rocky wall towering above them threw the woman's +scream far into the vast profound of the caņon. It came sharp to the +man's ear, yet terminated abruptly; as when two rapidly moving trains +pass, the whistle of one is heard shrill for one moment only to be cut +short on the instant. Brief as it was, however, the sound was +sufficiently appalling; its suddenness, its unexpectedness, the awful +terror in its single note, as well as its instantaneity, almost stopped +his heart. + +With the indifference of experience and long usage he had been riding +carelessly along an old pre-historic trail through the caņon, probably +made and forgotten long before the Spaniards spied out the land. +Engrossed in his thoughts, he had been heedless alike of the wall above +and of the wall below. Prior to that moment neither the over-hanging +rock that curved above his head nor the almost sheer fall to the river a +thousand feet beneath the narrow ledge of the trail had influenced him +at all. He might have been riding a country road so indifferent had +been his progress. That momentary shriek dying thinly away into a +strange silence changed everything. + +The man was riding a sure-footed mule, which perhaps somewhat accounted +for his lack of care, and it seemed as if the animal must also have +heard and understood the meaning of the woman's scream, for with no +bridle signal and no spoken word the mule stopped suddenly as if +petrified. Rider and ridden stood as if carved from stone. + +The man's comprehending, realizing fear almost paralyzed him. At first +he could scarcely force himself to do that toward which his whole being +tended--look around. Divining instantly the full meaning of that sudden +cry, it seemed hours before he could turn his head; really her cry and +his movement were practically simultaneous. He threw an agonized glance +backward on the narrow trail and saw--nothing! Where there had been +life, companionship, comradeship, a woman, there was now vacancy. + +The trail made a little bend behind him, he could see its surface for +some distance, but not what lay beneath. He did not need the testimony +of his eyes for that. He knew what was down there. + +It seemed to his distorted perceptions that he moved slowly, his limbs +were like lead, every joint was as stiff as a rusty hinge. Actually he +dropped from the mule's back with reckless and life-defying haste and +fairly leaped backward on his path. Had there been any to note his +progress, they would have said he risked his own life over every foot of +the way. He ran down the narrow shelf, rock strewn and rough, swaying +upon the unfathomable brink until he reached the place where she had +been a moment since. There he dropped on one knee and looked downward. + +She was there! A few hundred feet below the trail edge the caņon wall, +generally a sheer precipice, broadened out into a great butte, or +buttress, which sloped somewhat more gently to the foaming, roaring +river far beneath. About a hundred and fifty feet under him a stubby +spur with a pocket on it jutted out from the face of the cliff; she had +evidently struck on that spur and bounded off and fallen, half rolling, +to the broad top of the butte two hundred or more feet below the pocket. + +Three hundred and fifty feet down to where she lay he could distinguish +little except a motionless huddled mass. The bright blue of her dress +made a splotch of unwonted color against the reddish brown monotones of +the mountain side and caņon wall. She was dead, of course; she must be +dead, the man felt. From that distance he could see no breathing, if +such there were; indeed as he stared she grew less and less distinct to +him, his eyes did not fill with tears, but to his vision the very earth +itself, the vast depths of the caņon, the towering wall on the other +side, seemed to quiver and heave before him. For the first time in his +life the elevation made him dizzy, sick. He put his hands to his face to +shut out the sight, he tore them away to look again. He lifted his eyes +toward the other side across the great gulf to the opposing wall which +matched the one upon which he stood, where the blue sky cloudless +overhung. + +"God!" he whispered in futile petition or mayhap expostulation. + +He was as near the absolute breaking point as a man may go and yet not +utterly give way, for he loved this woman as he loved that light of +heaven above him, and in the twinkling of an eye she was no more. And so +he stared and stared dumbly agonizing, wondering, helpless, misty-eyed, +blind. + +He sank back from the brink at last and tried to collect his thoughts. +What was he to do? There was but one answer to that question. He must +go down to her. There was one quick and easy way; over the brink, the +way she had gone. That thought came to him for a moment, but he put it +away. He was not a coward, life was not his own to give or to take, +besides she might be alive, she might need him. There must be some other +way. + +Determining upon action, his resolution rose dominant, his vision +cleared. Once again he forced himself to look over the edge and see +other things than she. He was a daring, skillful and experienced +mountaineer; in a way mountaineering was his trade. He searched the side +of the caņon to the right and the left with eager scrutiny and found no +way within the compass of his vision to the depths below. He shut his +eyes and concentrated his thoughts to remember what they had passed over +that morning. There came to him the recollection of a place which as he +had viewed it he had idly thought might afford a practicable descent to +the river's rim. + +Forgetful of the patient animal beside him, he rose to his feet and with +one last look at the poor object below started on his wild plunge down +the trail over which some men might scarcely have crept on hands and +knees. Sweat bedewed his forehead, his limbs trembled, his pulses +throbbed, his heart beat almost to bursting. Remorse sharpened by love, +passion quickened by despair, scourged him, desperate, on the way. And +God protected him also, or he had fallen at every uncertain, hurried, +headlong step. + +And as he ran, thoughts, reproaches, scourged him on. Why had he brought +her, why had he allowed her to take that trail which but for him and for +her had probably not been traversed by man or woman or beast, save the +mountain sheep, the gray wolves, or the grizzly bear, for five hundred +years. She had protested that she was as good a mountaineer as he--and +it was true--and she had insisted on accompanying him; he recollected +that there had been a sort of terror in her urgency,--he must take her, +he must not leave her alone, she had pleaded; he had objected, but he +had yielded, the joy of her companionship had meant so much to him in +his lonely journeying, and now--he accused himself bitterly as he surged +onward. + +After a time the man forced himself to observe the road, he discovered +that in an incredibly short period, perhaps an hour, he had traversed +what it had taken them four times as long to pass over that very day. He +must be near his goal. Ah, there it was at last, and in all the turmoil +and torture of his brain he found room for a throb of satisfaction when +he came upon the broken declivity. Yes, it did afford a practicable +descent; some landslide centuries back had made there a sort of rude, +rough, broken, megalithic stairway in the wall of the caņon. The man +threw himself upon it and with bleeding hands, bruised limbs and torn +clothing descended to the level of the river. + +Two atoms to the eye of the Divine, in that vast rift in the gigantic +mountains. One unconscious, motionless, save for faint gasping breaths; +the other toiling blindly along the river bank, fortunately here +affording practicable going, to the foot of the great butte upon whose +huge shoulder the other lay. The living and the dead in the waste and +the wilderness of the everlasting hills. + +Unconsciously but unerringly the man had fixed the landmarks in his mind +before he started on that terrific journey. Without a moment of +incertitude, or hesitation, he proceeded directly to the base of the +butte and as rapidly as if he had been fresh for the journey and the +endeavor. Up he climbed without a pause for rest. It was a desperate +going, almost sheer at times, but his passion found the way. He clawed +and tore at the rocks like an animal, he performed feats of strength and +skill and determination and reckless courage marvelous and impossible +under less exacting demands. Somehow or other he got to the top at last; +perhaps no man in all the ages since the world's first morning when God +Himself upheaved the range had so achieved that goal. + +The last ascent was up a little stretch of straight rock over which he +had to draw himself by main strength and determination. He fell panting +on the brink, but not for a moment did he remain prone; he got to his +feet at once and staggered across the plateau which made the head of the +butte toward the blue object on the further side beneath the wall of the +cliff above, and in a moment he bent over what had been--nay, as he saw +the slow choking uprise of her breast, what was--his wife. + +He knelt down beside her and looked at her for a moment, scarce daring +to touch her. Then he lifted his head and flung a glance around the +caņon as if seeking help from man. As he did so he became aware, below +him on the slope, of the dead body of the poor animal she had been +riding, whose misstep, from whatever cause he would never know, had +brought this catastrophe upon them. + +Nothing else met his gaze but the rocks, brown, gray, relieved here and +there by green clumps of stunted pine. Nothing met his ear except far +beneath him the roar of the river, now reduced almost to a murmur, with +which the shivering leaves of aspens, rustled by the gentle breeze of +this glorious morning, blended softly like a sigh of summer. No, there +was nobody in the caņon, no help there. He threw his head back and +stretched out his arms toward the blue depths of the heavens above, to +the tops of the soaring peaks, and there was nothing there but the +eternal silence of a primeval day. + +"God! God!" he murmured again in his despair. + +It was the final word that comes to human lips in the last extremity +when life and its hopes and its possibilities tremble on the verge. And +no answer came to this poor man out of that vast void. + +He bent to the woman again. What he saw can hardly be described. Her +right arm and her left leg were bent backward and under her. They were +shattered, evidently. He was afraid to examine her and yet he knew that +practically every other bone in her body was broken as well. Her head +fell lower than her shoulders, the angle which she made with the uneven +rock on which she lay convinced him that her back was broken too. Her +clothing was rent by her contact with the rocky spur above, it was torn +from the neck downward, exposing a great red scar which ran across her +sweet white young breast, blood oozing from it, while in the middle of +it something yellow and bright gleamed in the light. Her cheek was cut +open, her glorious hair, matted, torn and bloody, was flung backward +from her down-thrown head. + +She should have been dead a thousand times, but she yet lived, she +breathed, her ensanguined bosom rose and fell. Through her pallid lips +bloody foam bubbled, she was still alive. + +The man must do something. He did not dare to move her body, yet he took +off his hat, folded it, lifted her head tenderly and slipped it +underneath; it made a better pillow than the hard rock, he thought. Then +he tore his handkerchief from his neck and wiped away the foam from her +lips. In his pocket he had a flask of whiskey, a canteen of water that +hung from his shoulder somehow had survived the rough usage of the +rocks. He mingled some of the water with a portion of the spirit in the +cup of the flask and poured a little down her throat. Tenderly he took +his handkerchief again, and wetting it laved her brow. Except to mutter +incoherent prayers again and again he said no word, but his heart was +filled with passionate endearments, he lavished agonized and infinite +tenderness upon her in his soul. + +By and by she opened her eyes. In those eyes first of all he saw +bewilderment, and then terror and then anguish so great that it cannot +be described, pain so horrible that it is not good for man even to think +upon it. Incredible as it may seem, her head moved, her lips relaxed, +her set jaw unclenched, her tongue spoke thickly. + +"God!" she said. + +The same word that he had used, that final word that comes to the lips +when the heart is wrung, or the body is racked beyond human endurance. +The universal testimony to the existence of the Divine, that trouble and +sometimes trouble alone, wrings from man. No human name, not even his, +upon her lips in that first instant of realization! + +"How I--suffer," she faltered weakly. + +Her eyes closed again, the poor woman had told her God of her condition, +that was all she was equal to. Man and human relationships might come +later. The man knelt by her side, his hands upraised. + +"Louise," he whispered, "speak to me." + +Her eyes opened again. + +"Will," the anguished voice faltered on, "I am--broken--to pieces--kill +me. I can't stand--kill me"--her voice rose with a sudden fearful +appeal--"kill me." + +Then the eyes closed and this time they did not open, although now he +overwhelmed her with words, alas, all he had to give her. At last his +passion, his remorse, his love, gushing from him in a torrent of frantic +appeal awakened her again. She looked him once more in the face and once +more begged him for that quick relief he alone could give. + +"Kill me." + +That was her only plea. There has been One and only One, who could +sustain such crucifying anguish as she bore without such appeal being +wrested from the lips, yet even He, upon His cross, for one moment, +thought God had forsaken and forgotten Him! + +She was silent, but she was not dead. She was speechless, but she was +not unconscious, for she opened her eyes and looked at him with such +pitiful appeal that he would fain hide his face as he could not bear it, +and yet again and again as he stared down into her eyes he caught that +heart breaking entreaty, although now she made no sound. Every twisted +bone, every welling vein, every scarred and marred part on once smooth +soft flesh was eloquent of that piteous petition for relief. "Kill me" +she seemed to say in her voiceless agony. Agony the more appalling +because at last it could make no sound. + +He could not resist that appeal. He fought against it, but the demand +came to him with more and more terrific force until he could no longer +oppose it. That cup was tendered to him and he must drain it. No more +from his lips than from the lips of Him of the Garden could it be +withdrawn. Out of that chalice he must drink. It could not pass. Slowly, +never taking his eyes from her, as a man might who was fascinated or +hypnotized, he lifted his hand to his holster and drew out his revolver. + +No, he could not do it. He laid the weapon down on the rock again and +bowed forward on his knees, praying incoherently, protesting that God +should place this burden on mere man. In the silence he could hear the +awful rasp of her breath--the only answer. He looked up to find her eyes +upon him again. + +Life is a precious thing, to preserve it men go to the last limit. In +defense of it things are permitted that are permitted in no other case. +Is it ever nobler to destroy it than to conserve it? Was this such an +instance? What were the conditions? + +There was not a human being, white or red, within five days' journey +from the spot where these two children of malign destiny confronted +each other. That poor huddled broken mass of flesh and bones could not +have been carried a foot across that rocky slope without suffering +agonies beside which all the torture that might be racking her now would +be as nothing. He did not dare even to lay hand upon her to straighten +even one bent and twisted limb, he could not even level or compose her +body where she lay. He almost felt that he had been guilty of +unpardonable cruelty in giving her the stimulant and recalling her to +consciousness. Nor could he leave her where she was, to seek and bring +help to her. With all the speed that frantic desire, and passionate +adoration, and divine pity, would lend to him, it would be a week before +he could return, and by that time the wolves and the vultures--he could +not think that sentence to completion. That way madness lay. + +The woman was doomed, no mortal could survive her wounds, but she might +linger for days while high fever and inflammation supervened. And each +hour would add to her suffering. God was merciful to His Son, Christ +died quickly on the cross, mere man sometimes hung there for days. + +All these things ran like lightning through his brain. His hand closed +upon the pistol, the eternal anodyne. No, he could not. And the +tortured eyes were open again, it seemed as if the woman had summoned +strength for a final appeal. + +"Will," she whispered, "if you--love me--kill me." + +He thrust the muzzle of his weapon against her heart, she could see his +movement and for a moment gratitude and love shone in her eyes, and then +with a hand that did not tremble, he pulled the trigger. + +A thousand thunder claps could not have roared in his ear with such +detonation. And he had done it! He had slain the thing he loved! Was it +in obedience to a higher law even than that writ on the ancient tables +of stone? + +For a moment he thought incoherently, the pistol fell from his hand, his +eyes turned to her face, her eyes were open still, but there was neither +pain, nor appeal, nor love, nor relief in them; there was no light in +them; only peace, calm, darkness, rest. His hand went out to them and +drew the lids down, and as he did so, something gave way in him and he +fell forward across the red, scarred white breast that no longer either +rose or fell. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +ALONE UPON THE TRAIL + + +They had started from their last camp early in the morning. It had been +mid-day when she fell and long after noon when he killed her and lapsed +into merciful oblivion. It was dusk in the caņon when he came to life +again. The sun was still some distance above the horizon, but the +jutting walls of the great pass cut off the light, the butte top was in +ever deepening shadow. + +I have often wondered what were the feelings of Lazarus when he was +called back to life by the great cry of his Lord. "Hither--Out!" Could +that transition from the newer way of death to the older habit of living +have been accomplished without exquisite anguish and pain, brief, +sudden, but too sacred, like his other experiences, to dwell upon in +mortal hours? + +What he of Bethany might perhaps have experienced this man felt long +after under other circumstances. The enormous exertions of the day, the +cruel bruises and lacerations to which clothes and body gave evidence, +the sick, giddy, uncertain, helpless, feeling that comes when one +recovers consciousness after such a collapse, would have been hard +enough to bear; but he took absolutely no account of any of these things +for, as he lifted himself on his hands, almost animal-like for a moment, +from the cold body of his wife, everything came across him with a +sudden, terrific, overwhelming, rush of recollection. + +She was dead, and he had killed her. There were reasons, arguments, +excuses, for his course; he forgot them confronted by that grim, +terrific, tragic fact. The difference between that mysterious thing so +incapable of human definition which we call life, and that other +mysterious thing equally insusceptible of explanation which we call +death, is so great that when the two confront each other the most +indifferent is awed by the contrast. Many a man and many a woman prays +by the bedside of some agonized sufferer for a surcease of anguish only +to be brought about by death, by a dissolution of soul and body, +beseeching God of His mercy for the oblivion of the last, long, quiet, +sleep; but when the prayer has been granted, and the living eyes look +into the dead, the beating heart bends over the still one--it is a hard +soul indeed which has the strength not to wish again for a moment, one +little moment of life, to whisper one word of abiding love, to hear one +word of fond farewell. + +Since that is true, what could this man think whose hand had pointed the +weapon and pulled the trigger and caused that great gaping hole through +what had once been a warm and loving heart? God had laid upon him a +task, than which none had ever been heavier on the shoulders of man, and +he did not think as he stared at her wildly that God had given him at +the same time strength to bear his burden. + +Later, it might be that cold reason would come to his aid and justify +him for what he had done, but now, now, he only realized that she was +dead, and he had killed her. He forgot her suffering in his own anguish +and reproach of himself. He found time to marvel at himself with a +strange sort of wonder. How could he have done it. + +Something broke the current of his thoughts, and it was good for him +that it was so. He heard a swish through the air and he looked away from +his dead wife in the direction of the sound. A little distance off upon +a pinnacle of rock he saw a vulture, a hideous, horrible, unclean, +carrion bird. While he watched, another and another settled softly down. +He rose to his feet and far beneath him from the tree clad banks of the +river the long howl of a wolf smote upon his ear. Gluttony and rapine +were at hand. Further down the declivity the body of the dead mule was +the object of the converging attack from earth and air. The threat of +that attack stirred him to life. + +There were things he had to do. The butte top was devoid of earth or +much vegetation, yet here and there in hollows where water settled or +drained, soft green moss grew. He stooped over and lifted the body of +the woman. She seemed to fall together loosely and almost break within +his hands--it was evidence of what the fall had done for her, +justification for his action, too, if he had been in a mood to reason +about it, but his only thought then was of how she must have suffered. +By a strange perversion he had to fight against the feeling that she was +suffering now. He laid her gently and tenderly down in a deep hollow in +the rock shaped almost to contain her. He straightened her poor twisted +limbs. He arranged with decent care the ragged dress, covering over the +torn breast and the frightful wound above her heart. With the last of +the water in the canteen, he washed her face, he could not wash out the +scar of course. With rude unskillful hands, yet with pitiable +tenderness, he strove to arrange her blood-matted hair, he pillowed her +head upon his hat again. + +Sometimes the last impression of life is stamped on the face of death, +sometimes we see in the awful fixity of feature that attends upon +dissolution, the index of the agony in which life has passed, but more +often, thank God, death lays upon pain and sorrow a smoothing, calming +hand. It was so in this instance. There was a great peace, a great +relief, in the face he looked upon; this poor woman had been tortured +not only in body, that he knew, but she had suffered anguish of soul of +which he was unaware, and death, had it come in gentler form would +perhaps not have been unwelcome. That showed in her face. There was +dignity, composure, surcease of care, repose--the rest that shall be +forever! + +The man had done all that he could for her. Stop, there was one thing +more; he knelt down by her side, he was not what we commonly call a +religious man, the habit that he had learned at his mother's knee he had +largely neglected in maturer years, but he had not altogether forgotten, +and even the atheist--and he was far from that--might have prayed then. + +"God, accept her," he murmured. "Christ receive her,"--that was all but +it was enough. + +He remained by her side some time looking at her; he would fain have +knelt there forever; he would have been happy at that moment if he +could have lain down by her and had someone do for them both the last +kindly office he was trying to do for her. But that was not to be, and +the growing darkness warned him to make haste. The wolf barks were +sharper and nearer, he stooped over her, bent low and laid his face +against hers. Oh that cold awful touch of long farewell. He tore himself +away from her, lifted from her neck a little object that had gleamed so +prettily amid the red blood. It was a locket. He had never seen it +before and had no knowledge of what it might contain. He kissed it, +slipped it into the pocket of his shirt and rose to his feet. + +The plateau was strewn with rock; working rapidly and skillfully he +built a burial mound of stone over her body. The depression in which she +lay was deep enough to permit no rock to touch her person. The cairn, if +such it may be called, was soon completed. No beast of the earth or bird +of the air could disturb what was left of his wife. It seemed so piteous +to him to think of her so young, and so sweet and so fair, so soft and +so tender, so brave and so true, lying alone in the vast of the caņon, +weighted down by the great rocks that love's hands had heaped above her. +But there was no help for it. + +Gathering up the revolver and canteen he turned and fell rather than +climbed to the level of the river. It was quite dark in the depths of +the caņon, but he pressed rapidly on over the uneven and broken rocks +until he reached the giant stairway. Up them he toiled painfully until +he attained again the trail. + +It was dark when he reached the wooded recess where they had slept the +night before. There were grass and trees, a bubbling spring, an oasis +amid the desert of rocks; he found the ashes of their fire and gathering +wood heaped it upon the still living embers until the blaze rose and +roared. He realized at last that he was weary beyond measure, he had +gone through the unendurable since the morning. He threw himself down +alone where they had lain together the night before and sought in vain +for sleep. In his ears he heard that sharp, sudden, breaking cry once +more, and her voice begging him to kill her. He heard again the rasp of +her agonized breathing, the crashing detonation of the weapon. He +writhed with the anguish of it all. Dry-eyed he arose at last and +stretched out his hands to that heaven that had done so little for him +he thought. + +Long after midnight he fell into a sort of uneasy, restless stupor. The +morning sun of the new and desolate day recalled him to action. He arose +to his feet and started mechanically down the trail alone--always and +forever alone. Yet God was with him though he knew it not. + +Four days later a little party of men winding through the foothills came +upon a wavering, ghastly, terrifying figure. Into the mining town two +days before had wandered a solitary mule, scraps of harness dangling +from it. They had recognized it as one of a pair the man had purchased +for a proposed journey far into the unsurveyed and inaccessible +mountains--to hunt for the treasures hidden within their granite +breasts. It told too plainly a story of disaster. A relief party had +been hurriedly organized to search for the two, one of whom was much +beloved in the rude frontier camp. + +The man they met on the way was the man they had come to seek. His boots +were cut to pieces, his feet were raw and bleeding for he had taken no +care to order his going or to choose his way. His clothes were in rags, +through rents and tatters his emaciated body showed its discolored +bruises. His hands were swollen and soiled with wounds and the stains of +the way. The front of his shirt was sadly and strangely discolored. He +was hatless, his hair was gray, his face was as white as the snow on the +crest of the peak, his lips were bloodless yet his eyes blazed with +fever. + +For four days without food and with but little water this man had +plodded down the mountain toward the camp. All his energies were merged +in one desire, to come in touch with humanity and tell his awful story; +the keeping of it to himself, which he must do perforce because he was +alone in the world, added to the difficulty of endurance. The sun had +beaten down upon him piteously during the day. The cold dew had drenched +him in the night. Apparitions had met his vision alike in the darkness +and in the light. Voices had whispered to him as he plodded on. But +something had sustained him in spite of the awful drain, physical and +mental, which had wasted him away. Something had sustained him until he +came in touch with men, thereafter the duty would devolve upon his +brethren not upon himself. + +They caught him as he staggered into the group of them, these Good +Samaritans of the frontier; they undressed him and washed him, they +bound up his wounds and ministered to him, they laid him gently down +upon the ground, they bent over him tenderly and listened to him while +he told in broken, disjointed words the awful story, of her plunge into +the caņon, of his search for her, of her last appeal to him. And then he +stopped. + +"What then?" asked one of the men bending over him as he hesitated. + +"God forgive me--I shot her--through the heart." + +There was appalling stillness in the little group of rough men, while he +told them where she lay and begged them to go and bring back what was +left of her. + +"You must bring her--back," he urged pitifully. + +None of the men had ever been up the caņon, but they knew of its +existence and the twin peaks of which he had told them could be seen +from afar. He had given them sufficient information to identify the +place and to enable them to go and bring back the body for Christian +burial. Now these rude men of the mining camp had loved that woman as +men love a bright and cheery personality which dwelt among them. + +"Yes," answered the spokesman, "but what about you?" + +"I shall be--a dead man," was the murmured answer, "and I don't care--I +shall be glad--" + +He had no more speech and no more consciousness after that. It was a +sardonic comment on the situation that the last words that fell from his +lips then should be those words of joy. + +"Glad, glad!" + + + + +BOOK II + +THE EAST AND THE WEST + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE YOUNG LADY FROM PHILADELPHIA + + +Miss Enid Maitland was a highly specialized product of the far east. I +say far, viewing Colorado as a point of departure not as identifying her +with the orient. The classic shades of Bryn Mawr had been the "Groves of +Academus where with old Plato she had walked." Incidentally during her +completion of the exhaustive curriculum of that justly famous +institution she had acquired at least a bowing acquaintance with other +masters of the mind. + +Nor had the physical in her education been sacrificed to the mental. In +her at least the _mens sana_ and the _corpore sano_ were alike in +evidence. She had ridden to hounds many times on the anise-scented trail +of the West Chester Hunt! Exciting tennis and leisurely golf had engaged +her attention on the courts and greens of the Merion Cricket Club. She +had buffeted "Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste" on the beach at +Cape May and at Atlantic City. + +Spiritually she was a devoted member of the Episcopal Church, of the +variety that abhors the word "Protestant" in connection therewith. +Altogether she reflected great credit upon her pastors and masters, +spiritual and temporal, and her up-bringing in the three departments of +life left little to be desired. + +Upon her graduation she had been at once received and acclaimed by the +"Assembly Set," of Philadelphia, to which indeed she belonged +unquestioned by right of birth and position--and there was no other +power under heaven by which she could have effected entrance therein; at +least that is what the "outs" thought of that most exclusive circle. The +old home of the Maitlands overlooking Rittenhouse Square had been the +scene of her début. In all the refined and decorous gayeties of +Philadelphia's ultra-fastidious society she had participated. She had +even looked upon money standardized New York in its delirium of +extravagance, at least in so far as a sedate and well-born Philadelphia +family could countenance such golden madness. During the year she had +ranged like a conqueror--pardon the masculine appellation--between Palm +Beach in the South and Bar Harbor in the North. Philadelphia was proud +of her, and she was not unknown in those unfortunate parts of the United +States which lay without. + +In all this she had remained a frank, free, unspoiled young woman. Life +was full of zest for her, and she enjoyed it with the most +un-Pennsylvanian enthusiasm. + +The second summer after her coming out found her in Colorado. Robert +Maitland was one of the big men of the west. He had departed from +Philadelphia at an early age and had settled in Colorado while it was +still in the formative period. There he had grown up with the state. The +Philadelphia Maitlands could never understand it or explain it. Bob +Maitland must have been, they argued, a reversion to an ancient type, a +throwback to some robber baron long antecedent to William Penn. And the +speculation was true. The blood of some lawless adventurer of the past, +discreetly forgot by the conservative section of the family, bubbled in +his veins unchecked by the repressive atmosphere of his home and his +early environment. + +He had thoroughly identified himself with his new surroundings and had +plunged into all the activities of the west. During one period in his +life he had actually served as sheriff of one of the border counties, +and it was a rapid "bad man" indeed, who enjoyed any advantage over him +when it came to drawing his "gun." His skill and daring had been +unquestioned. He had made a name for himself which still abides, +especially in the mountains where things yet remained almost as +primitive as they had been from the beginning. + +His fame had been accompanied by fortune, too; the cattle upon a +thousand hills were his, the treasures of mines of fabulous richness +were at his command. He lived in Denver in one of the greatest of the +bonanza palaces on the hills of that city, confronting the snow-capped +mountain range. For the rest he held stock in all sorts of corporations, +was a director in numerous concerns and so on--the reader can supply the +usual catalogue, they are all alike. He had married late in life and was +the father of two little girls and a boy, the oldest sixteen and the +youngest ten. + +Going east, which he did not love, on an infrequent business trip he had +renewed his acquaintance with his brother and the one ewe lamb of his +brother's flock, to wit, the aforementioned Enid. He had been struck, as +everybody was, by the splendid personality of the girl and had striven +earnestly to disabuse her mind of the prevalent idea that there was +nothing much worth while on the continent beyond the Alleghanies except +scenery. + +"What you need, Enid, is a ride across the plains, a sight of real +mountains, beside which these little foothills in Pennsylvania that +people back here make so much of wouldn't be noticed. You want to get +some of the spirited glorious freedom of the west into your conservative +straight-laced little body!" + +"In my day, Robert," reprovingly remarked his brother, Enid's father, +"freedom was the last thing a young lady gently born and delicately +nurtured would have coveted." + +"Your day is past, Steve," returned the younger Maitland with shocking +carelessness. "Freedom is what every woman desires now, especially when +she is married. You are not in love with anybody are you, Enid?" + +"With not a soul," frankly replied the girl, greatly amused at the +colloquy between the two men, who though both mothered by the same woman +were as dissimilar as--what shall I say, the east is from the west? Let +it go at that. + +"That's all right," said her uncle, relieved apparently. "I will take +you out west and introduce you to some real men and--" + +"If I thought it possible," interposed Mr. Stephen Maitland in his most +austere and dignified manner, "that my daughter," with a perceptible +emphasis on the "my," as if he and not the daughter were the principal +being under consideration, "should ever so far forget what belongs to +her station in life and her family as to allow her affections to become +engaged by anyone who, from his birth and up-bringing in the +er--ah--unlicensed atmosphere of the western country would be _persona +non grata_ to the dignified society of this ancient city and--" + +"Nonsense," interrupted the younger brother bluntly. "You have lived +here wrapped up in yourselves and your dinky little town so long that +mental asphyxiation is threatening you all." + +"I will thank you, Robert," said his brother with something approaching +the manner in which he would have repelled a blasphemy, "not to refer to +Philadelphia as--er--What was your most extraordinary word?" + +"'Dinky,' if my recollection serves." + +"Ah, precisely. I am not sure as to the meaning of the term but I +conceive it to be something opprobrious. You can say what you like about +me and mine, but Philadelphia, no." + +"Oh, the town's right enough," returned his brother, not at all +impressed. "I'm talking about people now. There are just as fine men and +women in the west as in New York or Philadelphia." + +"I am sure you don't mean to be offensive, Robert, but really the +association of ideas in your mention of us with that common and vulgar +New York is er--unpleasant," fairly shuddered the elder Maitland. + +"I'm only urging you to recognize the quality of the western people. I +dare say they are of a finer type than the average here." + +"From your standpoint, no doubt," continued his brother severely and +somewhat wearily as if the matter were not worth all this argument. "All +that I want of them is that they stay in the west where they belong and +not strive to mingle with the east; there is a barrier between us and +them which it is not well to cross. To permit any intermixtures of +er--race or--" + +"The people out there are white, Steve," interrupted his brother +sardonically. "I wasn't contemplating introducing Enid here to Chinese, +or Negroes, or Indians, or--" + +"Don't you see," said Mr. Stephen Maitland, stubbornly waving aside this +sarcastic and irrelevant comment, "from your very conversation the vast +gulf that there is between you and me? Although you had every advantage +in life that birth can give you, we are--I mean you have changed so +greatly," he had quickly added, loath to offend. + +But he mistook the light in his brother's eyes, it was a twinkle not a +flash. Robert Maitland laughed, laughed with what his brother conceived +to be indecorous boisterousness. + +"How little you know of the bone and sinew of this country, Steve," he +exclaimed presently. Robert Maitland could not comprehend how it +irritated his stately brother to be called "Steve." Nobody ever spoke of +him but as Stephen Maitland--"But Lord, I don't blame you," continued +the Westerner. "Any man whose vision is barred by a foothill couldn't be +expected to know much of the main range and what's beyond." + +"There isn't any danger of my falling in love with anybody," said Enid +at last, with all the confidence of two triumphant social seasons. "I +think I must be immune even to dukes," she said gayly. + +"I referred to worthy young Americans of--" began her father who, to do +him justice, was so satisfied with his own position that no foreign +title 'dazzled' him in the least degree. + +"Rittenhouse Square," cut in Robert Maitland with amused sarcasm. "Well, +Enid, you seem to have run the gamut of the east pretty thoroughly, come +out and spend the summer with me in Colorado. My Denver house is open to +you, we have a ranch amid the foothills, or if you are game we can +break away from civilization entirely and find some unexplored, unknown +caņon in the heart of the mountains and camp there. We'll get back to +nature, which seems to be impossible in Philadelphia, and you will see +things and learn things that you will never see or learn anywhere else. +It'll do you good, too; from what I hear, you have been going the pace +and those cheeks of yours are a little too pale for so splendid a girl, +you look too tired under the eyes for youth and beauty." + +"I believe I am not very fit," said the girl, "and if father will +permit--" + +"Of course, of course," said Stephen Maitland. "You are your own +mistress anyway, and having no mother"--Enid's mother had died in her +infancy--"I suppose that I could not interfere or object if I wished to, +but no marrying or giving in marriage: Remember that." + +"Nonsense, father," answered the young woman lightly. "I am not anxious +to assume the bonds of wedlock." + +"Well, that settles it," said Robert Maitland. "We'll give you a royal +good time. I must run up to New York and Boston for a few days, but I +shall be back in a week and I can pick you up then." + +"What is the house in Denver, is it er--may I ask, provided with all +modern conveniences and--" began the elder Maitland nervously. + +Robert Maitland laughed. + +"What do you take us for, Steve? Do you ever read the western +newspapers?" + +"I confess that I have not given much thought to the west since I +studied geography and--_The Philadelphia Ledger_ has been thought +sufficient for the family since--" + +"Gracious!" exclaimed Maitland. "The house cost half a million dollars +if you must know it, and if there is anything that modern science can +contribute to comfort and luxury that isn't in it, I don't know what it +is. Shall it be the house in Denver, or the ranch, or a real camp in the +wilds, Enid?" + +"First the house in Denver," said Enid, "and then the ranch and then the +mountains." + +"Right O! That shall be the program." + +"Will my daughter's life be perfectly safe from the Cowboys, Indians and +Desperadoes?" + +"Quite safe," answered Robert, with deep gravity. "The cowboys no longer +shoot up the city and it has been years since the Indians have held up +even a trolley car. The only real desperado in my acquaintance is the +mildest, gentlest old stage driver in the west." + +"Do you keep up an acquaintance with men of that class, still?" asked +his brother in great surprise. + +"You know I was Sheriff in a border county for a number of years and--" + +"But you must surely have withdrawn from all such society now." + +"Out west," said Robert Maitland, "when we know a man and like him, when +we have slept by him on the plains, ridden with him through the +mountains, fought with him against some border terror, some bad man +thirsting to kill, we don't forget him, we don't cut his acquaintance, +and it doesn't make any difference whether the one or the other of us is +rich or poor. I have friends who can't frame a grammatical sentence, who +habitually eat with their knives, yet who are absolutely devoted to me +and I to them. The man is the thing out there." He smiled and turned to +Enid. "Always excepting the supremacy of woman," he added. + +"How fascinating!" exclaimed the girl. "I want to go there right away." + +And this was the train of events which brought about the change. Behold +the young lady astride of a horse for the first time in her life in a +divided skirt, that fashion prevalent elsewhere not having been accepted +by the best equestriennes of Philadelphia. She was riding ahead of a +lumbering mountain wagon, surrounded by other riders, which was loaded +with baggage, drawn by four sturdy broncos and followed by a number of +obstinate little burros at present unencumbered with packs which would +be used when they got further from civilization and the way was no +longer practicable for anything on wheels. + +Miss Enid Maitland was clad in a way that would have caused her father a +stroke of apoplexy if he could have been suddenly made aware of her +dress, if she had burst into the drawing-room without announcement for +instance. Her skirt was distinctly short, she wore heavy hobnailed shoes +that laced up to her knees, she had on a bright blue sweater, a kind of +a cap known as a tam-o-shanter was pinned above her glorious hair, which +was closely braided and wound around her head. She wore a silk +handkerchief loosely tied around her neck, a knife and revolver hung at +her belt, a little watch was strapped to one wrist, a handsomely braided +quirt dangled from the other, a pair of spurs adorned her heels and, +most discomposing fact of all, by her side rode a handsome and dashing +cavalier. + +How Mr. James Armstrong might have appeared in the conventional black +and white of evening clothes was not quite clear to her, for she had as +yet never beheld him in that obliterating raiment, but in the habit of +the west, riding trousers, heavy boots that laced to the knees, blue +shirt, his head covered by a noble "Stetson," mounted on the fiery +restive bronco which he rode to perfection, he was ideal. Alas for the +vanity of human proposition! Mr. James Armstrong, friend and protégé +these many years of Mr. Robert Maitland, mine owner and cattle man on a +much smaller scale than his older friend, was desperately in love with +Enid Maitland, and Enid, swept off her feet by a wooing which began with +precipitant ardor so soon as he laid eyes on her, was more profoundly +moved by his suit, or pursuit, than she could have imagined. + +_Omne ignotum pro magnifico!_ + +She had been wooed in the conventional fashion many times and oft, on +the sands of Palm Beach, along the cliffs of Newport, in the romantic +glens of Mount Desert, in the old fashioned drawing-room overlooking +Rittenhouse Square. She had been proposed to in motor cars, on the decks +of yachts and once even while riding to hounds, but there had been a +touch of sameness about it all. Never had she been made love to with the +headlong gallantry, with the dashing precipitation of the west. It had +swept her from her moorings. She found almost before she was aware of it +that her past experience now stood her in little stead. She awoke to a +sudden realization of the fact that she was practically pledged to James +Armstrong after an acquaintance of three weeks in Denver and on the +ranch. + +Business of the most important and critical nature required Armstrong's +presence east at this juncture, and willy-nilly there was no way he +could put off his departure longer. He had to leave the girl with an +uneasy conscience that though he had her half-way promise, he had her +but half-way won. He had snatched the ultimate day from his business +demands to ride with her on the first stage of her journey to the +mountains. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE GAME PLAYED IN THE USUAL WAY + + +The road on which they advanced into the mountains was well made and +well kept up. The caņon through the foothills was not very deep--for +Colorado--and the ascent was gentle. Naturally it wound in every +direction following the devious course of the river which it frequently +crossed from one side to the other on rude log bridges. A brisk gallop +of a half mile or so on a convenient stretch of comparatively level +going put the two in the lead far ahead of the lumbering wagon and out +of sight of those others of the party who had elected to go a horseback. +There was perhaps a tacit agreement among the latter not to break in +upon this growing friendship or, more frankly, not to interfere in a +developing love affair. + +The caņon broadened here and there at long intervals and ranch houses +were found in every clearing, but these were few and far between and for +the most part Armstrong and Enid Maitland rode practically alone save +for the passing of an occasional lumber wagon. + +"You can't think," began the man, as they drew rein after a splendid +gallop and the somewhat tired horses readily subsided into a walk, "how +I hate to go back and leave you." + +"And you can't think how loath I am to have you return," the girl +flashed out at him with a sidelong glance from her bright blue eyes and +a witching smile from her scarlet lips. + +"Enid Maitland," said the man, "you know I just worship you. I'd like to +sweep you out of your saddle, lift you to the bow of mine and ride away +with you. I can't keep my hands off you, I--" + +Before she realized what he would be about he swerved his horse toward +her, his arm went around her suddenly. Taken completely off her guard +she could make no resistance, indeed she scarcely knew what to expect +until he crushed her to him and kissed her, almost roughly, full on the +lips. + +"How dare you!" cried the girl, her face aflame, freeing herself at +last, and swinging her own horse almost to the edge of the road which +here ran on an excavation some fifty feet above the river. + +"How dare I?" laughed the audacious man, apparently no whit abashed by +her indignation. "When I think of my opportunity I am amazed at my +moderation." + +"Your opportunity, your moderation?" + +"Yes; when I had you helpless I took but one kiss, I might have held you +longer and taken a hundred." + +"And by what right did you take that one?" haughtily demanded the +outraged young woman, looking at him beneath level brows while the color +slowly receded from her face. She had never been kissed by a man other +than a blood relation in her life--remember, suspicious reader, that she +was from Philadelphia--and she resented this sudden and unauthorized +caress with every atom and instinct of her still somewhat conventional +being. + +"But aren't you half-way engaged to me?" he pleaded in justification, +seeing the unwonted seriousness with which she had received his impudent +advance. "Didn't you agree to give me a chance?" + +"I did say that I liked you very much," she admitted, "no man better, +and that I thought you might--" + +"Well, then--" he began. + +But she would not be interrupted. + +"I did not mean that you should enjoy all the privileges of a conquest +before you had won me. I will thank you not to do that again, sir." + +"It seems to have had a very different effect upon you than it did upon +me," replied the man fervently. "I loved you before, but now, since I +have kissed you, I worship you." + +"It hasn't affected me that way," retorted the girl promptly, her face +still frowning and indignant. "Not at all, and--" + +"Forgive me, Enid," pleaded the other. "I just couldn't help it. You +were so beautiful I had to. I took the chance. You are not accustomed to +our ways." + +"Is this your habit in your love affairs?" asked the girl swiftly and +not without a spice of feminine malice. + +"I never had any love affairs before," he replied with a ready masculine +mendacity, "at least none worth mentioning. But you see this is the +west, we have gained what we have by demanding every inch that nature +offers, and then claiming the all. That's the way we play the game out +here and that's the way we win." + +"But I have not yet learned to play the 'game,' as you call it, by any +such rules," returned the young woman determinedly, "and it is not the +way to win me if I am the stake." + +"What is the way?" asked the man anxiously. "Show me and I'll take it +no matter what its difficulty." + +"Ah, for me to point out the way would be to play traitor to myself," +she answered, relenting and relaxing a little before his devoted wooing. +"You must find it without assistance. I can only tell you one thing." + +"And what is that?" + +"You do not advance toward the goal by such actions as those of a moment +since." + +"Look here," said the other suddenly. "I am not ashamed of what I did, +and I'm not going to pretend that I am, either." + +"You ought to be," severely. + +"Well, maybe so, but I'm not. I couldn't help it any more than I could +help loving you the minute I saw you. Put yourself in my place." + +"But I am not in your place, and I can't put myself there. I do not wish +to. If it be true, as you say, that you have grown to--care so much for +me and so quickly--" + +"If it be true?" came the sharp interruption as the man bent toward her +fairly devouring her with his bold, ardent gaze. + +"Well, since it is true," she admitted under the compulsion of his +protest, "that fact is the only possible excuse for your action." + +"You find some justification for me, then!" + +"No, only a possibility, but whether it be true or not, I do not feel +that way--yet." + +There was a saving grace in that last word, which gave him a little +heart. He would have spoken, but she suffered no interruption, saying: + +"I have been wooed before, but--" + +"True, unless the human race has become suddenly blind," he said softly +under his breath. + +"But never in such ungentle ways." + +"I suppose you have never run up against a real red-blooded man like me +before." + +"If red-blooded be evidenced mainly by lack of self-control, perhaps I +have not. Yet there are men whom I have met who would not need to +apologize for their qualities even to you, Mr. James Armstrong." + +"Don't say that. Evidently I make but poor progress in my wooing. Never +have I met with a woman quite like you."--And in that indeed lay some of +her charm, and she might have replied in exactly the same language and +with exactly the same meaning to him.--"I am no longer a boy. I must be +fifteen years older than you are, for I am thirty-five." + +The difference between their years was not quite so great as he +declared, but woman-like the girl let the statement pass unchallenged. + +"And I wouldn't insult your intelligence by saying you are the only +woman that I have ever made love to, but there is a vast difference +between making love to a woman and loving one. I have just found that +out for the first time. I marvel at the past, and I am ashamed of it, +but I thank God that I have been saved for this opportunity. I want to +win you, and I am going to do it, too. In many things I don't match up +with the people with whom you train. I was born out here, and I've made +myself. There are things that have happened in the making that I am not +especially proud of, and I am not at all satisfied with the results, +especially since I have met you. The better I know you the less pleased +I am with Jim Armstrong, but there are possibilities in me, I rather +believe, and with you for inspiration, Heavens!"--the man flung out his +hand with a fine gesture of determination. "They say that the east and +west don't naturally mingle, but it's a lie, you and I can beat the +world." + +The woman thrilled to his gallant wooing. Any woman would have done so, +some of them would have lost their heads, but Enid Maitland was an +exceedingly cool young person, for she was not quite swept off her feet, +and did not quite lose her balance. + +"I like to hear you say things like that," she answered. "Nobody quite +like you has ever made love to me, and certainly not in your way, and +that's the reason I have given you a half-way promise to think about it. +I was sorry that you could not be with us on this adventure, but now I +am rather glad, especially if the even temper of my way is to be +interrupted by anything like the outburst of a few moments since." + +"I am glad, too," admitted the man. "For I declare I couldn't help it. +If I have to be with you either you have got to be mine, or else you +would have to decide that it could never be, and then I'd go off and +fight it out." + +"Leave me to myself," said the girl earnestly, "for a little while; it's +best so. I would not take the finest, noblest man on earth--" + +"And I am not that." + +"Unless I loved him. There is something very attractive about your +personality. I don't know in my heart whether it is that or--" + +"Good," said the man, as she hesitated. "That's enough," he gathered up +the reins and whirled his horse suddenly in the road, "I am going back. +I'll wait for your return to Denver, and then--" + +"That's best," answered the girl. + +She stretched out her hand to him, leaning backward. If he had been a +different kind of a man he would have kissed it, as it was he took it +in his own hand and almost crushed it with a fierce grip. + +"We'll shake on that, little girl," he said, and then without a backward +glance he put spurs to his horse and galloped furiously down the road. + +No, she decided then and there, she did not love him, not yet. Whether +she ever would she could not tell. And yet she was half bound to him. +The recollection of his kiss was not altogether a pleasant memory; he +had not done himself any good by that bold assault upon her modesty, +that reckless attempt to rifle the treasure of her lips. No man had ever +really touched her heart, although many had engaged her interest. Her +experiences therefore were not definitive or conclusive. If she had +truly loved James Armstrong, in spite of all that she might have said, +she would have thrilled to the remembrance of that wild caress. The +chances, therefore, were somewhat heavily against him that morning as he +rode hopefully down the trail alone. + +His experiences in love affairs were much greater than hers. She was by +no means the first woman he had kissed--remember suspicious reader that +he was _not_ from Philadelphia!--hers were not the first ears into which +he had poured passionate protestations. He was neither better nor worse +than most men, perhaps he fairly enough represented the average, but +surely fate had something better in store for such a superb woman--a +girl of such attainments and such infinite possibilities, she must mate +higher than with the average man. Perhaps there was a sub-consciousness +of this in her mind as she silently waited to be overtaken by the rest +of the party. + +There were curious glances and strange speculations in that little +company as they saw her sitting her horse alone. A few moments before +James Armstrong had passed them at a gallop, he had waved his hand as he +dashed by and had smiled at them, hope giving him a certain assurance, +although his confidence was scarcely warranted by the facts. + +His demeanor was not in consonance with Enid's somewhat grave and +somewhat troubled present aspect. She threw off her preoccupation +instantly and easily, however, and joined readily enough in the merry +conversation of the way. + +Mr. Robert Maitland, as Armstrong had said, had known him from a boy. +There were things in his career of which Maitland did not and could not +approve, but they were of the past, he reflected, and Armstrong was +after all a pretty good sort. Mr. Maitland's standards were not at all +those of his Philadelphia brother, but they were very high. His +experiences of men had been different; he thought that Armstrong, +having certainly by this time reached years of discretion, could be +safely entrusted with the precious treasure of the young girl who had +been committed to his care, and for whom his affection grew as his +knowledge of and acquaintanceship with her increased. + +As for Mrs. Maitland and the two girls and the youngster, they were +Armstrong's devoted friends. They knew nothing about his past, indeed +there were things in it of which Maitland himself was ignorant, and +which had they been known to him might have caused him to withhold even +his tentative acquiescence in the possibilities. + +Most of these things were known to old Kirkby who with masterly skill, +amusing nonchalance and amazing profanity, albeit most of it under his +breath lest he shock the ladies, tooled along the four nervous excited +broncos who drew the big supply wagon. Kirkby was Maitland's oldest and +most valued friend. He had been the latter's deputy sheriff, he had been +a cowboy and a lumberman, a mighty hunter and a successful miner, and +now although he had acquired a reasonable competence, and had a nice +little wife and a pleasant home in the mountain village at the entrance +to the caņon, he drove stage for pleasure rather than for profit. He had +given over his daily twenty-five mile jaunt from Morrison to Troutdale +to other hands for a short space that he might spend a little time with +his old friend and the family, who were all greatly attached to him, on +this outing. + +Enid Maitland, a girl of a kind that Kirkby had never seen before, had +won the old man's heart during the weeks spent on the Maitland ranch. He +had grown fond of her, and he did not think that Mr. James Armstrong +merited that which he evidently so overwhelmingly desired. Kirkby was +well along in years, but he was quite capable of playing a man's game +for all that, and he intended to play it in this instance. + +Nobody scanned Enid Maitland's face more closely than he, sitting humped +up on the front seat of the wagon, one foot on the high brake, his head +sunk almost to the level of his knee, his long whip in his hand, his +keen and somewhat fierce brown eyes taking in every detail of what was +going on about him. Indeed there was but little that came before him +that old Kirkby did not see. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE STORY AND THE LETTERS + + +Imagine, if you please, the forest primeval; yes, the murmuring pines +and the hemlocks of the poem as well, by the side of a rapidly rushing +mountain torrent fed by the eternal snows of the lofty peaks of the +great range. A level stretch of grassy land where a mountain brook +joined the creek was dotted with clumps of pines and great boulders +rolled down from the everlasting hills--half an acre of open clearing. +On the opposite side of the brook the caņon wall rose almost sheer for +perhaps five hundred feet, ending in jagged, needle-edged pinnacles of +rock, sharp, picturesque and beautiful. A thousand feet above ran the +timber line, and four thousand feet above that the crest of the greatest +peak in the main range. + +The white tents of the little encampment which had gleamed so brightly +in the clear air and radiant sunshine of Colorado, now stood dim and +ghost-like in the red reflection of a huge camp fire. It was the evening +of the first day in the wilderness. + +For two days since leaving the wagon, the Maitland party with its long +train of burros heavily packed, its horsemen and the steady plodders on +foot, had advanced into unexplored and almost inaccessible retreats of +the mountains--into the primitive indeed! In this delightful spot they +had pitched their tents and the permanent camp had been made. Wood was +abundant, the water at hand was as cold as ice, as clear as crystal and +as soft as milk. There was pasturage for the horses and burros on the +other side of the mountain brook. The whole place was a little +amphitheater which humanity occupied perhaps the first time since +creation. + +Unpacking the burros, setting up the tents, making the camp, building +the fire had used up the late remainder of the day which was theirs when +they had arrived. Opportunity would come to-morrow to explore the +country, to climb the range, to try the stream that tumbled down a +succession of waterfalls to the right of the camp and roared and rushed +merrily around its feet until, swelled by the volume of the brook, it +lost itself in tree-clad depths far beneath. To-night rest after labor, +to-morrow play after rest. + +The evening meal was over. Enid could not help thinking with what scorn +and contempt her father would have regarded the menu, how his gorge +would have risen--hers too for that matter!--had it been placed before +him on the old colonial mahogany of the dining-room in Philadelphia. But +up there in the wilds she had eaten the coarse homely fare with the zest +and relish of the most seasoned ranger of the hills. Anxious to be of +service, she had burned her hands and smoked her hair and scorched her +face by usurping the functions of the young ranchman who had been +brought along as cook, and had actually fried the bacon herself! Imagine +a goddess with a frying pan! The black thick coffee and the condensed +milk, drunk from the graniteware cup, had a more delicious aroma and a +more delightful taste than the finest Mocha and Java in the daintiest +porcelain of France. _Optimum condimentum._ The girl was frankly, +ravenously hungry, the air, the altitude, the exertion, the excitement +made her able to eat anything and enjoy it. + +She was gloriously beautiful, too; even her brief experience in the west +had brought back the missing roses to her cheek, and had banished the +bister circles from beneath her eyes. Robert Maitland, lazily reclining +propped up against a boulder, his feet to the fire, smoking an old pipe +that would have given his brother the horrors, looked with approving +complacency upon her, confident and satisfied that his prescription was +working well. Nor was he the only one who looked at her that way. Marion +and Emma, his two daughters, worshiped their handsome Philadelphia +cousin and they sat one on either side of her on the great log lying +between the tents and the fire. Even Bob junior condescended to give her +approving glances. The whole camp was at her feet. Mrs. Maitland had +been greatly taken by her young niece. Kirkby made no secret of his +devotion; Arthur Bradshaw and Henry Phillips, each a "tenderfoot" of the +extremest character, friends of business connections in the east, who +were spending their vacation with Maitland, shared in the general +devotion; to say nothing of George the cook, and Pete, the packer and +"horse wrangler." + +Phillips, who was an old acquaintance of Enid's, had tried his luck with +her back east and had sense enough to accept as final his failure. +Bradshaw was a solemn young man without that keen sense of humor which +was characteristic of the west. The others were suitably dressed for +adventure, but Bradshaw's idea of an appropriate costume was +distinguished chiefly by long green felt puttees which swathed his huge +calves and excited curious inquiry and ribald comment from the surprised +denizens of each mountain hamlet through which they had passed, to all +of which Bradshaw remained serenely oblivious. The young man, who does +not enter especially into this tale, was a vestryman of the church in +his home in the suburbs of Philadelphia. His piety had been put to a +severe strain in the mountains. + +That day everybody had to work on the trail--everybody wanted to for +that matter. The hardest labor consisted in the driving of the burros. +Unfortunately there was no good and trained leader among them through an +unavoidable mischance, and the campers had great difficulty in keeping +the burros on the trail. To Arthur Bradshaw had been allotted the most +obstinate, cross-grained and determined of the unruly band, and old +Kirkby and George paid particular attention to instructing him in the +gentle art of manipulating him over the rocky mountain trail. + +"Wall," said Kirkby with his somewhat languid, drawling, nasal voice, +"that there burro's like a ship w'ich I often seed 'em w'n I was a kid +down east afore I come out to God's country. Nature has pervided 'em +with a kind of a hellum. I remember if you wanted the boat to go to the +right you shoved the hellum over to the left. Sta'boad an' port was the +terms as I recollects 'em. It's jest the same with burros, you takes 'em +by the hellum, that's by the tail, git a good tight twist on it an' ef +you want him to head to the right, slew his stern sheets around to the +left, an' you got to be keerful you don't git no kick back w'ich if it +lands on you is worse 'n the ree-coil of a mule." + +Arthur faithfully followed directions, narrowly escaping the outraged +brute's small but sharp pointed heels on occasion. His efforts not being +productive of much success, finally in his despair he resorted to brute +strength; he would pick the little animal up bodily, pack and all--he +was a man of powerful physique--and swing him around until his head +pointed in the right direction; then with a prayer that the burro would +keep it there for a few rods anyway, he would set him down and start him +all over again. The process, oft repeated, became monotonous after a +while. Arthur was a slow thinking man, deliberate in action, he stood it +as long as he possibly could. Kirkby who rode one horse and led two +others, and therefore was exempt from burro driving, observed him with +great interest. He and Bradshaw had strayed way behind the rest of the +party. + +At last Arthur's resistance, patience and piety, strained to the +breaking point, gave way suddenly. Primitive instincts rose to the +surface and overwhelmed him like a flood. He deliberately sat down on a +fallen tree by the side of a trail, the burro halting obediently, turned +and faced him with hanging head apparently conscious that he merited the +disapprobation that was being heaped upon him, for from the desperate +tenderfoot there burst forth so amazing, so fluent, so comprehensive a +torrent of assorted profanity, that even the old past master in +objurgation was astonished and bewildered. Where did Bradshaw, mild and +inoffensive, get it? His proficiency would have appalled his Rector and +amazed his fellow vestrymen. Not the Jackdaw of Rheims himself was so +cursed as that little burro. Kirkby sat on his horse in fits of silent +laughter until the tears ran 'down his cheeks, the only outward and +visible expression of his mirth. + +Arthur only stopped when he had thoroughly emptied himself, possibly of +an accumulation of years of repression. + +"Wall," said Kirkby, "you sure do overmatch anyone I ever heard w'en it +comes to cursin'. W'y you could gimme cards an' spades an' beat me, an' +I was thought to have some gift that-a-way in the old days." + +"I didn't begin to exhaust myself," answered Bradshaw, shortly, "and +what I did say didn't equal the situation. I'm going home." + +"I wouldn't do that," urged the old man. "Here, you take the hosses an' +I'll tackle the burro." + +"Gladly," said Arthur. "I would rather ride an elephant and drive a herd +of them than waste another minute on this infernal little mule." + +The story was too good to keep, and around the camp fire that night +Kirkby drawled it forth. There was a freedom and easiness of intercourse +in the camp, which was natural enough. Cook, teamster, driver, host, +guest, men, women, children, and I had almost said burros, stood on the +same level. They all ate and lived together. The higher up the mountain +range you go, the deeper into the wilderness you plunge, the further +away from the conventional you draw, the more homogeneous becomes +society and the less obvious are the irrational and unscientific +distinctions of the lowlands. The guinea stamp fades and the man and the +woman are pure gold or base metal inherently and not by any artificial +standard. + +George, the cattle man who cooked, and Peter, the horse wrangler, who +assisted Kirkby in looking after the stock, enjoyed the episode +uproariously, and would fain have had the exact language repeated to +them, but here Robert Maitland demurred, much to Arthur's relief, for he +was thoroughly humiliated by the whole performance. + +It was very pleasant lounging around the camp fire, and one good story +easily led to another. + +"It was in these very mountains," said Robert Maitland, at last, when +his turn came, "that there happened one of the strangest and most +terrible adventures that I ever heard of. I have pretty much forgotten +the lay of the land, but I think it wasn't very far from here that there +is one of the most stupendous caņons through the range. Nobody ever goes +there--I don't suppose anybody has ever been there since. It must have +been at least five years ago that it all happened." + +"It was four years an' nine months, exactly, Bob," drawled old Kirkby, +who well knew what was coming. + +"Yes, I dare say you are right. I was up at Evergreen at the time, +looking after timber interests, when a mule came wandering into the +camp, saddle and pack still on his back." + +"I knowed that there mule," said Kirkby. "I'd sold it to a feller named +Newbold, that had come out yere an' married Louise Rosser, old man +Rosser's daughter, an' him dead, an' she bein' an orphan, an' this +feller bein' a fine young man from the east, not a bit of a tenderfoot +nuther, a minin' engineer he called hisself." + +"Well, I happened to be there too, you remember," continued Maitland, +"and they made up a party to go and hunt up the man, thinking something +might have happened." + +"You see," explained Kirkby, "we was all mighty fond of Louise Rosser. +The hull camp was actin' like a father to her at the time, so long's she +hadn't nobody else. We was all at the weddin', too, some six months +afore. The gal married him on her own hook, of course, nobody makin' +her, but somehow she didn't seem none too happy, although Newbold, who +was a perfect gent, treated her white as far as we knowed." + +The old man stopped again and resumed his pipe. + +"Kirkby, you tell the story," said Maitland. + +"Not me," said Kirkby. "I have seen men shot afore for takin' words +out'n other men's mouths an' I ain't never done that yit." + +"You always were one of the most silent men I ever saw," laughed George. +"Why, that day Pete yere got shot accidental an' had his whole breast +tore out w'en we was lumbering over on Black Mountain, all you said was, +'Wash him off, put some axle grease on him an' tie him up.'" + +"That's so," answered Pete, "an' there must have been somethin' powerful +soothin' in that axle grease, for here I am, safe an' sound, to this +day." + +"It takes an old man," assented Kirkby, "to know when to keep his mouth +shet. I learned it at the muzzle of a gun." + +"I never knew before," laughed Maitland, "how still a man you can be. +Well, to resume the story, having nothing to do, I went out with the +posse the sheriff gathered up--" + +"Him not thinkin' there had been any foul play," ejaculated the old man. + +"No, certainly not." + +"Well, what happened, Uncle Bob," inquired Enid. + +"Just you wait," said young Bob, who had heard the story. "This is an +awful good story, Cousin Enid." + +"I can't wait much longer," returned the girl. "Please go on." + +"Two days after we left the camp, we came across an awful figure, +ragged, blood stained, wasted to a skeleton, starved--" + +"I have seen men in extreme cases afore," interposed Kirkby, "but never +none like him." + +"Nor I," continued Maitland. + +"Was it Newbold?" asked Enid. + +"Yes." + +"And what had happened to him?" + +"He and his wife had been prospecting in these very mountains, she had +fallen over a cliff and broken herself so terribly that Newbold had to +shoot her." + +"What!" exclaimed Bradshaw. "You don't mean that he actually killed +her?" + +"That's what he done," answered old Kirkby. + +"Poor man," murmured Enid. + +"But why?" asked Phillips. + +"They were five days away from a settlement, there wasn't a human being +within a hundred and fifty miles of them, not even an Indian," continued +Maitland. "She was so frightfully broken and mangled that he couldn't +carry her away." + +"But why couldn't he leave her and go for help?" asked Bradshaw. + +"The wolves, the bears, or the vultures would have got her. These woods +and mountains were full of them then and there are some of them, left +now, I guess." + +The two little girls crept closer to their grown up cousin, each casting +anxious glances beyond the fire light. + +"Oh, you're all right, little gals," said Kirkby, reassuringly, "they +wouldn't come nigh us while this fire is burnin' an' they're pretty well +hunted out I guess; 'sides, there's men yere who'd like nothin' better'n +drawin' a bead on a big b'ar." + +"And so," continued Maitland, "when she begged him to shoot her, to put +her out of her misery, he did so and then he started back to the +settlement to tell his story and stumbled on us looking after him." + +"What happened then?" + +"I went back to the camp," said Maitland. "We loaded Newbold on a mule +and took him with us. He was so crazy he didn't know what was happening, +he went over the shooting again and again in his delirium. It was +awful." + +"Did he die?" + +"I don't think so," was the answer, "but really I know nothing further +about him. There were some good women in that camp, and we put him in +their hands, and I left shortly afterwards." + +"I kin tell the rest," said old Kirkby. "Knowin' more about the +mountains than most people hereabouts I led the men that didn't go back +with Bob an' Newbold to the place w'ere he said his woman fell, an' +there we found her, her body, leastways." + +"But the wolves?" queried the girl. + +"He'd drug her into a kind of a holler and piled rocks over her. He'd +gone down into the caņon, w'ich was somethin' frightful, an' then +climbed up to w'ere she'd lodged. We had plenty of rope, havin' brought +it along a purpose, an' we let ourselves down to the shelf where she was +a lyin'. We wrapped her body up in blankets an' roped it an' finally +drug her up on the old Injun trail, leastways I suppose it was made +afore there was any Injuns, an' brought her back to Evergreen camp, +w'ich the only thing about it that was green was the swing doors on the +saloon. We got a parson out from Denver an' give her a Christian +burial." + +"It that all?" asked Enid as the old man paused again. + +"Nope." + +"Oh, the man?" exclaimed the woman with quick intuition. + +"He recovered his senses so they told us, an' w'en we got back he'd +gone." + +"Where?" was the instant question. + +Old Kirkby stretched out his hands. + +"Don't ax me," he said. "He'd jest gone. I ain't never seed or heerd of +him sence. Poor little Louise Rosser, she did have a hard time." + +"Yes," said Enid, "but I think the man had a harder time than she. He +loved her?" + +"It looked like it," answered Kirkby. + +"If you had seen him, his remorse, his anguish, his horror," said +Maitland, "you wouldn't have had any doubt about it. But it is getting +late. In the mountains everybody gets up at daybreak. Your sleeping bags +are in the tents, ladies, time to go to bed." + +As the party broke up, old Kirkby rose slowly to his feet. He looked +meaningly toward the young woman, upon whom the spell of the tragedy +still lingered, he nodded toward the brook, and then repeated his +speaking glance at her. His meaning was patent, although no one else had +seen the covert invitation. + +"Come, Kirkby," said the girl in quick response, "you shall be my +escort. I want a drink before I turn in. No, never mind," she said, as +Bradshaw and Phillips both volunteered, "not this time." + +The old frontiersman and the young girl strolled off together. They +stopped by the brink of the rushing torrent a few yards away. The noise +that it made drowned the low tones of their voices and kept the others, +busy preparing to retire, from hearing what they said. + +"That ain't quite all the story, Miss Enid," said the old trapper +meaningly. "There was another man." + +"What!" exclaimed the girl. + +"Oh, there wasn't nothin' wrong with Louise Rosser, w'ich she was Louise +Newbold, but there was another man. I suspected it afore, that's why she +was sad. W'en we found her body I knowed it." + +"I don't understand." + +"These'll explain," said Kirkby. He drew out from his rough hunting coat +a package of soiled letters; they were carefully enclosed in an oil skin +and tied with a faded ribbon. "You see," he continued, holding them in +his hand, yet carefully concealing them from the people at the fire. +"W'en she fell off the cliff--somehow the mule lost his footin', nobody +never knowed how, leastways the mule was dead an' couldn't tell--she +struck on a spur or shelf about a hundred feet below the brink. +Evidently she was carryin' the letters in her dress. Her bosom was +frightfully tore open an' the letters was lying there. Newbold didn't +see 'em, because he went down into the caņon an' came up to the shelf, +or butte head, w'ere the body was lyin', but we dropped down. I was the +first man down an' I got 'em. Nobody else seein' me, an' there ain't no +human eyes, not even my wife's, that's ever looked on them letters, +except mine and now yourn." + +"You are going to give them to me?" + +"I am," said Kirkby. + +"But why?" + +"I want you to know the hull story." + +"But why, again?" + +"I rather guess them letters'll tell," answered the old man evasively, +"an' I like you, and I don't want to see you throwed away." + +[Illustration: "Read the letters," he said. "They'll tell the story. +Good night."] + +"What do you mean?" asked the girl, curiously, thrilling to the +solemnity of the moment, the seriousness, the kind affection of the old +frontiersman, the weird scene, the fire light, the tents gleaming +ghost-like, the black wall of the caņon and the tops of the mountain +range broadening out beneath the stars in the clear sky where they +twinkled above her head. The strange and terrible story, and now the +letters in her hand which somehow seemed to be imbued with human +feeling, greatly affected her! Kirkby patted her on the shoulder. + +"Read the letters," he said. "They'll tell the story. Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE POOL AND THE WATER SPRITE + + +Long after the others in the camp had sunk into the profound slumber of +weary bodies and good consciences, a solitary candle in the small tent +occupied by Enid Maitland alone, gave evidence that she was busy over +the letters which Kirkby had handed to her. + +It was a very thoughtful girl indeed who confronted the old frontiersman +the next morning. At the first convenient opportunity when they were +alone together she handed him the packet of letters. + +"Have you read 'em?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"Wall, you keep 'em," said the old man gravely. "Mebbe you'll want to +read 'em agin." + +"But I don't understand why you want me to have them." + +"Wall, I'm not quite sure myself why, but leastways I do an'--" + +"I shall be very glad to keep them," said the girl still more gravely, +slipping them into one of the pockets of her hunting shirt as she +spoke. + +The packet was not bulky, the letters were not many nor were they of any +great length. She could easily carry them on her person and in some +strange and inexplicable way she was rather glad to have them. She could +not, as she had said, see any personal application to herself in them, +and yet in some way she did feel that the solution of the mystery would +be hers some day. Especially did she think this on account of the +strange but quiet open emphasis of the old hunter. + +There was much to do about the camp in the mornings. Horses and burros +to be looked after, fire wood to be cut, plans for the day arranged, +excursions planned, mountain climbs projected. Later on unwonted hands +must be taught to cast the fly for the mountain trout which filled the +brook and pool, and all the varied duties, details and fascinating +possibilities of camp life must be explained to the new-comers. + +The first few days were days of learning and preparation, days of mishap +and misadventure, of joyous laughter over blunders in getting settled, +or learning the mysteries of rod and line, of becoming hardened and +acclimated. The weather proved perfect; it was late October and the +nights were very cold, but there was no rain and the bright sunny days +were invigorating and exhilarating to the last degree. They had huge +fires and plenty of blankets and the colder it was in the night the +better they slept. + +It was an intensely new experience for the girl from Philadelphia, but +she showed a marked interest and adaptability, and entered with the +keenest zest into all the opportunities of the charming days. She was a +good sportswoman and she soon learned to throw a fly with the best of +them. Old Kirkby took her under his especial protection, and as he was +one of the best rods in the mountains, she enjoyed every advantage. + +She had always lived in the midst of life. Except in the privacy of her +own chamber she had rarely ever been alone before--not twenty feet from +a man: she thought whimsically; but here the charm of solitude attracted +her, she liked to take her rod and wander off alone. She actually +enjoyed it. + +The main stream that flowed down the caņon was fed by many affluents +from the mountain sides, and in each of them voracious trout appeared. +She explored them as she had opportunity. Sometimes with the others but +more often by herself. She discovered charming and exquisite nooks, +little stretches of grass, the size perhaps of a small room, flower +decked, ferny bordered, overshadowed by tall gaunt pine trees, the +sunlight filtering through their thin foliage, checkering the verdant +carpet beneath. Huge moss covered boulders, wet with the everdashing +spray of the roaring brooks, lay in mid-stream and with other natural +stepping stones hard-by invited her to cross to either shore. Waterfalls +laughed musically in her ears, deep still pools tempted her skill and +address. + +Sometimes leaving rod and basket by the waterside, she climbed some +particularly steep acclivity of the caņon wall and stood poised, wind +blown, a nymph of the woods, upon some pinnacle of rock rising needle +like at the caņon's edge above the sea of verdure which the wind waved +to and fro beneath her feet. There in the bright light, with the breeze +blowing her golden hair, she looked like some Norse goddess, blue eyed, +exhilarated, triumphant. + +She was a perfectly formed woman on the ancient noble lines of Milo +rather than the degenerate softness of Medici. She grew stronger of limb +and fuller of breath, quicker and steadier of eye and hand, cooler of +nerve, in these demanding, compelling adventures among the rocks in this +mountain air. She was not a tall woman, indeed slightly under rather +than over the medium size, but she was so ideally proportioned, she +carried herself with the fearlessness of a young chamois, that she +looked taller than she was. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh +upon her, yet she had the grace of Hebe, the strength of Pallas Athene, +and the swiftness of motion of Atalanta. Had she but carried bow and +spear, had she worn tunic and sandals, she might have stood for Diana +and she would have had no cause to blush by comparison with the finest +model of Praxiteles' chisel or the most splendid and glowing example of +Appelles' brush. + +Uncle Robert was delighted with her. His contribution to her western +outfit was a small Winchester. She displayed astonishing aptitude under +his instructions and soon became wonderfully proficient with that deadly +weapon and with a revolver also. There was little danger to be +apprehended in the daytime among the mountains the more experienced men +thought, still it was wise for the girl always to have a weapon in +readiness, so in her journeyings, either the Winchester was slung from +her shoulder or carried in her hand, or else the Colt dangled at her +hip. At first she took both, but finally it was with reluctance that she +could be persuaded to take either. Nothing had ever happened. Save for a +few birds now and then she had seemed the only tenant of the +wildernesses of her choice. + +One night after a camping experience of nearly two weeks in the +mountains, and just before the time for breaking up and going back to +civilization, she announced that early the next morning she was going +down the caņon for a day's fishing excursion. + +None of the party had ever followed the little river very far, but it +was known that some ten miles below the stream merged in a lovely +gem-like lake in a sort of crater in the mountains. From thence by a +series of waterfalls it descended through the foothills to the distant +plains beyond. The others had arranged to climb one especially dangerous +and ambition provoking peak which towered above them and which had never +before been surmounted so far as they knew. Enid enjoyed mountain +climbing. She liked the uplift in feeling that came from going higher +and higher till some crest was gained, but on this occasion they urged +her to accompany them in vain. + +When the fixity of her decision was established she had a number of +offers to accompany her, but declined them all, bidding the others go +their way. Mrs. Maitland, who was not feeling very well, old Kirkby, who +had climbed too many mountains to feel much interest in that game, and +Pete, the horse wrangler, who had to look after the stock, remained in +camp; the others, with the exception of Enid, started at daybreak for +their long ascent. She waited until the sun was about an hour high and +then bade good-by to the three and began the descent of the caņon. +Traveling light for she was going far--farther indeed than she knew--she +left her Winchester at home, but carried the revolver with the fishing +tackle and substantial luncheon. + +Now the river--a river by courtesy only--and the caņon turned sharply +back on themselves just beyond the little meadow where the camp was +pitched. Past the tents that had been their home for this joyous period +the river ran due east for a few hundred feet, after which it curved +sharply, doubled back and flowed westward for several miles before it +gradually swung around to the east on its proper course again. + +It had been Enid's purpose to cut across the hills and strike the river +where it turned eastward once more, avoiding the long detour back. In +fact she had declared her intention of doing that to Kirkby and he had +given her careful directions so that she should not get lost in the +mountains. + +But she had plenty of time and no excuse or reason for saving it; she +never tired of the charm of the caņon; therefore, instead of plunging +directly over the spur of the range, she followed the familiar trail +and after she had passed westward far beyond the limits of the camp to +the turning, she decided, in accordance with that utterly irresponsible +thing, a woman's will, that she would not go down the caņon that day +after all, but that she would cross back over the range and strike the +river a few miles above the camp and go up the caņon instead. + +She had been up in that direction a few times, but only for a short +distance, as the ascent above the camp was very sharp; in fact for a +little more than a mile the brook was only a succession of waterfalls; +the best fishing was below the camp and the finest woods were deeper in +the caņon. She suddenly concluded that she would like to see what was up +in that unexplored section of the country and so, with scarcely a +momentary hesitation, she abandoned her former plan and began the ascent +of the range. + +Upon decisions so lightly taken what momentous consequences depend? +Whether she should go up the stream or down the stream, whether she +should follow the rivulet to its source or descend it to its mouth, was +apparently a matter of little moment, yet her whole life turned +absolutely upon that decision. The idle and unconsidered choice of the +hour was fraught with gravest possibilities. Had that election been +made with any suspicion, with any foreknowledge, had it come as the +result of careful reasoning or far-seeing of probabilities, it might +have been understandable, but an impulse, a whim, the vagrant idea of an +idle hour, the careless chance of a moment, and behold! a life is +changed. On one side were youth and innocence, freedom and contentment, +a happy day, a good rest by the cheerful fire at night; on the other, +peril of life, struggle, love, jealousy, self-sacrifice, devotion, +suffering, knowledge--scarcely Eve herself when she stood apple in hand +with ignorance and pleasure around her and enlightenment and sorrow +before her, had greater choice to make. + +How fortunate we are that the future is veiled, that the psalmist's +prayer that he might know his end and be certified how long he had to +live is one that will not and cannot be granted; that it has been given +to but One to foresee His own future, for no power apparently could +enable us to stand up against what might be, because we are only human +beings not sufficiently alight with the spark divine. We wait for the +end because we must, but thank God we know it not until it comes. + +Nothing of this appeared to the girl that bright sunny morning. Fate hid +in those mountains under the guise of fancy. Lighthearted, carefree, +fitted with buoyant joy over every fact of life, she left the flowing +water and scaled the cliff beyond which in the wilderness she was to +find, after all, the world. + +The ascent was longer and more difficult and dangerous than she had +imagined when she first confronted it, perhaps it was typical and +foretold her progress. More than once she had to stop and carefully +examine the face of the caņon wall for a practicable trail; more than +once she had to exercise extremest care in her climb, but she was a bold +and fearless mountaineer by this time and at last surmounting every +difficulty she stood panting slightly, a little tired but triumphant, +upon the summit. + +The ground was rocky and broken, the timber line was close above her and +she judged that she must be several miles from the camp. The caņon was +very crooked, she could see only a few hundred yards of it in any +direction. She scanned her circumscribed limited horizon eagerly for the +smoke from the great fire that they always kept burning in the camp, but +not a sign of it was visible. She was evidently a thousand feet above +the river whence she had come. Her standing ground was a rocky ridge +which fell away more gently on the other side for perhaps two hundred +feet toward the same brook. She could see through vistas in the trees +the up-tossed peaks of the main range, bare, chaotic, snow covered, +lonely, majestic, terrible. + +The awe of the everlasting hills is greater than that of the heaving +sea. Save in the infrequent periods of calm, the latter always moves, +the mountains are the same for all time. The ocean is quick, noisy, +living; the mountains are calm, still--dead. + +The girl stood as it were on the roof of the world, a solitary human +being, so far as she knew, in the eye of God above her. Ah, but the Eyes +Divine look long and see far; things beyond the human ken are all +revealed. None of the party had ever come this far from the camp in this +direction she knew. And she was glad to be the first, as she fatuously +thought, to observe that majestic solitude. + +Surveying the great range she wondered where the peak climbers might be. +Keen sighted though she was she could not discover them. The crest that +they were attempting lay in another direction hidden by a nearer spur. +She was in the very heart of the mountains; peaks and ridges rose all +about her, so much so that the general direction of the great range was +lost. She was at the center of a far flung concavity of crest and +range. She marked one towering point to the right of her that rose +massively grand above all the others. To-morrow she would climb to that +high point and from its lofty elevation look upon the heavens above and +the earth beneath, aye and the waters under the earth far below. +To-morrow!--it is generally known that we do not usually attempt the +high points in life's range at once, content are we with lower altitudes +to-day. + +There was no sound above her, the rushing water over the rocks upon the +nearer side she could hear faintly beneath her, there was no wind about +her, to stir the long needles of the pines. It was very still, the kind +of a stillness of body which is the outward and visible complement of +that stillness of the soul in which men know God. There had been no +earthquake, no storm, the mountains had not heaved beneath her feet, the +great and strong wind had not passed by, the rocks had not been rent and +broken, yet Enid caught herself listening as if for a Voice. The thrall +of majesty, silence, loneliness was upon her. She stood--one stands when +there is a chance of meeting God on the way, one does not kneel until He +comes--with her raised hands clasped, her head uplifted in exultation +unspeakable, God-conquered with her face to heaven upturned. + +"I will lift up mine eyes to the hills whence cometh my salvation," her +heart sang voicelessly. "We praise Thee, O God, we magnify Thy Holy Name +forever," floated through her brain, in great appreciation of the +marvelous works of the Almighty Shaping Master Hand. Caught up as it +were into the heavens, her soul leaped to meet its maker. Thinking to +find God she waited there on the heaven-kissing hill. + +How long she stayed she did not realize; she took no note of time, it +did not occur to her even to look at the watch on her wrist; she had +swept the skyline cut off as it were by the peaks when first she came, +and when at last she turned away--even divinest moments must have an +end--she looked not backward. She saw not a little cloud hid on the +horizon behind the rampart of ages, as it were, no bigger than a man's +hand, a cloud full of portent and which would alarm greatly the veteran +Kirkby in the camp and Maitland on the mountain top. Both of them +unfortunately were unable to see it, one being on the other side of the +range, and the other deep in the caņon, and for both of them as for the +girl the sun still shone brightly. + +The declivity to the river on the upper side was comparatively easy and +Enid Maitland went slowly and thoughtfully down to it until she reached +the young torrent. She got her tackle ready, but did no casting as she +made her way slowly up the ever narrowing, ever rising caņon. She was +charmed and thrilled by the wild beauty of the way, the spell of the +mountains was deep upon her. Thoughtfully she wandered on until, +presently she came to another little amphitheater like that where the +camp was pitched, only smaller. Strange to say the brook, or river, here +broadened into a little pool perhaps twenty feet across; a turn had +thrown a full force of water against the huge boulder wall and in ages +of effort a giant cup had been hollowed out of the native rock. The pool +was perhaps four or five feet deep, the rocky bottom worn smooth, the +clearing was upon the opposite side and the banks were heavily wooded +beyond the spur of the rock which formed the back of the pool. She could +see the trout in it. She made ready to try her fortune, but before she +did so an idea came to her--daring, unconventional, extraordinary, begot +of innocence and inexperience. + +The water of course was very cold, but she had been accustomed all her +life to taking a bath at the natural temperature of the water at +whatever season. She knew that the only people in that wilderness were +the members of her own party; three of them were at the camp below, the +others were ascending a mountain miles away. The caņon was deep sunk, +and she satisfied herself by careful observation that the pool was not +overlooked by any elevations far or near. + +Her ablutions in common with those of the rest of the campers had been +by piecemeal of necessity. Here was an opportunity for a plunge in a +natural bath tub. She was as certain that she would be under no +observation as if she were in the privacy of her own chamber. Here again +impulse determined the end. In spite of her assurance there was some +little apprehension in the glance that she cast about her, but it soon +vanished. There was no one. She was absolutely alone. The pool and the +chance of the plunge had brought her down to earth again; the thought of +the enlivening exhilaration of the pure cold water dashing against her +own sweet warm young body changed the current of her thoughts--the +anticipation of it rather. + +Impulsively she dropped her rod upon the grass, unpinned her cap, threw +the fishing basket from her shoulder. She was wearing a stout sweater; +that too joined the rest. Nervous hands manipulated buttons and the +fastenings. In a few moments the sweet figure of youth, of beauty, of +purity and of innocence brightened the sod and shed a white luster upon +the green of the grass and moss and pines, reflecting light to the gray +brown rocks of the range. So Eve may have looked on some bright Eden +morning. A few steps forward and this nymph of the woods, this naiad of +the mountains, plunged into the clear, cold waters of the pool--a water +sprite and her fountain! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE BEAR, THE MAN AND THE FLOOD + + +The water was deep enough to receive her dive and the pool was long +enough to enable her to swim a few strokes. The first chill of the icy +water was soon lost in the vigorous motions in which she indulged, but +no mere human form however hardened and inured could long endure that +frigid bath. Reluctantly, yet with the knowledge that she must go, after +one more sweeping dive and a few magnificent strokes, she raised her +head from the water lapping her white shoulders, and shaking her face +clear from the drops of crystal, faced the shore. It was no longer +untenanted, she was no longer alone. + +What she saw startled and alarmed her beyond measure. Planted on her +clothes, looking straight at her, having come upon her in absolute +silence, nothing having given her the least warning of his approach, and +now gazing at her with red, hungry, evil, vicious eyes, the eyes of the +covetous filled with the cruel lust of desire and carnal possession, and +yet with a glint of surprise in them, too, as if he did not know quite +what to make of the white loveliness of this unwonted apparition +flashing so suddenly at him out of the water, this strange invader of +the domain of which he fancied he was sole master and lord paramount, +stood a great, monstrous frightful looking Grizzly Bear. _Ursus +Horribilis_, indeed. + +He was an aged monarch of the mountains, reddish brown in color +originally, but now a hoary dirty gray. His body was massive and burly, +his legs short, dark colored and immensely powerful. His broad square +head moved restlessly. His fanged mouth opened and a low hoarse growl +came from the red cavern of his throat. He was an old and terrible +monster who had tasted the blood of man and who would not hesitate to +attack even without provocation especially anything at once so harmless +and so whitely inviting as the girl in the pool. + +The girl forgot the chill of the water in the horror of that moment. +Alone, naked, defenseless, lost in the mountains, with the most +powerful, sanguinary and ferocious beast of the continent in front of +her, she could neither fight nor fly, she could only wait his pleasure. +He snuffed at her clothing a moment and stood with one fore foot +advanced for a second or two growling deeply, evidently, she thought +with almost superhuman keenness of perception, preparing to leap into +the pool and seize upon her. + +The rush of the current as it swirled about her caused her to sway +gently, otherwise she stood motionless and apprehensive, terribly +expectant. She had made no sound, and save for that low growl the great +beast had been equally silent. There was an awful fixity in the gaze she +turned upon him and he wavered under it. It annoyed him. It bespoke a +little of the dominance of the human. But she was too surprised, too +unnerved, too desperately frightened to put forth the full power of mind +over matter. There was piteous appeal in her gaze. The bear realized +this and mastered her sufficiently. + +She did not know whether she was in the water or in the air, there were +but two points upon which her consciousness was focussed in the vast +ellipse of her imagination. Another moment or two and all coherency of +thought would be gone. The grizzly, still unsettled and uneasy before +her awful glance, but not deterred by it, turned its great head sideways +a little to escape the direct immobile stare, brought his sharp clawed +foot down heavily and lurched forward. + +Scarcely had a minute elapsed in which all this happened. That huge +threatening heave of the great body toward her relieved the tension. +She found voice at last. Although it was absolutely futile she realized +as she cried, her released lips framed the loud appeal. + +"Help! for God's sake." + +Although she knew she cried but to the bleak walls of the caņon, the +drooping pines, the rushing river, the distant heaven, the appeal went +forth accompanied by the mightiest conjuration known to man. + +"For God's sake, Help!" + +How dare poor humanity so plead, the doubter cries. What is it to God if +one suffers, another bleeds, another dies. What answer could come out of +that silent sky? + +Sometimes the Lord speaks with the loud voice of men's fashioning, +instead of in that still whisper which is His own and the sound of which +we fail to catch because of our own ignoble babble! + +The answer to her prayer came with a roar in her nervous frightened ear +like a clap of thunder. Ere the first echo of it died away, it was +succeeded by another and another and another, echoing, rolling, +reverberating among the rocks in ever diminishing but long drawn out +peals. + +On the instant the bear rose to his feet, swayed slightly and struck as +at an imaginary enemy with his weighty paws. A hoarse, frightful +guttering roar burst from his red slavering jaws, then he lurched +sideways and fell forward, fighting the air madly for a moment, and lay +still. + +With staring eyes that missed no detail, she saw that the brute had been +shot in the head and shoulder three times, and that he was apparently +dead. The revulsion that came over her was bewildering; she swayed +again, this time not from the thrust of the water but with sick +faintness. The tension suddenly taken off, unstrung, the loose bow of +her spirit quivered helplessly; the arrow of her life almost fell into +the stream. + +And then a new and more appalling terror swept over her. Some man had +fired that shot. Actæon had spied upon Diana. With this sudden +revelation of her shame, the red blood beat to the white surface in +spite of the chill water. The anguish of that moment was greater than +before. She could be killed, torn to pieces, devoured, that was a small +thing, but that she should be so outraged in her modesty was +unendurable. She wished the hunter had not come. She sunk lower in the +water for a moment fain to hide in its crystal clarity and realized as +she did how frightfully cold she was. Yet, although she froze where she +was and perished with cold she could not go out on the bank to dress, +and it would avail her little she saw swiftly, since the huge monster +had fallen a dead heap on her clothes. + +Now all this, although it takes minutes to tell, had happened in but a +few seconds. Seconds sometimes include hours, even a life time, in their +brief composition. She thought it would be just as well for her to sink +down and die in the water, when a sudden splashing below her caused her +to look down the stream. + +She was so agitated that she could make out little except that there was +a man crossing below her and making directly toward the body of the +bear. He was a tall black bearded man, she saw he carried a rifle, he +looked neither to the right nor to the left, he did not bestow a glance +upon her. She could have cried aloud in thanksgiving for his apparent +obliviousness to her as she crouched now neck deep in the benumbing +cold. The man stepped on the bank, shook himself like a great dog might +have done and marched over to the bear. He up-rooted a small near-by +pine, with the ease of a Hercules--and she had time to mark and marvel +at it in spite of everything--and then with that as a lever he +unconcernedly and easily heaved the body of the monster from off her +clothing. She was to learn later what a feat of strength it was to move +that inert carcass weighing much more than half a ton. + +Thereafter he dropped the pine tree by the side of the dead grizzly and +without a backward look tramped swiftly and steadily up the caņon +through the trees, turning at the point of it, and was instantly lost to +sight. His gentle and generous purpose was obvious even to the +frightened, agitated, excited girl. + +The woman watched him until he disappeared, a few seconds longer, and +then she hurled herself through the water and stepped out upon the +shore. Her sweater, which the bear had dragged forward in its advance, +lay on top of the rest of her clothes covered with blood. She threw it +aside and with nervous, frantic energy, wet, cold, though she was, she +jerked on in some fashion enough clothes to cover her nakedness and then +with more leisurely order and with necessary care she got the rest of +her apparel in its accustomed place upon her body, and then when it was +all over she sank down prone and prostrate upon the grass by the carcass +of the now harmless monster which had so nearly caused her undoing, and +shivered, cried and sobbed as if her heart would break. + +She was chilled to the bone by her motionless sojourn, albeit it had +been for scarcely more than a minute, in that icy water, and yet the +blood rushed to her brow and face, to every hidden part of her in waves +as she thought of it. It was a good thing that she cried, she was not a +weeping woman, her tears came slowly as a rule and then came hard. She +rather prided herself upon her stoicism, but in this instance the great +deeps of her nature had been undermined and the fountains thereof were +fain to break forth. + +How long she lay there, warmth coming gradually to her under the direct +rays of the sun, she did not know, and it was a strange thing that +caused her to arise. It grew suddenly dark over her head. She looked up +and a rim of frightful, black, dense clouds had suddenly blotted out the +sun. The clouds were lined with gold and silver and the long rays shot +from behind the somber blind over the yet uncovered portions of the +heaven, but the clouds moved with the irresistible swiftness and +steadiness of a great deluge. The wall of them lowered above her head +while they extended steadily and rapidly across the sky toward the other +side of the caņon and the mountain wall. + +A storm was brewing such as she had never seen, such as she had no +experience to enable her to realize its malign possibilities. Nay, it +was now at hand. She had no clew, however, of what was toward, how +terrible a danger overshadowed her. Frightened but unconscious of all +the menace of the hour her thoughts flew down the caņon to the camp. She +must hasten there. She looked for her watch which she had picked from +the grass and which she had not yet put on; the grizzly had stepped upon +it, it was irretrievably ruined. She judged from her last glimpse of the +sun that it must now be early afternoon. She rose to her feet and +staggered with weakness, she had eaten nothing since morning, and the +nervous shock and strain through which she had gone had reduced her to a +pitiable condition. + +Her luncheon had fortunately escaped unharmed. In a big pocket of her +short skirt there was a small flask of whiskey, which her Uncle Robert +had required her to take with her. She felt sick and faint, but she knew +that she must eat if she was to make the journey, difficult as it might +prove, back to the camp. She forced herself to take the first mouthful +of bread and meat she had brought with her, but when she had tasted she +needed no further incentive, she ate to the last crumb; she thought this +was the time she needed stimulants too, and mingling the cold water from +the brook with a little of the ardent spirit from the flask she drank. +Some of the chill had worn off, some of the fatigue had gone. + +She rose to her feet and started down the caņon; her bloody sweater +still lay on the ground with other things of which she was heedless. It +had grown colder but she realized that the climb down the caņon would +put her stagnant blood in circulation and all would be well. + +Before she began the descent of the pass, she cast one long glance +backward whither the man had gone. Whence came he, who was he, what had +he seen, where was he now? She thanked God for his interference in one +breath and hated him for his presence in the other. + +The whole sky was now black with drifting clouds, lightning flashed +above her head, muttered peals of thunder, terrifically ominous, rocked +through the silent hills. The noise was low and subdued but almost +continuous. With a singular and uneasy feeling that she was being +observed, she started down the caņon, plunging desperately through the +trees, leaping the brook from side to side where it narrowed, seeking +ever the easiest way. She struggled on, panting with sudden inexplicable +terror almost as bad as that which had overwhelmed her an hour +before--and growing more intense every moment, to such a tragic pass had +the day and its happenings brought her. + +Poor girl, awful experience really was to be hers that day. The Fates +sported with her--bodily fear, outraged modesty, mental anguish and now +the terror of the storm. + +The clouds seemed to sink lower, until they almost closed about her. +Long gray ghostly arms reached out toward her. It grew darker and darker +in the depths of the caņon. She screamed aloud--in vain. + +Suddenly the rolling thunder peals concentrated, balls of fire leaped +out of the heavens and struck the mountains where she could actually see +them. There are not words to describe the tremendous crashings which +seemed to splinter the hills, to be succeeded by brief periods of +silence, to be followed by louder and more terrific detonations. + +In one of those appalling alternations from sound to silence she heard a +human cry--an answering cry to her own! It came from the hills behind +her. It must proceed, she thought, from the man. She could not meet that +man; although she craved human companionship as never before, she did +not want his. She could not bear it. Better the wrath of God, the fury +of the tempest. + +Heedless of the sharp note of warning, of appeal, in the voice ere it +was drowned by another roll of thunder, she plunged on in the darkness. +The caņon narrowed here, she made her way down the ledges, leaping +recklessly from rock to rock, slipping, falling, grazing now one side, +now the other, hurling herself forward with white face and bruised body +and torn hands and throbbing heart that would fain burst its bonds. +There was once an ancient legend of a human creature, menaced by all the +furies, pitilessly pursued by every malefic spirit of earth and air; +like him this sweet young girl, innocent, lovely, erstwhile happy, fled +before the storm. + +And then the heavens opened, the fountains of the great deeps were +broken down, and with absolute literalness the floods descended. The +bursting clouds, torn asunder by the wild winds, riven by the pent up +lightning within their black and turgid breasts, disburdened themselves. +The water came down, as it did of old when God washed the face of the +world, in a flood. The narrow of the caņon was filled ten, twenty, +thirty feet in a moment by the cloud burst. The black water rolled and +foamed, surging like the rapids at Niagara. + +The body of the girl, utterly unprepared, was caught up in a moment and +flung like a bolt from a catapult down the seething sea filled with the +trunks of the trees and the débris of the mountains, tossing almost +humanly in the wild confusion. She struck out strongly, swimming more +because of the instinct of life than for any other reason. A helpless +atom in the boiling flood. Growing every minute greater and greater as +the angry skies disgorged themselves of their pent up torrents upon her +devoted head. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +DEATH, LIFE AND THE RESURRECTION + + +The man was coming back from one of his rare visits to the settlements. +Ahead of him he drove a train of burros who, well broken to their work, +followed with docility the wise old leader in the advance. The burros +were laden with his supplies for the approaching winter. The season was +late, the mountains would soon be impassable on account of the snow, +indeed he chose the late season always for his buying in order that he +might not be followed and it was his habit to buy in different places in +different years that his repeated and expected presence at one spot +might not arouse suspicion. + +Intercourse with his fellow men was limited to this yearly visit to a +settlement and even that was of the briefest nature, confined always to +the business in hand. Even when busy in the town he pitched a small tent +in the open on the outskirts and dwelt apart. No men there in those days +pried into the business of other men too closely. Curiosity was neither +safe nor necessary. If he aroused transient interest or speculation it +soon died away. He vanished into the mountains and as he came no more to +that place, he was soon forgotten. + +Withdrawing from his fellow men and avoiding their society, this man was +never so satisfied as when alone in the silent hills. His heart and +spirit rose with every step he made away from the main traveled roads or +the more difficult mountain trails. + +For several days he journeyed through the mountains, choosing the +wildest and most inaccessible parts for his going. Amid the caņons and +peaks he threaded his way with unerring accuracy, ascending higher and +higher until at last he reached the mountain aerie, the lonely +hermitage, where he made his home. There he reveled in his isolation. +What had been punishment, expiation, had at last become pleasure. + +Civilization was bursting through the hills in every direction, railways +were being pushed hither and thither, the precious metals were being +discovered at various places and after them came hoards of men and with +them--God save the mark--women; but his section of the country had +hitherto been unvisited even by hunters, explorers, miners or pleasure +seekers. He was glad, he had grown to love the spot where he had made +his home, and he had no wish to be forced, like little Joe, to move on. + +Once a man who loved the strife, noble or ignoble, of the madding crowd, +he had grown accustomed to silence, habituated to solitude. Winter and +summer alike he roamed the mountains, delving into every forest, +exploring every hidden caņon, surmounting every inaccessible peak; no +storm, no snow, no condition of wind or weather daunted him or stopped +him. He had no human companionship by which to try his mettle, but +nevertheless over the world of the material which lay about him he was a +master as he was a man. + +He found some occupation, too, in the following of old Adam's +inheritance, during the pleasant months of summer he made such garden as +he could. His profession of mining engineer gave him other employment. +Round about him lay treasures inestimable, precious metals abounded in +the hills. He had located them, tested, analyzed, estimated the wealth +that was his for the taking--it was as valueless to him as the doubloons +and golden guineas were to Selkirk on his island. Yet the knowledge that +it was there gave him an energizing sense of potential power, +unconsciously enormously flattering to his self esteem. + +Sometimes he wandered to the extreme verge of the range and on clear +days saw far beneath him the smoke of great cities of the plains. He +could be a master among men as he was a master among mountains, if he +chose. On such occasions he laughed cynically, scornfully, yet rarely +did he ever give way to such emotion. + +A great and terrible sorrow was upon him; cherishing a great passion he +had withdrawn himself from the common lot to dwell upon it. From a +perverted sense of expiation, in a madness of grief, horror and despair, +he had made himself a prisoner to his ideas in the desert of the +mountains. Back to his cabin he would hasten, and there surrounded by +his living memories--deathless yet of the dead!--he would recreate the +past until dejection drove him abroad on the hills to meet God if not +man--or woman. Night-day, sunshine-shadow, heat-cold, storm-calm; these +were his life. + +Having disburdened his faithful animals of their packs and having seen +them safely bestowed for the winter in the corral he had built near the +base of the cliff upon which his rude home was situated, he took his +rifle one morning for one of those lonely walks across the mountains +from which he drew such comfort because he fancied the absence of man +conduced to the nearness of God. It was a delusion as old nearly as the +Christian religion. Many had made themselves hermits in the past in +remorse for sin and for love toward God; this man had buried himself in +the wilderness in part for the first of these causes, in other part for +the love of woman. In these days of swift and sudden change he had been +constant to a remembrance and abiding in his determination for five +swift moving years. The world for him had stopped its progress in one +brief moment five years back--the rest was silence. What had happened +since then out yonder where people were mated he did not know and he did +not greatly care. + +In his visits to the settlements he asked no questions, he bought no +papers, he manifested no interest in the world; something in him had +died in one fell moment, and there had been, as yet, no resurrection. +Yet life, and hope, and ambition do not die, they are indeed eternal. +_Resurgam!_ + +Life with its tremendous activities, its awful anxieties, its wearing +strains, its rare triumphs, its opportunities for achievement, for +service; hope with its illuminations, its encouragements, its +expectations; ambition with its stimulus, its force, its power; and +greatest of all love, itself alone--all three were latent in him. In +touch with a woman these had gone. Something as powerful and as human +must bring them back. + +It was against nature that a man dowered as he should so live to himself +alone. Some voice should cry to his soul in its cerements of futile +remorse, vain expiations and benumbing recollection; some day he should +burst these grave clothes self-wound about him and be once more a man +and a master among men, rather than the hermit and the recluse of the +solitudes. + +He did not allow these thoughts to come into his life, indeed it is +quite likely that he scarcely realized them at all yet; such +possibilities did not present themselves to him; perhaps the man was a +little mad that morning, maybe he trembled on the verge of a +break--upward, downward I know not so it be away--unconsciously as he +strode along the range. + +He had been walking for some hours, and as he grew thirsty it occurred +to him to descend to the level of the brook which he heard below him and +of which he sometimes caught a flashing glimpse through the trees. He +scrambled down the rocks and found himself in a thick grove of pine. +Making his way slowly and with great difficulty through the tangle of +fallen timber which lay in every direction, the sound of a human voice, +the last thing on earth to be expected in that wilderness, smote upon +the fearful hollow of his ear. + +Any voice or any word then and there would have surprised him, but there +was a note of awful terror in this voice, a sound of frightened appeal. +The desperation in the cry left him no moment for thought, the demand +was for action. The cry was not addressed to him, apparently, but to +God, yet it was he who answered--sent doubtless by that Over-looking +Power who works in such mysterious ways His wonders to perform! + +He leaped over the intervening trees to the edge of the forest where the +rapid waters ran. To the right of him rose a huge rock, or cliff, in +front of him the caņon bent sharply to the north, and beneath him a few +rods away a speck of white gleamed above the water of a deep and still +pool that he knew. + +_There was a woman there!_ + +He had time for but the swiftest glance, he had surmised that the voice +was not that of a man's voice instantly he heard it, and now he was +sure. She stood white breast deep in the water staring ahead of her. The +next instant he saw what had alarmed her--a Grizzly Bear, the largest, +fiercest, most forbidding specimen he had ever seen. There were a few of +those monsters still left in the range, he himself had killed several. + +The woman had not seen him. He was a silent man by long habit; +accustomed to saying nothing, he said nothing now. But instantly aiming +from the hip with a wondrous skill and a perfect mastery of the weapon, +and indeed it was a short range for so huge a target, he pumped bullet +after bullet from his heavy Winchester into the evil monarch of the +mountains. The first shot did for him, but making assurance doubly and +trebly sure, he fired again and again. Satisfied at last that the bear +was dead, and observing that he had fallen upon the clothes of the +bather, he turned, descended the stream for a few yards until he came to +a place where it was easily fordable, stepped through it without a +glance toward the woman shivering in the water, whose sensation, so far +as a mere man could, he thoroughly understood and appreciated, and whose +modesty he fain would spare, having not forgotten to be a gentleman in +five years of his own society--high test of quality, that. + +He climbed out upon the bank, up-rooted a small tree, rolled the bear +clear of the heap of woman's clothing and marched straight ahead of him +up the caņon and around the bend. + +Thereafter, being a man, he did not faint or fall, but completely +unnerved he leaned against the caņon wall, dropped his gun at his feet +and stood there trembling mightily, sweat bedewing his forehead, and the +sweat had not come from his exertions. In one moment the whole even +tenor of his life was changed. The one glimpse he had got of those white +shoulders, that pallid face, that golden head raised from the water had +swept him back five years. He had seen once more in the solitude a +woman. + +Other women he had seen at a distance and avoided in his yearly visits +to the settlements of course; these had passed him by remotely, but here +he was brought in touch intimately with humanity. He who had taken life +had saved it. A woman had sent him forth, was a woman to call him back? + +He cursed himself for his weakness. He shut his eyes and summoned other +memories. How long he stood there he could not have told; he was +fighting a battle and it seemed to him at last that he triumphed. +Presently the consciousness came to him that perhaps he had no right to +stand there idle, it might be that the woman needed him, perhaps she had +fainted in the water, perhaps--He turned toward the bend which concealed +him from her and then he stopped. Had he any right to intrude upon her +privacy? He must of necessity be an unwelcome visitor to her, he had +surprised her at a frightful disadvantage; he knew instinctively, +although the fault was none of his, although he had saved her life +thereby, that she would hold him and him alone responsible for the +outrage to her modesty, and although he had seen little at first glance +and had resolutely kept his eyes away, the mere consciousness of her +absolute helplessness appealed to him--to what was best and noblest in +him, too. He must go to her. Stay, she might not yet be clothed, in +which event--But no, she must be dressed, or dead, by this time and in +either case he would have a duty to discharge. + +It devolved upon him to make sure of her safety, he was in a certain +sense responsible for it, until she got back to her friends wherever +they might be; but he persuaded himself that otherwise he did not want +to see her again, that he did not wish to know anything about her +future; that he did not care whether it was well or ill with her; and it +was only stern obligation which drove him toward her--oh fond and +foolish man! + +He compromised with himself at last by climbing the ridge that had shut +off a view of the pool, and looking down at the place so memorable to +him. He was prepared to withdraw instantly should circumstances warrant, +and he was careful so to conceal himself as to give no possible +opportunity for her to discover his scrutiny. + +With a beating heart and eager eyes he searched the spot. There lay the +bear and a little distance away prone on the grass, clothed but whether +in her right mind or not he could not tell, lay the woman. For a moment, +as he bent a concentrated eager gaze upon her, he thought she might have +fainted or that she might have died. In any event he reflected that she +had strength and nerve and will to have dressed herself before either of +these things had happened. She lay motionless under his gaze for so long +that he finally made up his mind that common humanity required him to go +to her assistance. + +He rose to his feet on the instant and saw the woman also lift herself +from the grass as if moved by a similar impulse. In his intense +preoccupation he had failed to observe the signs of the times. A sense +of the overcast sky came to him suddenly, as it did to her, but with a +difference. He knew what was about to happen, his experience told him +much more as to the awful potentialities of the tempest than she could +possibly imagine. She must be warned at once, she must leave the caņon +and get up on the higher ground without delay. His duty was plain and +yet he did it not. He could not. The pressure upon him was not yet +strong enough. + +A half dozen times as he watched her deliberately sitting there eating, +he opened his mouth to cry to her, yet he could not bring himself to +it. A strange timidity oppressed him, halted him, held him back. A man +cannot stay away five years from men and woman and be himself with them +in the twinkling of an eye. And when to that instinctive and acquired +reluctance against which he struggled in vain, he added the assurance +that whatever his message he would be unwelcome on account of what had +gone before, he could not force himself to go to her or even to call to +her, not yet. He would keep her under surveillance, however, and if the +worst came he could intervene in time to rescue her. He counted without +his cost, his usual judgment bewildered. So he followed her through the +trees and down the bank. + +Now he was so engrossed in her and so agitated that his caution slept, +his experience was forgotten. The storm in his own breast was so great +that it overshadowed the storm brewing above. Her way was easier than +his and he had fallen some distance behind when suddenly there rushed +upon him the fact that a frightful and unlooked for cloudburst was about +to occur above their heads. A lightning flash and a thunder clap at last +arrested his attention. Then, but not until then, he flung everything to +the winds and amid the sudden and almost continuous peals of thunder he +sent cry after cry toward her which were lost in the tremendous +diapason of sound that echoed and re-echoed through the rifts of the +mountains. + +"Wait," he cried again and again. "Come up higher. Get out of the caņon. +You'll be drowned." + +But he had waited too long, the storm had developed too rapidly, she was +too far ahead of and beneath him. She heard nothing but the sound of a +voice, shrill, menacing, fraught with terror for her, not a word +distinguishable; scarcely to her disturbed soul even a human voice, it +seemed like the weird cry of some wild spirit of the storm. It sounded +to her overwrought nerves so utterly inhuman that she only ran the +faster. + +The caņon swerved and then doubled back, but he knew its direction; +losing sight of her for the moment he plunged straight ahead through the +trees, cutting off the bend, leaping with superhuman agility and +strength over rocks and logs until he reached a point where the rift +narrowed between two walls and ran deeply. There and then the heavens +opened and the floods came and beat into that open maw of that vast +crevasse and filled it full in an instant. + +As the deluge came roaring down, bearing onward the sweepings and +scourings of the mountains, he caught a glimpse of her white desperate +face rising, falling, now disappearing, now coming into view again, in +the foamy midst of the torrent. He ran to the cliff bank and throwing +aside his gun he scrambled down the wall to a certain shelf of the rock +over which the rising water broke thinly. Ordinarily it was twenty feet +above the creek bed. Bracing himself against a jagged projection he +waited, praying. The caņon was here so narrow that he could have leaped +to the other side and yet it was too wide for him to reach her if the +water did not sweep her toward his feet. It was all done in a +second--fortunately a projection on the other side threw the force of +the torrent toward him and with it came the woman. + +She was almost spent; she had been struck by a log upheaved by some +mighty wave, her hands were moving feebly, her eyes were closed, she was +drowning, dying, but indomitably battling on. He stooped down and as a +surge lifted her he threw his arm around her waist and then braced +himself against the rock to sustain the full thrust of the mighty flood. +As he seized her she gave way suddenly, as if after having done all that +she could there was now nothing left but to trust herself to his hand +and God's. She hung a dead weight on his arm in the ravening water +which dragged and tore at her madly. + +He was a man of giant strength, but the struggle bade fair to be too +much even for him. It seemed as if the mountain behind him was giving +way. He set his teeth, he tried desperately to hold on, he thrust out +his right hand, holding her with the other one, and clawed at the +dripping rock in vain. In a moment the torrent mastered him and when it +did so it seized him with fury and threw him like a stone from a sling +into the seething vortex of the mid-stream. But in all this he did not, +he would not, release her. + +Such was the swiftness of the motion with which they were swept downward +that he had little need to swim; his only effort was to keep his head +above water and to keep from being dashed against the logs that tumbled +end over end, or whirled sideways, or were jammed into clusters only to +burst out on every hand. He struggled furiously to keep himself from +being overwhelmed in the seething madness, and what was harder, to keep +the lifeless woman in his arms from being stricken or wrenched away. He +knew that below the narrows where the caņon widened the water would +subside, the awful fury of the rain would presently cease. If he could +steer clear of the rocks in the broad he might win to land with her. + +The chances against him were thousands to nothing. But what are chances +in the eyes of God. The man in his solitude had not forgotten to pray, +his habits stood him in good stead now. He petitioned shortly, brokenly, +in brief unspoken words, as he battled through the long dragging +seconds. + +Fighting, clinging, struggling, praying, he was swept on. Heavier and +heavier the woman dragged in an unconscious heap. It would have been +easier for him if he had let her go; she would never know and he could +then escape. The idea never once occurred to him. He had indeed +withdrawn from his kind, but when one depended upon him all the old +appeal of weak humanity awoke quick response in the bosom of the strong. +He would die with the stranger rather than yield her to the torrent or +admit himself beaten and give up the fight. So the conscious and the +unconscious struggled through the narrow of the caņon. + +Presently with the rush and hurl of a bullet from the mouth of a gun, +they found themselves in a shallow lake through which the waters still +rushed mightily, breaking over rocks, digging away shallow rooted trees, +leaping, biting, snarling, tearing at the big walls spread away on +either side. He had husbanded some of his strength for this final +effort, this last chance of escape. Below them at the other end of this +open the walls came together again; there the descent was sharper than +before and the water ran to the opening with racing speed. Once again in +the torrent and they would be swept to death in spite of all. + +Shifting his grasp to the woman's hair, now unbound, he held her with +one hand and swam hard with the other. The current still ran swiftly, +but with no gigantic upheaving waves as before. It was more easy to +avoid floating timber and débris, and on one side where the ground +sloped somewhat gently the quick water flowed more slowly. He struck out +desperately for it, forcing himself away from the main stream into the +shallows and ever dragging the woman. Was it hours or minutes or seconds +after that he gained the battle and neared the shore at the lowest edge? + +He caught with his forearm, as the torrent swerved him around, a stout +young pine so deeply rooted as yet to have withstood the flood. +Summoning that last reserve of strength that is bestowed upon us in our +hour of need, and comes unless from God we know not whence, he drew +himself in front of the pine, got his back against it, and although the +water thundered against him still--only by comparison could it be called +quieter--and his foothold was most precarious, he reached down carefully +and grasped the woman under the shoulders. His position was a cramped +one, but by the power of his arms alone he lifted her up until he got +his left arm about her waist again. It was a mighty feat of strength +indeed. + +The pine stood in the midst of the water, for even on the farther side +the earth was overflowed but the water was stiller; he did not know what +might be there, but he had to chance it. Lifting her up he stepped out, +fortunately meeting firm ground; a few paces and he reached solid rock +above the flood. He raised her above his head and laid her upon the +shore, then with the very last atom of all his force, physical, mental +and spiritual, he drew himself up and fell panting and utterly exhausted +but triumphant by her side. + +The cloud burst was over, but the rain still beat down upon them, the +thunder still roared above them, the lightning still flashed about them, +but they were safe, alive if the woman had not died in his arms. He had +done a thing superhuman--no man knowing conditions would have believed +it. He himself would have declared a thousand times its patent +impossibility. + +For a few seconds he strove to recover himself; then he thought of the +flask he always carried in his pocket. It was gone; his clothes were +ragged and torn, they had been ruined by his battle with the waves. The +girl lay where he had placed her on her back. In the pocket of her +hunting skirt he noticed a little protuberance; the pocket was provided +with a flap and tightly buttoned. Without hesitation he unbuttoned it. +There was a flask there, a little silver mounted affair; by some miracle +it had not been broken. It was half full. With nervous hands he opened +it and poured some of its contents down her throat; then he bent over +her his soul in his glance, scarcely knowing what to do next. Presently +she opened her eyes. + +And there, in the rain, by that raging torrent whence he had drawn her +as it were from the jaws of death by the power of his arm, in the +presence of the God above them, this man and this woman looked at each +other and life for both of them was no longer the same. + + + + +BOOK III + +FORGETTING AND FORGOT + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A WILD DASH FOR THE HILLS + + +Old Kirkby, who had been lazily mending a saddle the greater part of the +morning, had eaten his dinner, smoked his pipe and was now stretched out +on the grass in the warm sun taking a nap. Mrs. Maitland was drowsing +over a book in the shadow of one of the big pines, when Pete, the horse +wrangler, who had been wandering rather far down the caņon rounding up +the ever straying stock, suddenly came bursting into the camp. + +"Heavens!" he cried, actually kicking the prostrate frontiersman as he +almost stumbled over him. "Wake up, old man, an'--" + +"What the--" began Kirkby fiercely, thus rudely aroused from slumber and +resentful of the daring and most unusual affront to his dignity and +station, since all men, and especially the younger ones, held him in +great honor. + +"Look there!" yelled Pete in growing excitement and entirely oblivious +to his _lčse-majesté_, pointing at a black cloud rolling over the top of +the range. "It'll be a cloud burst sure, we'll have to git out o' here +an' in a hurry too. Oh, Mrs. Maitland." + +By this time Kirkby was on his feet. The storm had stolen upon him +sleeping and unaware, the configuration of the caņon having completely +hid its approach. At best the three in the camp could not have +discovered it until it was high in the heavens. Now the clouds were +already approaching the noonday sun. Kirkby was alive to the situation +at once; he had the rare ability of men of action, of awakening with all +his faculties at instant command; he did not have to rub his eyes and +wonder where he was, and speculate as to what was to be done. The moment +that his eyes, following Pete's outstretched arm, discovered the black +mass of clouds, he ran toward Mrs. Maitland, and standing on no ceremony +he shook her vigorously by the shoulder. + +"We'll have to run for our lives, ma'm," he said briefly. "Pete, drive +the stock up on the hills, fur as you kin, the hosses pertikler, they'll +be more to us an' them burros must take keer of themselves." + +Pete needed no urging, he was off like a shot in the direction of the +improvised corral. He loosed the horses from their pickets and started +them up the steep trail that led down from the hogback to the camp by +the water's edge. He also tried to start the burros he had just rounded +up in the same direction. Some of them would go and some of them would +not. He had his hands full in an instant. Meanwhile Kirkby did not +linger by the side of Mrs. Maitland; with incredible agility for so old +a man he ran over to the tent where the stores were kept and began +picking out such articles of provision as he could easiest carry. + +"Come over here, Mrs. Maitland," he cried. "We'll have to carry up on +the hill somethin' to keep us from starvin' till we git back to town. We +hadn't orter camped in this yere pocket noways, but who'd ever expected +anything like this now." + +"What do you fear?" asked the woman, joining him as she spoke and +waiting for his directions. + +"Looks to me like a cloud bust," was the answer. "Creek's pretty full +now, an' if she does break everything below yere'll go to hell on a +run." + +It was evidence of his perturbation and anxiety that he used such +language which, however, in the emergency did not seem unwarranted even +to the refined ear of Mrs. Maitland. + +"Is it possible?" she exclaimed. + +"Taint only possible, it's sartin. Now ma'm," he hastily bundled up a +lot of miscellaneous provisions in a small piece of canvas, tied it up +and handed it to her, "that'll be for you." Immediately after he made up +a much larger bundle in another tent fly, adding, "an' this is mine." + +"Oh, let us hurry," cried Mrs. Maitland, as a peal of thunder, low, +muttered, menacing, burst from the flying clouds now obscuring the sun, +and rolled over the camp. + +"We've got time enough yit," answered Kirkby coolly calculating their +chances. "Best git your slicker on, you'll need it in a few minutes." + +Mrs. Maitland ran to her own tent and soon came out with sou'wester and +yellow oil skins completely covering her. Kirkby meantime had donned his +own old battered soiled rain clothes and had grabbed up Pete's. + +"I brought the children's coats along," said Mrs. Maitland, extending +three others. + +"Good," said Kirkby, "now we'll take our packs an'--" + +"Do you think there is any danger to Robert?" + +"He'll git nothin' worse'n a wettin'," returned the old man confidently. +"If we'd pitched the tents up on the hogback, that's all we'd a been in +for." + +"I have to leave the tents and all the things," said Mrs. Maitland. + +"You can stay with them," answered Kirkby, dryly, "but if what I think's +goin' to happen comes off, you won't have no need of nothin' no +more--Here she comes." + +As he spoke there was a sudden swift downpour of rain, not in drops, but +in a torrent. Catching up his own pack and motioning the woman to do +likewise with her load, Kirkby caught her by the hand, and half led, +half dragged her up the steep trail from the brook to the ridge which +bordered the side of the caņon. The caņon was much wider here than +further up and there was much more room and much more space for the +water to spread. Yet, they had to hurry for their lives as it was. They +had gone up scarcely a hundred feet when the disgorgement of the heavens +took place. The water fell with such force, directness and +continuousness that it almost beat them down. It ran over the trail down +the side of the mountain in sheets like waterfalls. It required all the +old man's skill and address to keep himself and his companion from +losing their footing and falling down into the seething tumult below. + +The tents went down in an instant. Where there had been a pleasant bit +of meadow land was now a muddy tossing lake of black water. Some of the +horses and most of the burros which Pete had been unable to do anything +with were engulfed in a moment. The two on the mountain side could see +them swimming for dear life as they swept down the caņon. Pete himself, +with a few of the animals, was already scrambling up to safety. + +Speech was impossible between the noise of the falling rain and the +incessant peals of thunder, but by persistent gesture old Kirkby urged +the terrified trembling woman up the trail until they finally reached +the top of the hogback, where under the poor shelter of the stunted +pines they joined Pete with such of the horses as he had been able to +drive up. Kirkby taking a thought for the morrow, noted that there were +four of them, enough to pull the wagon if they could get back to it. + +After the first awful deluge of the cloud burst it moderated slightly, +but the hard rain came down steadily, the wind rose as well and in spite +of their oil skins they were soon wet and cold. It was impossible to +make a fire, there was no place for them to go, nothing to be done, they +could only remain where they were and wait. After a half hour of +exposure to the merciless fury of the storm, a thought came suddenly to +Mrs. Maitland; she leaned over and caught the frontiersman by his wet +sleeve. Seeing that she wished to speak to him he bent his head toward +her lips. + +"Enid," she cried, pointing down the caņon; she had not thought before +of the position of the girl. + +Kirkby, who had not forgotten her, but who had instantly realized that +he could do nothing for her, shook his head, lifted his eyes and +solemnly pointed his finger up to the gray skies. He had said nothing to +Mrs. Maitland before, what was the use of troubling her. + +"God only kin help her," he cried; "she's beyond the help of man." + +Ah, indeed, old trapper, whence came the confident assurance of that +dogmatic statement? For as it chanced at that very moment the woman for +whose peril your heart was wrung was being lifted out of the torrent by +a man's hand! And, yet, who shall say that the old hunter was not right, +and that the man himself, as men of old have been, was sent from God? + +"It can't be," began Mrs. Maitland in great anguish for the girl she had +grown to love. + +"Ef she seed the storm an' realized what it was, an' had sense enough +to climb up the caņon wall," answered the other, "she won't be no worse +off 'n we are; ef not--" + +Mrs. Maitland had only to look down into the seething caldron to +understand the possibility of that "if." + +"Oh," she cried, "let us pray for her that she sought the hills." + +"I've been a doin' it," said the old man gruffly. + +He had a deep vein of piety in him, but like other rich ores it had to +be mined for in the depths before it was apparent. + +By slow degrees the water subsided, and after a long while the rain +ceased, a heavy mist lay on the mountains and the night approached +without any further appearance of the veiled sun. Toward evening Robert +Maitland with the three men and the three children joined the wretched +trio above the camp. Maitland, wild with excitement and apprehension, +had pressed on ahead of the rest. It was a glad faced man indeed who ran +the last few steps of the rough way and clasped his wife in his arms, +but as he did so he noticed that one was missing. + +"Where is Enid?" he cried, releasing his wife. + +"She went down the caņon early this mornin' intendin' to stay all day," +slowly and reluctantly answered old Kirkby, "an'--" + +He paused there, it wasn't necessary for him to say anything more. + +Maitland walked to the edge of the trail and looked down into the +valley. It had been swept clean of the camp. Rocks had been rolled over +upon the meadow land, trunks of trees torn up by the roots had lodged +against them, it was a scene of desolate and miserable confusion and +disaster. + +"Oh, Robert, don't you think she may be safe?" asked Mrs. Maitland. + +"There's jest a chance, I think, that she may have suspicioned the storm +an' got out of the caņon," suggested the old frontiersman. + +"A slim chance," answered Maitland gloomily. "I wouldn't have had this +happen for anything on earth." + +"Nor me; I'd a heap ruther it had got me than her," said Kirkby simply. + +"I didn't see it coming," continued Maitland nodding as if Kirkby's +statement were to be accepted as a matter of course, as indeed it was. +"We were on the other slope of the mountain, until it was almost over +head." + +"Nuther did I. To tell the truth I was lyin' down nappin' w'en Pete, +yere, who'd been down the caņon rounding up some of the critters, came +bustin' in on us." + +"I ain't saved but four hosses," said Pete mournfully, "and there's only +one burro on the hogback." + +"We came back as fast as we could," said Maitland. "I pushed on ahead. +George, Bradshaw and Phillips are bringing Bob and the girls. We must +search the caņon." + +"It can't be done to-night, old man," said Kirkby. + +"I tell you we can't wait, Jack!" + +"We've got to. I'm as willin' to lay down my life for that young gal as +anybody on earth, but in this yere mist an' as black a night as it's +goin' to be, we couldn't go ten rod without killin' ourselves an' we +couldn't see nothin' noways." + +"But she may be in the caņon." + +"If she's in the caņon 'twon't make no difference to her w'ether we +finds her to-morrer or next day or next year, Bob." + +Maitland groaned in anguish. + +"I can't stay here inactive," he persisted stubbornly. + +"It's a hard thing, but we got to wait till mornin'. Ef she got out of +the caņon and climbed up on the hogback she'll be all right; she'll soon +find out she can't make no progress in this mist and darkness. No, old +friend, we're up agin it hard; we jest got to stay the night w'ere we +are an' as long as we got to wait we might as well make ourselves as +comfortable as possible. For the wimmen an' children anyway. I fetched +up some ham and some canned goods and other eatin's in these yere canvas +sacks, we might kindle a fire--" + +"It's hardly possible," said Maitland, "we shall have to eat it cold." + +"Oh, Robert," pleaded his wife, "isn't it possible that she may have +escaped?" + +"Possible, yes, but--" + +"We won't give up hope, ma'am," said Kirkby, "until to-morrer w'en we've +had a look at the caņon." + +By this time the others joined the party. Phillips and Bradshaw showed +the stuff that was in them; they immediately volunteered to go down the +caņon at once, knowing little or nothing of its dangers and indifferent +to what they did know, but as Kirkby had pointed out the attempt was +clearly impossible. Maitland bitterly reproached himself for having +allowed the girl to go alone, and in those self reproaches old Kirkby +joined. + +They were too wet and cold to sleep, there was no shelter and it was not +until early in the morning they succeeded in kindling a fire. Meanwhile +the men talked the situation over very carefully. They were two days' +journey from the wagons. It was necessary that the woman and children +should be taken back at once. Kirkby hadn't been able to save much more +than enough to eat to get them back to a ranch or settlement, and on +very short rations at best. It was finally decided that George and Pete +with Mrs. Maitland, the two girls and the youngster should go back to +the wagon, drive to the nearest settlement, leave the women and then +return on horseback with all speed to meet Maitland and Kirkby who would +meanwhile search the caņon. + +The two men from the east had to go back with the others although they +pleaded gallantly to be allowed to remain with the two who were to take +up the hunt for Enid. Maitland might have kept them with him, but that +meant retaining a larger portion of the scanty supplies that had been +saved, and he was compelled against his will to refuse their requests. +Leaving barely enough to subsist Maitland and Kirkby for three or four +days, or until the return of the relief party, the groups separated at +daybreak. + +"Oh, Robert," pleaded his wife, as he kissed her good-by, "take care of +yourself, but find Enid." + +"Yes," answered her husband, "I shall, never fear, but I must find the +dear girl or discover what has become of her." + +There was not time for further leave taking. A few hand clasps from man +to man and then Robert Maitland standing in the midst of the group bowed +his head in the sunny morning, for the sky again was clear, and poured +out a brief prayer that God would prosper them, that they would find the +child and that they would all be together again in health and happiness. +And without another word, he and Kirkby plunged down the side of the +caņon, the others taking up their weary march homeward with sad hearts +and in great dismay. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A TELEGRAM AND A CALLER + + +"You say," asked Maitland, as they surveyed the caņon, "that she went +down the stream?" + +"She said she was goin' down. I showed her how to cut across the +mountains an' avoid the big bend, I've got no reason to suspicion that +she didn't go w'ere she said." + +"Nevertheless," said Maitland, "it is barely possible that she may have +changed her mind and gone up the caņon." + +"Yep, the female mind does often change unexpected like," returned the +other, "but w'ether she went up or down, the only place for us to look, +I take it, is down, for if she's alive, if she got out of the caņon and +is above us, nacherly she'd follow it down yere an' we'd a seed her by +this time. If she didn't git out of the caņon, why, all that's left of +her is bound to be down stream." + +Maitland nodded, he understood. + +"We'd better go down then," continued Kirkby, whose reasoning was +flawless except that it made no allowance for the human-divine +interposition that had been Enid Maitland's salvation. "An' if we don't +find no traces of her down stream, we kin come back here an' go up." + +It was a hard desperate journey the two men took. One of them followed +the stream at its level, the other tramped along in the mountains high +above the high water mark of the day before. If they had needed any +evidence of the power of that cloud burst and storm, they found it in +the caņon. In some places where it was narrow and rocky, the pass had +been fearfully scoured; at other places the whole aspect of it was +changed. The place was a welter of up-rooted trees, logs jammed together +in fantastic shapes; it was as if some wanton besom of destruction had +swept the narrow rift. + +Ever as they went they called and called. The broken obstructions of the +way made their progress slow; what they would have passed over +ordinarily in half a day, they had not traversed by nightfall and they +had seen nothing. They camped that night far down the caņon and in the +morning with hearts growing heavier every hour they resumed their +search. + +About noon of the second day they came to an immense log jam where the +stream now broadened and made a sudden turn before it plunged over a +fall of perhaps two hundred feet into the lake. It was the end of their +quest. If they did not find her there, they would never find her +anywhere, they thought. With still hearts and bated breath they climbed +out over the log jam and scrutinized it. A brownish gray patch concealed +beneath the great pines caught their eyes. They made their way to it. + +"It's a b'ar, a big grizzly," exclaimed Kirkby. + +The huge brute was battered out of all semblance of life, but that it +was a grizzly bear was clearly evident. Further on the two men caught +sight suddenly of a dash of blue. Kirkby stepped over to it, lifted it +in his hand and silently extended it to Maitland. It was a sweater, a +woman's sweater. They recognized it at once. The old man shook his head. +Maitland groaned aloud. + +"See yere," said Kirkby, pointing to the ragged and torn garment where +evidences of discoloration still remained, "looks like there'd bin blood +on it." + +"Heavens!" cried Maitland, "not that bear, I'd rather anything than +that." + +"W'atever it is, she's gone," said the old man with solemn finality. + +"Her body may be in these logs here--" + +"Or in the lake," answered Kirkby gloomily; "but w'erever she is we +can't git to her now." + +"We must come back with dynamite to break up this jam and--" + +"Yep," nodded the old man, "we'll do all that, of course, but now, arter +we search this jam o' logs I guess there's nothin' to do but go back, +an' the quicker we git back to the settlement, the quicker we can git +back here. I think we kin strike acrost the mountains an' save a day an' +a half. There's no need of us goin' back up the caņon now, I take it." + +"No," answered the other. "The quicker the better, as you say, and we +can head off George and the others that way." + +They searched the pile eagerly, prying under it, peering into it, +upsetting it, so far as they could with their naked hands, but with +little result, for they found nothing else. They had to camp another day +and next morning they hurried straight over the mountains, reaching the +settlement almost as soon as the others. Maitland with furious energy at +once organized a relief party. They hurried back to the logs, tore the +jam to pieces, searched it carefully and found nothing. To drag the lake +was impossible; it was hundreds of feet deep and while they worked it +froze. The weather had changed some days before, heavy snows had already +fallen, they had to get out of the mountains without further delay or +else be frozen up to die. Then and not till then did Maitland give up +hope. He had refrained from wiring to Philadelphia, but when he reached +a telegraph line some ten days after the cloud burst, he sent a long +message east, breaking to his brother the awful tidings. + +And in all that they did he and Kirkby, two of the shrewdest and most +experienced of men, showed with singular exactitude how easy it is for +the wisest and most capable of men to make mistakes, to leave the plain +trail, to fail to deduce the truth from the facts presented. Yet it is +difficult to point to a fault in their reasoning, or to find anything +left undone in the search. + +Enid had started down the caņon, near the end of it they had discovered +one of her garments which they could not conceive any reason for her +taking off. It was near the battered body of one of the biggest +grizzlies that either man had ever seen, it held evidence of blood +stains upon it still, they had found no body, but they were as +profoundly sure that the mangled remains of the poor girl lay within the +depths of that mountain lake as if they had actually seen her there. The +logic was all flawless. + +It so happened that on that November morning, when the telegram was +approaching him, Mr. Stephen Maitland had a caller. He came at an +unusually early hour. Mr. Stephen Maitland, who was no longer an early +riser, had indeed just finished his breakfast when the card of Mr. James +Armstrong of Colorado was handed to him. + +"This, I suppose," he thought testily, "is one of the results of Enid's +wanderings into that God-forsaken land. Did you ask the man his +business, James?" he said aloud to the footman. + +"Yes, sir; he said he wanted to see you on important business, and when +I made bold to ask him what business, he said it was none of mine, and +for me to take the message to you, sir." + +"Impudent," growled Mr. Maitland. + +"Yes, sir; but he is the kind of a gentleman you don't talk back to, +sir." + +"Well, you go back and tell him that you have given me his card, and I +should like to know what he wishes to see me about, that I am very busy +this morning and unless it is a matter of importance--you understand?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I suppose now I shall have the whole west unloaded upon me; every +vagabond friend of Robert's and people who meet Enid," he thought, but +his reveries were shortly interrupted by the return of the man. + +"If you please, sir," began James hesitatingly, as he re-entered the +room, "he says his business is about the young lady, sir." + +"Confound his impudence!" exclaimed Mr. Maitland, more and more annoyed +at what he was pleased to characterize mentally as western assurance. +"Where is he?" + +"In the hall, sir." + +"Show him into the library and say I shall be down in a moment." + +"Very good, sir." + +It was a decidedly wrathful individual who confronted Stephen Maitland a +few moments afterwards in the library, for Armstrong was not accustomed +to such cavalier treatment, and had Maitland been other than Enid's +father he would have given more outward expression of his indignation +over the discourtesy in his reception. + +"Mr. James Armstrong, I believe," began Mr. Maitland, looking at the +card in his hand. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Er--from Colorado?" + +"And proud of it." + +"Ah, I dare say. I believe you wished to see me about--" + +"Your daughter, sir." + +"And in what way are you concerned about her, sir?" + +"I wish to make her my wife." + +"What!" exclaimed the older man in a voice equally divided between +horror and astonishment. "How dare you, sir? You amaze, me beyond +measure with your infernal impudence." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Maitland," interposed Armstrong quickly and with great +spirit and determination, "but where I come from we don't allow anybody +to talk to us in this way. You are Enid's father and a much older man +than I, but I can't permit you to--" + +"Sir," said the astounded Maitland, drawing himself up at this bold +flouting, "you may be a very worthy young man, I have no doubt of it, +but it is out of the question. My daughter--" + +Again a less excited hearer might have noticed the emphasis on the +pronoun. + +"Why, she is half way engaged to me now," interrupted the younger man +with a certain contemptuous amusement in his voice. "Look here, Mr. +Maitland, I've knocked around the world a good deal, I know what's what, +I know all about you Eastern people, and I don't fancy you any more than +you fancy me. Miss Enid is quite unspoiled yet and that is why I want +her. I'm well able to take care of her too; I don't know what you've got +or how you got it, but I can come near laying down dollar for dollar +with you and mine's all clean money, mines, cattle, lumber, and it's +all good money. I made it myself. I left her in the mountains three +weeks ago with her promise that she would think very seriously of my +suit. After I came back to Denver--I was called east--I made up my mind +that I'd come here when I'd finished my business and have it out with +you. Now you can treat me like a dog if you want to, but if you expect +to keep peace in the family you'd better not, for I tell you plainly +whether you give your consent or not I mean to win her. All I want is +her consent, and I've pretty nearly got that." + +Mr. Stephen Maitland was black with wrath at this clear, unequivocal, +determined statement of the case from Armstrong's point of view. + +"I would rather see her dead," he exclaimed with angry stubbornness, +"than married to a man like you. How dare you force yourself into my +house and insult me in this way? Were I not so old a man I would show +you, I would give you a taste of your own manner." + +The old man's white mustache fairly quivered with what he believed to be +righteous indignation. He stepped over to the other and looked hard at +him, his eyes blazing, his ruddy cheeks redder than ever. The two men +confronted each other unblenchingly for a moment, then Mr. Maitland +touched a bell button in the wall by his side. Instantly the footman +made his appearance. + +"James," said the old man, his voice shaking and his knees trembling +with passion, which he did not quite succeed in controlling despite a +desperate effort, "show this--er--gentleman the door. Good morning, sir, +our first and last interview is over." + +He bowed with ceremonious politeness as he spoke, becoming more and more +composed as he felt himself mastering the situation. And Armstrong, to +do him justice, knew a gentleman when he saw him, and secretly admired +the older man and began to feel a touch of shame at his own rude way of +putting things. + +"Beg pardon, sir," said the footman, breaking the awkward silence, "but +here is a telegram that has just come, sir." + +There was nothing for Armstrong to do or say. Indeed, having expressed +himself so unrestrainedly to his rapidly increasing regret, as the old +man took the telegram he turned away in considerable discomfiture, James +bowing before him at the door opening into the hall and following him as +he slowly passed out. Mr. Stephen Maitland mechanically and with great +deliberation and with no premonition of evil tidings, tore open the +yellow envelope and glanced at the dispatch. Neither the visitor nor +the footman had got out of sight or hearing when they heard the old man +groan and fall back helplessly into a chair. Both men turned and ran +back to the door, for there was that in the exclamation which gave rise +to instant apprehension. Stephen Maitland now as white as death sat +collapsed in the chair gasping for breath, his hand on his heart. The +telegram lay open on the floor. Armstrong recognized the seriousness of +the situation, and in three steps was by the other's side. + +"What is it?" he asked eagerly, his hatred and resentment vanished at +the sight of the old man's ghastly, stricken countenance. + +"Enid!" gasped her father. "I said I would rather see her--dead, but--it +is not true--I--" + +James Armstrong was a man of prompt decision. Without a moment's +hesitation he picked up the telegram; it was full and explicit, thus it +read: + + "We were encamped last week in the mountains. Enid went down the + caņon for a day's fishing alone. A sudden cloud burst filled the + caņon, washed away the camp. Enid undoubtedly got caught in the + torrent and was drowned. We have found some of her clothing but not + her body. Have searched every foot of the caņon. Think body has got + into the lake now frozen. Snow falling, mountains impassable, will + search for her in the spring when the winter breaks. I am following + this telegram in person by first train. Would rather have died a + thousand deaths than had this happen. God help us." + + "ROBERT MAITLAND." + +Armstrong read it, stared at it a moment frowning heavily, passed it +over to the footman and turned to the stricken father. + +"Old man, I loved her," he said simply. "I love her still, I believe +that she loves me. They haven't found her body, clothes mean nothing, +I'll find her, I'll search the mountains until I do. Don't give way, +something tells me that she's alive, and I'll find her." + +"If you do," said the broken old man, crushed by the swift and awful +response to his thoughtless exclamation, "and she loves you, you shall +have her for your wife." + +"It doesn't need that to make me find her," answered Armstrong grimly. +"She is a woman, lost in the mountains in the winter, alone. They +shouldn't have given up the search; I'll find her as there is a God +above me whether she's for me or not." + +A good deal of a man this James Armstrong of Colorado, in spite of many +things in his past of which he thought so little that he lacked the +grace to be ashamed of them. Stephen Maitland looked at him with a +certain respect and a growing hope, as he stood there in the library +stern, resolute, strong. + +Perhaps-- + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY" + + +Recognition--or some other more potent instantaneous force--brought the +woman to a sitting position. The man drew back to give her freedom of +action, as she lifted herself on her hands. It was moments before +complete consciousness of her situation came to her; the surprise was +yet too great. She saw things dimly through a whirl of driving rain, of +a rushing mighty wind, of a seething sea of water, but presently it was +all plain to her again. She had caught no fair view of the man who had +shot the bear as he splashed through the creek and tramped, across the +rocks and trees down the caņon, at least she had not seen his front +face, but she recognized him immediately. The thought tinged with color +for a moment, her pallid cheek. + +"I fell into the torrent," she said feebly, putting her hand to her head +and striving by speech to put aside that awful remembrance. + +"You didn't fall in," was the answer. "It was a cloud burst, you were +caught in it." + +"I didn't know." + +"Of course not, how should you." + +"And how came I here?" + +"I was lucky enough to pull you out." + +"Did you jump into the flood for me?" + +The man nodded. + +"That's twice you have saved my life this day," said the girl, forcing +herself woman-like to the topic that she hated. + +"It's nothing," deprecated the other. + +"It may be nothing to you, but it is a great deal to me," was the +answer. "And now what is to be done?" + +"We must get out of here at once," said the man. "You need shelter, +food, a fire. Can you walk?" + +"I don't know." + +"Let me help you." He rose to his feet, reached down to her, took her +hands in the strong grasp of his own and raised her lightly to her feet +in an effortless way which showed his great strength. She did not more +than put the weight of her body slightly on her left foot when a spasm +of pain shot through her, she swerved and would have fallen had he not +caught her. He sat her gently on the rock. + +"My foot," she said piteously. "I don't know what's the matter with it." + +Her high boots were tightly laced of course, but he could see that her +left foot had been badly mauled or sprained, already the slender ankle +was swelling visibly. He examined it swiftly a moment. It might be a +sprain, it might be the result of some violent thrust against the rocks, +some whirling tree trunks might have caught and crushed her foot, but +there was no good in speculating as to causes; the present patent fact +was that she could not walk, all the rest was at that moment +unimportant. This unfortunate accident made him the more anxious to get +her to a place of shelter without delay. It would be necessary to take +off her boot and give the wounded member proper treatment. For the +present the tight shoe acted as a bandage, which was well. + +When the man had withdrawn himself from the world, he had inwardly +resolved that no human being should ever invade his domain or share his +solitude, and during his long sojourn in the wilderness his +determination had not weakened. Now his consuming desire was to get this +woman, whom fortune--good or ill!--had thrown upon his hands, to his +house without delay. There was nothing he could do for her out there in +the rain. Every drop of whiskey was gone; they were just two +half-drowned, sodden bits of humanity cast up on that rocky shore, and +one was a helpless woman. + +"Do you know where your camp is?" he asked at last. + +He did not wish to take her to her own camp, he had a strange instinct +of possession in her. In some way he felt he had obtained a right to +deal with her as he would; he had saved her life twice, once by chance, +the other as the result of deliberate and heroic endeavor, and yet his +honor and his manhood obliged him to offer to take her to her own people +if he could. Hence the question, the answer to which he waited so +eagerly. + +"It's down the caņon. I am one of Mr. Robert Maitland's party." + +The man nodded. He didn't know Robert Maitland from Adam, and he cared +nothing about him. + +"How far down?" he asked. + +"I don't know; how far is it from here to where you--where--where we--" + +"About a mile," he replied quickly, fully understanding her reason for +faltering. + +"Then I think I must have come at least five miles from the camp this +morning." + +"It will be four miles away then," said the man. + +The girl nodded. + +"I couldn't carry you that far," he murmured half to himself. "I +question if there is any camp left there anyway. Where was it, down by +the water's edge?" + +"Yes." + +"Every vestige will have been swept away by that, look at it," he +pointed over to the lake. + +"What must we do?" she asked instantly, depending upon his greater +strength, his larger experience, his masculine force. + +"I shall have to take you to my camp." + +"Is it far?" + +"About a mile or a mile and a half from here." + +"I can't walk that far." + +"No, I suppose not. You wouldn't be willing to stay here while I went +down and hunted for your camp?" + +The girl clutched at him. + +"I couldn't be left here for a moment alone," she said in sudden fever +of alarm. "I never was afraid before, but now--" + +"All right," he said, gently patting her as he would a child, "we'll go +up to my camp and then I will try to find your people and--" + +"But I tell you I can't walk!" + +"You don't have to walk," said the man. + +He did not make any apology for his next action, he just stooped down +and disregarding her faint protests and objections, picked her up in +his arms. She was by no means a light burden, and he did not run away +with her as the heroes of romances do. But he was a man far beyond the +average in strength, and with a stout heart and a resolute courage that +had always carried him successfully through whatever he attempted, and +he had need of all his qualities, physical and mental, before he +finished that awful journey. + +The woman struggled a little at first, then finally resigned herself to +the situation; indeed, she thought swiftly, there was nothing else to +do; she had no choice, she could not have been left alone there in the +rocks in that rain, she could not walk. He was doing the only thing +possible. The compulsion of the inevitable was upon them both. + +They went slowly. The man often stopped for rest, at which times he +would seat her carefully upon some prostrate tree, or some rounded +boulder, until he was ready to resume his task. He did not bother her +with explanation, discussion or other conversation, for which she was +most thankful. Once or twice during the slow progress she tried to walk, +but the slightest pressure on her wounded foot nearly caused her to +faint. He made no complaint about his burden and she found it after all +pleasant to be upheld by such powerful arms; she was so sick, so tired, +so worn out, and there was such assurance of strength and safety in his +firm hold of her. + +By and by, in the last stage of their journey, her head dropped on his +shoulder and she actually fell into an uneasy troubled sleep. He did not +know whether she slumbered or whether she had fainted again. He did not +dare to stop to find out, his strength was almost spent; in this last +effort the strain upon his muscles was almost as great as it had been in +the whirlpool. For the second time that day the sweat stood out on his +forehead, his legs trembled under him. How he made the last five hundred +feet up the steep wall to a certain broad shelf perhaps an acre in +extent where he had built his hut among the mountains, he never knew; +but the last remnant of his force was spent when he finally opened the +unlatched door with his foot, carried her into the log hut and laid her +upon the bed or bunk built against one wall of the cabin. + +Yet the way he put her down was characteristic of the man. That last +vestige of strength had served him well. He did not drop her as a less +thoughtful and less determined man might have done; he laid her there as +gently and as tenderly as if she weighed nothing, and as if he had +carried her nowhere. So quiet and easy was his handling of her that she +did not wake up at once. + +So soon as she was out of his arms, he stood up and stared at her in +great alarm which soon gave way to reassurance. She had not fainted; +there was a little tinge of color in her cheek that had rubbed up +against his rough wet shoulder; she was asleep, her regular breathing +told him that. Sleep was of course the very best medicine for her and +yet she should not be allowed to sleep until she had got rid of her wet +clothing and until something had been done for her wounded foot. It was +indeed an embarrassing situation. + +He surveyed her for a few moments wondering how best to begin. Then +realizing the necessity for immediate action, he bent over and woke her +up. Again she stared at him in bewilderment until he spoke. + +"This is my house," he said, "we are home." + +"Home!" sobbed the girl. + +"Under shelter, then," said the man. "You are very tired and very +sleepy, but there is something to be done. You must take off those wet +clothes at once, you must have something to eat, and I must have a look +at that foot, and then you can have your sleep out." + +The girl stared at him; his program, if a radical one under the +circumstances, was nevertheless a rational one, indeed the only one. How +was it to be carried out? The man easily divined her thoughts. + +[Illustration: "Wait! I am a woman, absolutely alone, entirely at your +mercy"] + +"There is another room in this house, a store room, I cook in there," he +said. "I am going in there now to get you something to eat, meanwhile +you must undress yourself and go to bed." + +He went to a rude set of box-like shelves draped with a curtain, +apparently his own handiwork, against the wall, and brought from it a +long and somewhat shapeless woolen gown. + +"You can wear this to sleep in," he continued. "First of all, though, I +am going to have a look at that foot." + +He bent down to where her wounded foot lay extended on the bed. + +"Wait!" said the girl, lifting herself on her arm and as she did so he +lifted his head and answered her direct gaze with his own. "I am a +woman, absolutely alone, entirely at your mercy, you are stronger than +I, I have no choice but to do what you bid me. And in addition to the +natural weakness of my sex I am the more helpless from this foot. What +do you intend to do with me? How do you mean to treat me?" + +It was a bold, a splendid question and it evoked the answer it merited. + +"As God is my judge," said the man quietly, "just as you ought to be +treated, as I would want another to treat my mother, or my sister, or +my wife--" she noticed how curiously his lips suddenly tightened at that +word--"if I had one. I never harmed a woman in my life," he continued +more earnestly, "only one, that is," he corrected himself, and once +again she marked that peculiar contraction of the lips. "And I could not +help that," he added. + +"I trust you," said the girl at last after gazing at him long and hard +as if to search out the secrets of his very soul. "You have saved my +life and things dearer will be safe with you. I have to trust you." + +"I hope," came the quick comment, "that it is not only for that. I don't +want to be trusted upon compulsion." + +"You must have fought terribly for my life in the flood," was the +answer. "I can remember what it was now, and you carried me over the +rocks and the mountains without faltering. Only a man could do what you +have done. I trust you anyway." + +"Thank you," said the man briefly as he bent over the injured foot +again. + +The boot laced up the front, the short skirt left all plainly visible. +With deft fingers he undid the sodden knot and unlaced it, then stood +hesitatingly for a moment. + +"I don't like to cut your only pair of shoes," he said as he made a +slight motion to draw it off, and then observing the spasm of pain, he +stopped. "Needs must," he continued, taking out his knife and slitting +the leather. + +He did it very carefully so as not to ruin the boot beyond repair, and +finally succeeded in getting it off without giving her too much pain. +And she was not so tired or so miserable as to be unaware of his +gentleness. His manner, matter-of-fact, business-like, if he had been a +doctor one would have called it professional, distinctly pleased her in +this trying and unusual position. Her stocking was stained with blood. +The man rose to his feet, took from a rude home-made chair a light +Mexican blanket and laid it considerately across the girl. + +"Now if you can manage to get off your stocking, yourself, I will see +what can be done," he said turning away. + +It was the work of a few seconds for her to comply with his request. +Hanging the wet stocking carefully over a chair back, he drew back the +blanket a little and carefully inspected the poor little foot. He saw at +once that it was not an ordinary sprained ankle, but it seemed to him +that her foot had been caught between two tossing logs, and had been +badly bruised. It was very painful, but would not take so long to heal +as a sprain. The little foot, normally so white, was now black and blue +and the skin had been roughly torn and broken. He brought a basin of +cold water and a towel and washed off the blood, the girl fighting down +the pain and successfully stifling any outcry. + +"Now," he said, "you must put on this gown and get into bed. By the time +you are ready for it I will have some broth for you and then we will +bandage that foot. I shall not come in here for some time, you will be +quite alone and safe." + +He turned and left the room, shutting the door after him as he went out. +For a second time that day Enid Maitland undressed herself and this time +nervously and in great haste. She was almost too excited and +apprehensive to recall the painful circumstances attendant upon her +first disrobing. She said she trusted the man absolutely, yet she would +not have been human if she had not looked most anxiously toward that +closed door. He made plenty of noise in the other room, bustling about +as if to reassure her. + +She could not rest the weight of her body on her left foot and getting +rid of her wet clothes was a somewhat slow process in spite of her +hurry, made more so by her extreme nervousness. The gown he gave her was +far too big for her, but soft and warm and exquisitely clean. It draped +her slight figure completely. Leaving her sodden garments where they had +fallen, for she was not equal to anything else, she wrapped herself in +the folds of the big gown and managed to get into bed. For all its rude +appearance it was a very comfortable sleeping place, there were springs +and a good mattress. The unbleached sheets were clean; although they had +been rough dried, there was a delicious sense of comfort and rest in her +position. She had scarcely composed herself when he knocked loudly upon +her door. + +"May I come in?" he asked. + +When she bade him enter she saw he had in his hand a saucepan full of +some steaming broth. She wondered how he had made it in such a hurry, +but after he poured it into a granite ware cup and offered it to her, +she took it without question. It was thick, warming and nourishing. He +stood by her and insisted that she take more and more. Finally she +rebelled. + +"Well, perhaps that will do for to-night," he said, "now let's have a +look at your foot." + +She observed that he had laid on the table a long roll of white cloth; +she could not know that he had torn up one of his sheets to make +bandages, but so it was. He took the little foot tenderly in his hands. + +"I am going to hurt you," he said, "I am going to find out if there is +anything more than a bruise, any bones broken." + +There was no denying that he did pain her exquisitely. + +"I can't help it," he said as she cried aloud. "I have got to see what's +the matter, I am almost through now." + +"Go on, I can bear it," she said faintly. "I feel so much better anyway +now that I am dry and warm." + +"So far as I can determine," said the man at last, "it is only a bad +ugly bruise; the skin is torn, it has been battered, but it is neither +sprained nor broken and I don't think it is going to be very serious. +Now I am going to bathe it in the hottest water you can bear, and then I +will bandage it and let you go to sleep." + +He went out and came back with a kettle of boiling water, with which he +laved again and again, the poor, torn, battered little member. Never in +her life had anything been so grateful as these repeated applications of +hot water. After awhile he applied a healing lotion of some kind, then +he took his long roll of bandage and wound it dexterously around her +foot, not drawing it too close to prevent circulation, but just tight +enough for support, then as he finished she drew it back beneath the +cover. + +"Now," said he, "there is nothing more I can do for you to-night, is +there?" + +"Nothing." + +"I want you to go to sleep now, you will be perfectly safe here. I am +going down the caņon to search--" + +"No," said the girl apprehensively. "I dare not be left alone here; +besides I know how dangerous it would be for you to try to descend the +caņon in this rain. You have risked enough for me, you must wait until +the morning. I shall feel better then." + +"But think of the anxiety of your friends." + +"I can't help it," was the nervous reply. "I am afraid to be left alone +here at night." + +Her voice trembled, he was fearful she would have a nervous breakdown. + +"Very well," he said soothingly, "I will not leave you till the +morning." + +"Where will you stay?" + +"I'll make a shakedown for myself in the store room," he answered. "I +shall be right within call at any time." + +It had grown dark outside by this time and the two in the log hut could +barely see each other. + +"I think I shall light the fire," continued the man; "it will be sort of +company for you and it gets cold up here of nights at this season. I +shouldn't wonder if this rain turned into snow. Besides, it will dry +your clothes for you." + +Then he went over to the fireplace, struck a match, touched it to the +kindling under the huge logs already prepared, and in a moment a +cheerful blaze was roaring up through the chimney. Then he picked up +from the floor where she had cast them in a heap, her bedraggled +garments. He straightened them out as best he could, hung them over the +backs of chairs and the table which he drew as near to the fire as was +safe. Having completed this unwonted task he turned to the woman who had +watched him curiously and nervously the while. + +"Is there anything more that I can do for you?" + +"Nothing; you have been as kind and as gentle as you were strong and +brave." + +He threw his hand out with a deprecating gesture. + +"Are you quite comfortable?" + +"Yes." + +"And your foot?" + +"Seems very much better." + +"Good night then, I will call you in the morning." + +"Good night," said the girl gratefully, "and God bless you for a true +and noble man." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +ON THE TWO SIDES OF THE DOOR + + +The cabin contained a large and a small room. In the wall between them +there was a doorway closed by an ordinary batten door with a wooden +latch and no lock. Closed it served to hide the occupant of one room +from the view of the other, otherwise it was but a feeble barrier. Even +had it possessed a lock, a vigorous man could have burst it through in a +moment. + +These thoughts did not come very clearly to Enid Maitland. Few thoughts +of any kind came to her. Where she lay she could see plainly the dancing +light of the glorious fire. She was warm; the deftly wrapped bandage, +the healing lotion upon her foot, had greatly relieved the pain in that +wounded member. The bed was hard but comfortable, much more so than the +sleeping bags to which of late she had been accustomed. + +Few women had gone through such experiences mental and physical as had +befallen her within the last few hours and lived to tell the story. Had +it not been for the exhaustive strains of body and spirit to which she +had been subjected, her mental faculties would have been on the alert +and the strangeness of her unique position would have made her so +nervous that she could not have slept. + +For the time being, however, the physical demands upon her entity were +paramount. She was dry, she was warm, she was fed, she was free from +anxiety and she was absolutely unutterably weary. Her thoughts were +vague, inchoate, unconcentrated. The fire wavered before her eyes, she +closed them in a few moments and did not open them. + +Without a thought, without a care, she fell asleep. Her repose was +complete, not a dream even disturbed the profound slumber into which she +sank. Pretty picture she made; her head thrown backward, her golden hair +roughly dried and quickly plaited in long braids, one of which fell +along the pillow while the other curled lovingly around her neck. Her +face in the natural light would have looked pallid from what she had +gone through, but the fire cast red glows upon it; the fitful light +flickered across her countenance and sometimes the color wavered, it +came and went as if in consciousness; and sometimes deep shadows +unrelieved accentuated the paleness born of her sufferings. + +There is no light that plays so many tricks with the imagination, or +that so stimulates the fancy as the light of an open fire. In its sudden +outbursts it sometimes seems to add life touches to the sleeping and the +dead. Had there been any eye to see this girl, she would have made a +delightful picture in the warm glow from the stone hearth. There were no +eyes to look, however, save those which belonged to the man on the other +side of the door. + +On the hither side of that door in the room where the fire burned on the +hearth, there was rest in the heart of the woman, on the farther side +where the fire only burned in the heart of the man, there was tumult. +Not outward and visible, but inward and spiritual, and yet there was no +lack of apparent manifestation of the turmoil in the man's soul. + +Albeit the room was smaller than the other, it was still of a good size. +He walked nervously up and down from one end to the other as ceaselessly +as a wild animal impatient of captivity stalks the narrow limits of his +contracted cage. The even tenor of his life had suddenly been diverted. +The ordinary sequence of his days had been abruptly changed. The privacy +of five years, which he had hoped and dreamed might exist as long as he, +had been rudely broken in upon. Humanity, which he had avoided, from +which he had fled, which he had cast away forever, had found him. +_Abiit, excessit, evasit, erupit!_ And, lo, his departures were all in +vain! The world, with all its grandeur and its insignificance, with all +its powers and its weaknesses, with all its opportunities and its +obligations, with all its joys and its sorrows, had knocked at his door; +and that the knocking hand was that of a woman, but added to his +perplexity and to his dismay. + +He had cherished a dream that he could live to himself alone with but a +memory to bear him company, and from that dream he had been thunderously +awakened. Everything was changed. What had once been easy had now become +impossible. He might send her away, but though he swore her to secrecy +she would have to tell her story and something of his; the world would +learn some of it and seek him out with insatiable curiosity to know the +rest. + +Eyes as keen as his would presently search and scrutinize the mountains +where he had roamed alone. They would see what he had seen, find what he +had found. Mankind, gold-lusting, would swarm and hive upon the hills +and fight and love and breed and die. + +He would of course move on, but where? And went he whithersoever he +might, he would now of necessity carry with him another memory which +would not dwell within his mind in harmony with the memory which until +that day had been paramount there alone. + +Slowly, laboriously, painfully, he had built his house upon the sand, +and the winds had blown and the floods had come, not only in a literal +but in a spiritual significance, and in one day that house had fallen. +He stood amid the wrecked remains of it trying to recreate it, to endow +once more with the fitted precision of the past the shapeless broken +units of the fabric of his fond imagination. + +Whiles he resented with fierce, savage, passionate intensity the +interruption of this woman into his life. Whiles he throbbed with equal +intensity and almost as much passion at the thought of her. + +Have you ever climbed a mountain early in the morning while it was yet +dark and having gained some dominant crest stood staring at the far +horizon, the empurpled east, while the "dawn came up like thunder?" Or, +better still, have you ever stood within the cold dark recesses of some +deep valley of river or pass and watched the clear light spread its bars +athwart the heavens, like nebulous mighty pinions, along the light +touched crest of a towering range until all of a sudden, with a leap +almost of joy, the great sun blazed in the high horizon? + +You might be born a child of the dark, and light might sear and burn +your eyeballs accustomed to cooler, deeper shades, yet you could no more +turn away from this glory, though you might hate it, than by mere effort +of will you could cease to breathe the air. The shock that you might +feel, the sudden surprise, is only faintly suggestive of the emotions in +the breast of this man. + +Once long ago the gentlest and tenderest of voices called from the dark +to the light, the blind. And it is given to modern science and to modern +skill sometimes to emulate that godlike achievement. Perhaps the +surprise, the amazement, the bewilderment, of him who having been blind +doth now see, if we can imagine it, not having been in the case +ourselves, will be a better guide to the understanding of this man's +emotion when this woman came suddenly into his lonely orbit. His eyes +were opened although he would not know it. He fought down his new +consciousness and would have none of it. Yet it was there. He loved her! + +With what joy did Selkirk welcome the savage sharer of his solitude! +Suppose she had been a woman of his own race; had she been old, +withered, hideous, he must have loved her on the instant, much more if +she were young and beautiful. The thing was inevitable. Such passions +are born. God forbid that we should deny it. Even in the busy haunts of +men where women are as plenty as blackberries, to use Falstaff's simile, +and where a man may sometimes choose between a hundred, or a thousand, +often such loves are born, forever. + +A voice in the night, a face in the street, a whispered word, the touch +of a hand, the answering throb of another heart--and behold! two walk +together where before each walked alone. Sometimes the man or the woman +who is born again of love knows it not, declines to admit it, refuses to +recognize it. Some birth pain must awake the consciousness of the new +life. + +If those things are true and possible under every day conditions and to +ordinary men and women, how much more to this solitary. He had seen this +woman, white breasted like the foam, rising as the ancient goddess from +the Paphian Sea. Over that recollection, as he was a gentleman and a +Christian, he would fain draw a curtain, before it erect a wall. He must +not dwell upon that fact, he would not linger over that moment. Yet he +could not forget it. + +Then he had seen her lying prone, yet unconsciously graceful in her +abandonment, on the sward; he had caught a glimpse of her white face +desperately up-tossed by the rolling water; he had looked into the +unfathomable depths of her eyes at that moment when she had awakened in +his arms after such a struggle as had taxed his manhood and almost +broken his heart; he had carried her unconsciously, ghastly white with +her pain-drawn face, stumbling desperately over the rocks in the beating +rain to this his home. There he had held that poor, bruised slender +little foot in his hand, gently, skillfully treating it, when he longed +to press his lips passionately upon it. Last of all he had looked into +her face warmed with the red light of the fire, searched her weary eyes +almost like blue pools, in whose depths there yet lurked life and light, +while her golden hair tinged crimson by the blaze lay on the white +pillow--and he loved her. God pity him, fighting against fact and +admission of it, yet how could he help it? + +He had loved once before in his life with the fire of youth and spring, +but it was not like this; he did not recognize this new passion in any +light from the past, therefore he would not admit it, hence he did not +understand it. But he saw and admitted and understood enough to know +that the past was no longer the supreme subject in his life, that the +present rose higher, bulked larger and hid more and more of his far-off +horizon. + +He felt like a knave and a traitor, as if he had been base, disloyal, +false to his ideal, recreant to his remembrance. Was he indeed a true +man? Did he have that rugged strength, that abiding faith, that eternal +consciousness, that lasting affection beside which the rocky paths he +often trod were things transient, perishable, evanescent? Was he a +weakling that he fell at the first sight of another woman? + +He stopped his ceaseless pace forward and backward, and stopped near +that frail and futile door. She was there and there was none to prevent. +His hand sought the latch. + +What was he about to do? God forbid that a thought he could not freely +share with humanity should enter his brain then. He held all women +sacred, and so he had ever done, and this woman in her loveliness, in +her helplessness, in her weakness, trebly appealed to him. But he would +look upon her, he would fain see if she were there, if it were all not a +dream, the creation of his disordered imagination. + +Men had gone mad in hermitages in the mountains, they had been driven +insane in lonely oases in vast deserts; and they had peopled their +solitudes with men and women. Was this same working of a disordered +brain too much turned upon itself and with too tremendous a pressure +upon it producing an illusion? Was there in truth any woman there? He +would raise the latch and open the door and look. Once more the hand +went stealthily to the latch. + +The woman slept quietly on. No thin barricade easily unlocked or easily +broken protected her. Something intangible yet stronger than the +thickest, the most rigid, bars of steel guarded her; something unseen, +indescribable, but so unmistakable when it throbs in the breast that +those who depend on it feel that their dependence is not in vain, +watched over her. + +Cherishing no evil thought, the man had power to gratify his desire +which might yet bear a sinister construction should his action be +observed. It was her privacy he was invading; she had trusted to him, +she had said so, to his honor and that stood her in good stead. His +honor! Not in five years had he heard the word or thought the thing, but +he had not forgotten it. She had not appealed to an unreal thing. Upon a +rock her trust was based. His hand left the latch, it fell gently, he +drew back and turned away trembling, a conqueror who mastered himself. +He was awake to the truth again. + +What had he been about to do? Profane, uninvited, the sanctity of her +chamber, violate the hospitality of his own house. Even with a proper +motive imperil his self-respect, shatter her trust, endanger that honor +which so suddenly became a part of him on demand. She would not probably +know, she could never know unless she awoke. What of that? That ancient +honor of his life and race rose like a mountain whose scarped face +cannot be scaled. + +He fell back with a swift turn, a feeling almost womanly--and more men +perhaps if they lived in feminine isolation, as self-centered as women +are so often by necessity, would be as feminine as their +sisters--influenced him, overcame him. His hand went to his hunting +shirt; nervously he tore it open, he grasped a bright object that hung +against his breast; as he did so, the thought came to him that not +before in five years had he been for a moment unconscious of the +pressure of that locket over his heart, but now that this other had +come, he had to seek for it to find it. + +The man dragged it out, held it in his hand and opened it. He held it so +tightly that it almost gave beneath the strong grasp of his strong hand. +From a near-by box he drew another object with his other hand; he took +the two to the light, the soft light of the candle upon the table, and +stared from one to the other with eyes brimming. + +Like crystal gazers he saw other things than those presented to the +casual vision, he heard other sounds than the beat of the rain upon the +roof, the roar of the wind down the caņon. A voice that he had sworn he +would never forget, but which, God forgive him, had not now the +clearness that it might have had yesterday, whispered awful words to +him. + +Anon he looked into another face, red too, but with no hue from the +hearth or leaping flame, but red with the blood of ghastly wounds. He +heard again that report, the roar louder and more terrible than any peal +of thunder that rived the clouds above his head and made the mountains +quake and tremble. He was conscious again of the awful stillness of +death that supervened. He dropped on his knees, buried his face in his +hands where they rested on picture and locket on the rude table. + +Ah, the past died hard; for a moment he was the lover of old--remorse, +passionate expiation, solitude--he and the dead together--the world and +the living forgot! He would not be false, he would be true; there was no +power in any feeble woman's tender hand to drive him off his course, to +shake his purpose, to make him a new, another man. _O, Vanitas, +Vanitatum!_ + +On the other side of the door the unconscious woman slept quietly on. +The red fire light died away, the glowing coals sank into gray ash. +Within the smaller room the cold dawn stealing through the unshaded +window looked upon a field of battle--deaths, wounds, triumphs, +defeats--portrayed upon one poor human face, upturned as sometimes +victors and vanquished alike upturn stark faces from the field to the +God above who may pity but who has not intervened. + +So Jacob may have looked after that awful night when he wrestled until +the day broke with the angel and would not let him go until he blessed +him, walking, forever after, with halting step as memorial but with his +blessing earned. Hath, this man blessing won or not? And must he pay for +it if he hath achieved it? + +And all the while the woman slept quietly on upon the other side of that +door. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE LOG HUT IN THE MOUNTAINS + + +What awakened the woman she did not know; in all probability it was the +bright sunlight streaming through the narrow window before her. The +cabin was so placed that the sun did not strike fairly into the room +until it was some hours high, consequently she had her long sleep out +entirely undisturbed. The man had made no effort whatever to awaken her. +Whatever tasks he had performed since daybreak had been so silently +accomplished that she had not been aware of them. + +So soon as he could do so, he had left the cabin and was now busily +engaged in his daily duties outside the cabin and beyond earshot. He +knew that sleep was the very best medicine for her and it was best that +she should not be disturbed until in her own good time she awoke. + +The clouds had emptied themselves during the night and the wind had at +last died away toward morning and now there was a great calm abroad in +the land. The sunlight was dazzling. Outside, where the untempered rays +beat full upon the crests of the mountains, it was doubtless warm, but +within the cabin it was chilly--the fire had long since burned +completely away and he had not entered the room to replenish it. Yet +Enid Maitland had lain snug and warm under her blankets. She presently +tested her wounded foot by moving it gently and discovered agreeably +that it was much less painful than she had anticipated. The treatment of +the night before had been very successful. + +She did not get up immediately, but the coldness of the room struck her +so soon as she got out of bed. Upon her first awakening she was hardly +conscious of her situation; her sleep had been too long and too heavy +and her awakening too gradual for any sudden appreciation of the new +condition. It was not until she had stared around the walls of the rude +cabin for some time that she realized where she was and what had +happened. When she did so she arose at once. + +Her first impulse was to call. Never in her life had she felt such +death-like stillness. Even in the camp almost always there had been a +whisper of breeze through the pine trees, or the chatter of water over +the rocks. But here there were no pine trees and no sound of rushing +brook came to her. It was almost painful. She was keen to dress and go +out of the house. She stood upon the rude puncheon floor on one foot +scarcely able yet to bear even the lightest pressure upon the other. +There were her clothes on chairs and tables before the fireplace. Such +had been the heat thrown out by that huge blaze that a brief inspection +convinced her that everything was thoroughly dry. Dry or wet she must +needs put them on since they were all she had. She noticed that there +were no locks on the doors and she realized that the only protection she +had was the sense of decency and the honor of the man. That she had been +allowed her sleep unmolested made her the more confident on that +account. + +She dressed hastily, although it was the work of some difficulty in view +of her wounded foot and of the stiff condition of her rough dried +apparel. Presently she was completely clothed save for that disabled +foot. With the big clumsy bandages upon it she could not draw her +stocking over it and even if she succeeded in that she could in no way +make shift to put on her boot. + +The situation was awkward, the predicament annoying; she was wearing +bloomers and a short skirt for her mountain climbing and she did not +know quite what to do. She thought of tearing up one of the rough +unbleached sheets and wrapping it around her leg, but she hesitated as +to that. It was very trying. Otherwise she would have opened the door +and stepped out into the open air, now she felt herself virtually a +prisoner. + +She had been thankful that no one had disturbed her, but now she wished +for the man. In her helplessness she thought of his resourcefulness with +eagerness. The man however did not appear and there was nothing for her +to do but to wait for him. Taking one of the blankets from the bed, she +sat down and drew it across her knees and took stock of the room. + +The cabin was built of logs, the room was large, perhaps twelve by +twenty feet, with one side completely taken up by the stone fireplace; +there were two windows, one on either side of the outer door which +opened toward the southwest. The walls were unplastered save in the +chinks between the rough hewn logs of which it was made. Over the +fireplace and around on one side ran a rude shelf covered with books. +She had no opportunity to examine them, although later she would become +familiar with every one of them. + +Into the walls on the other side were driven wooden pegs; from some of +them hung a pair of snow shoes, a heavy Winchester rifle, fishing tackle +and other necessary wilderness paraphernalia. On the puncheon floor wolf +and bear skins were spread. In one corner against the wall again were +piled several splendid pairs of horns from the mountain sheep. + +The furniture consisted of the single bed or berth in which she had +slept, built against the wall in one of the corners, a rude table on +which were writing materials and some books. A row of curtained shelves, +evidently made of small boxes and surmounted by a mirror, occupied +another space. There were two or three chairs, the handiwork of the +owner, comfortable enough in spite of their rude construction. On some +other pegs hung a slicker and a sou'wester, a fur overcoat, a fur cap +and other rough clothes; a pair of heavy boots stood by the fireplace. +On another shelf there were a number of scientific instruments the +nature of which she could not determine, although she could see that +they were all in a beautiful state of preservation. + +There was plenty of rude comfort in the room which was excessively +mannish. In fact there was nothing anywhere which in any way spoke of +the existence of woman--except a picture in a small rough wooden frame +which stood on the table before which she sat down. The picture was of a +handsome woman--naturally Enid Maitland saw that before anything else; +she would not have been a woman if that had not engaged her attention +more forcibly than any other fact in the room. She picked it up and +studied it long and earnestly, quite unconscious of the reason for her +interest, and yet a certain uneasy feeling might have warned her of what +was toward in her bosom. + +This young woman had not yet had time to get her bearings, she had not +been able to realize all the circumstances of her adventure; so soon as +she did so she would know that into her life a man had come and whatever +the course of that life might be in the future, he would never again be +out of it. + +It was therefore with mingled and untranslatable emotions that she +studied this picture. She marked with a certain resentment the bold +beauty quite apparent despite the dim fading outlines of a photograph +never very good. So far as she could discern the woman was dark haired +and dark eyed--her direct antithesis! The casual viewer would have found +little to find fault with in the presentment, but Enid Maitland's eyes +were sharpened by--what, pray? At any rate she decided that the woman +was of a rather coarse fiber, that in things finer and higher she would +be found wanting. She was such a woman, so the girl reasoned acutely, as +might inspire a passionate affection in a strong hearted, reckless +youth, but whose charms being largely physical would pall in longer and +more intimate association; a dangerous rival in a charge, but not so +formidable in a steady campaign. + +These thoughts were the result of long and earnest inspection and it was +with some reluctance that the girl at last put the photograph aside and +looked toward the door. She was hungry, ravenously so. She began to be a +little alarmed and had just about made up her mind to rise and stumble +out as she was, when she heard steps outside and a knock on the door. + +"What is it?" she asked in response. + +"May I come in?" + +"Yes," was the quick answer. + +The man opened the door, left it ajar and entered the room. + +"Have you been awake long?" he began abruptly. + +"Not very." + +"I didn't disturb you because you needed sleep more than anything else. +How do you feel?" + +"Greatly refreshed, thank you." + +"And hungry, I suppose?" + +"Very." + +"I will soon remedy that. Your foot?" + +"It seems much better, but I--" + +The girl hesitated, blushing. "I can't get my shoe on and--" + +"Shall I have another look at it?" + +"No, I don't believe it will be necessary. If I may have some of that +liniment, or whatever it was you put on it, and more of that bandage, I +think I can attend to it myself, but you see my stocking and my boot--" + +The man nodded, he seemed to understand; he went to his cracker box +chiffonier and drew from it a long coarse woolen stocking. + +"That is the best that I can do for you," he said, extending it toward +her somewhat diffidently. + +"And that will do very nicely," said the girl. "It will cover the +bandage and that is the main thing." + +The man laid on the table by the side of the stocking another strip of +bandage torn from the same sheet; as he did so he noticed the picture. +He caught it up quickly, a dark flush spreading over his face, and +holding it in his hand he turned abruptly away. + +"I will go and cook you some breakfast while you get yourself ready. If +you have not washed, you'll find a bucket of water and a basin and towel +outside the door." + +He went through the inner door as suddenly as he had come through the +outer one. He was a man of few words and whatever of social grace he +might once have possessed and in more favorable circumstances exhibited, +was not noticeable now; the tenderness with which he had cared for her +the night before had also vanished. + +His bearing had been cool almost harsh and forbidding and his manner was +as grim as his appearance. The conversation had been a brief one and her +opportunity for inspection of him consequently limited, yet she had +taken him in. She saw a tall splendid man, no longer very young, +perhaps, but in the prime of life and vigor. His complexion was dark and +burned browner by long exposure to sun and wind, winter and summer. In +spite of the brown there was a certain color, a hue of health in his +cheeks. His eyes were hazel, sometimes brown, sometimes gray, and +sometimes blue, she afterward learned. A short thick closely cut beard +and mustache covered the lower part of his face, disguising but not +hiding the squareness of his jaw and the firmness, of his lips. + +He had worn his cap when he entered and when he took it off she noticed +that his dark hair was tinged with white. He was dressed in a leather +hunting suit, somewhat the worse for wear, but fitting him in a way to +give free play to all his muscles. His movements were swift, energetic +and graceful; she did not wonder that he had so easily hurled the bear +to one side and had managed to carry her--no light weight, indeed!--over +what she dimly recognized must have been a horrible trail, which +burdened as he was would have been impossible to a man of less splendid +vigor than he. + +The cabin was low ceiled and as she had sat looking up at him he had +towered above her until he seemed to fill it. Naturally she had +scrutinized his every action, as she had hung upon his every word. His +swift and somewhat startled movement, his frowning as he had seized the +picture on which she had gazed with such interest aroused the liveliest +surprise and curiosity in her heart. + +Who was this woman? Why was he so quick to remove the picture from her +gaze? Thoughts rushed tumultuously through her brain, but she realized +at once that she lacked time to indulge them. She could hear him moving +about in the other room, she threw aside the blanket with which she had +draped herself, changed the bandage on her foot, drew on the heavy +woolen stocking which of course was miles too big for her, but which +easily took in her foot and ankle encumbered as they were by the rude, +heavy but effective wrapping. Thereafter she hobbled to the door and +stood for a moment almost aghast at the splendor and magnificence before +her. + +He had built his cabin on a level shelf of rock perhaps fifty by a +hundred feet in area. It was backed up against an overtowering cliff, +otherwise the rock fell away in every direction. She divined that the +descent from the shelf into the pocket or valley spread before her was +sheer, except off to the right where a somewhat gentler acclivity of +huge and broken boulders gave a practicable ascent--a sort of titantic +stairs--to the place perched on the mountain side. The shelf was +absolutely bare save for the cabin and a few huge boulders. There were a +few sparse, stunted trees further up on the mountain side above; a few +hundred feet beyond them, however, came the timber line, after which +there was nothing but the naked rock. + +Below several hundred feet lay a clear emerald pool, whose edges were +bordered by pines where it was not dominated by high cliffs. Already the +lakelet was rimmed with ice on the shaded side. This enchanting little +body of water was fed by the melting snow from the crest and peaks, +which in the clear pure sunshine and rarefied air of the mountains +seemed to rise and confront her within a stone's throw of the place +where she stood. + +On one side of the lake in the valley or pocket beneath there was a +little grassy clearing, and there this dweller in the wilderness had +built a rude corral for the burros. On a rough bench by the side of the +door she saw the primitive conveniences to which he had alluded. The +water was delightfully soft and as it had stood exposed to the sun's +direct rays for some time, although the air was exceedingly crisp and +cold, it was tempered sufficiently to be merely cool and agreeable. She +luxuriated in it for a few moments and while she had her face buried in +the towel, rough, coarse, but clean, she heard a step. She looked up in +time to see the man lay down upon the bench a small mirror and a clean +comb. He said nothing as he did so and she had no opportunity to thank +him before he was gone. The thoughtfulness of the act affected her +strangely and she was very glad of a chance to unbraid her hair, comb it +out and plait it again. She had not a hair pin left of course, and all +she could do with it was to replait it and let it hang upon her +shoulders; her coiffure would have looked very strange to civilization, +but out there in the mountains, it was eminently appropriate. + +Without noticing details the man felt the general effect as she limped +back into the room toward the table. Her breakfast was ready for her; it +was a coarse fare, bacon, a baked potato hard tack crisped before the +fire, coffee black and strong, with sugar but no cream. The dishes +matched the fare, too, yet she noticed that the fork was of silver and +by her plate there was a napkin, rough dried but of fine linen. The man +had just set the brimming smoking coffee pot on the table when she +appeared. + +"I am sorry I have no cream," he said, and then before she could make +comment or reply, he turned and walked out of the door, his purpose +evidently being not to embarrass her by his presence while she ate. + +Enid Maitland had grown to relish the camp fare, bringing to it the +appetite of good health and exertion. She had never eaten anything that +tasted so good to her as that rude meal that morning, yet she would have +enjoyed it better, she thought, if he had only shared it with her, if +she had not been compelled to eat it alone. She hastened her meal on +that account, determined as soon as she had finished her breakfast to +seek the man and have some definite understanding with him. + +And after all she reflected that she was better alone than in his +presence, for there would come stealing into her thoughts the +distressing episode of the morning before, try as she would to put it +out of her mind. Well, she was a fairly sensible girl, the matter was +passed, it could not be helped now, she would forget it as much as was +possible. She would recur to it with mortification later on, but the +present was so full of grave problems that there was not any room for +the past. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A TOUR OF INSPECTION + + +The first thing necessary, she decided, when she had satisfied her +hunger and finished her meal, was to get word of her plight and her +resting place to her uncle and the men of the party; and the next thing +was to get away, where she would never see this man again and perhaps be +able to forget what had transpired--yet there was a strange pang of pain +in her heart at that thought! + +No man on earth had ever so stimulated her curiosity as this one. Who +was he? Why was he there? Who was the woman whose picture he had so +quickly taken from her gaze? Why had so splendid a man buried himself +alone in that wilderness? These reflections were presently interrupted +by the reappearance of the man himself. + +"Have you finished?" he asked unceremoniously, standing in the doorway +as he spoke. + +"Yes, thank you, and it was very good indeed." + +Dismissing this politeness with a wave of his hand but taking no other +notice, he spoke again. + +"If you will tell me your name--" + +"Maitland, Enid Maitland." + +"Miss Maitland?" + +The girl nodded. + +"And where you came from, I will endeavor to find your party and see +what can be done to restore you to them." + +"We were camped down that caņon at a place where another brook, a large +one, flows into it, several miles I should think below the place +where--" + +She was going to say "where you found me," but the thought of the way in +which he had found her rushed over her again; and this time with his +glance directly upon her, although it was as cold and dispassionate and +indifferent as a man's look could well be, the recollection of the +meeting to which she had been about to allude rushed over her with an +accompanying wave of color which heightened her beauty as it covered her +with shame. + +She could not realize that beneath his mask of indifference so +deliberately worn, the man was as agitated as she, not so much at the +remembrance of anything that had transpired, but at the sight, the +splendid picture, of the woman as she stood, there in the little cabin +then. It seemed to him as if she gathered up in her own person all the +radiance and light and beauty, all the purity and freshness and +splendor of the morning, to shine and dazzle in his face. As she +hesitated in confusion, perhaps comprehending its causes he helped out +her lame and halting sentence. + +"I know the caņon well," he said. "I think I know the place to which you +refer; is it just about where the river makes an enormous bend upon +itself?" + +"Yes, that is it. In that clearing we have been camped for ten days. My +uncle must be crazy with anxiety to know what has become of me and--" + +The man interposed. + +"I will go there directly," he said. "It is now half after ten. That +place is about seven miles or more from here across the range, fifteen +or twenty by the river; I shall be back by nightfall. The cabin is your +own." + +He turned away without another word. + +"Wait," said the woman, "I am afraid to stay here." + +She had been fearless enough before in these mountains but her recent +experiences had somehow unsettled her nerves. + +"There is nothing on earth to hurt you, I think," returned the man. +"There isn't a human being, so far as I know, in these mountains." + +"Except my uncle's party." + +He nodded. + +"But there might be another--bear," she added desperately, forcing +herself. + +"Not likely, and they wouldn't come here if there were any. That's the +first grizzly I have seen in years," he went on unconcernedly, +studiously looking away from her, not to add to her confusion at the +remembrance of that awful episode which would obtrude itself on every +occasion. "You can use a rifle or gun?" + +She nodded; he stepped over to the wall and took down the Winchester +which he handed her. + +"This one is ready for service, and you will find a revolver on the +shelf. There is only one possible way of access to this cabin, that's +down those rock stairs; one man, one woman, a child even, with these +weapons could hold it against an army." + +"Couldn't I go with you?" + +"On that foot?" + +Enid pressed her wounded foot upon the ground; it was not so painful +when resting, but she found she could not walk a step on it without +great suffering. + +"I might carry you part of the way," said the man. "I carried you last +night, but it would be impossible, all of it." + +"Promise me that you will be back by nightfall with Uncle Bob and--" + +"I shall be back by nightfall, but I can't promise that I will bring +anybody with me." + +"You mean?" + +"You saw what the cloud burst nearly did for you," was the quick answer. +"If they did not get out of that pocket there is nothing left of them +now." + +"But they must have escaped," persisted the girl, fighting down her +alarm at this blunt statement of possible peril. "Besides, Uncle Robert +and most of the rest were climbing one of the peaks and--" + +"They will be all right then, but if I am to find the place and tell +them your story, I must go now." + +He turned and without another word or a backward glance scrambled down +the hill. The girl limped to the brink of the cliff over which he had +plunged and stared after him. She watched him as long as she could see +him until he was lost among the trees. If she had anybody else to depend +upon she would certainly have felt differently toward him. When Uncle +Robert and her Aunt and the children and old Kirkby and the rest +surrounded her again she could hate that man in spite of all he had done +for her, but now, as she stared after him determinedly making his way +down the mountain and through the trees, it was with difficulty she +could restrain herself from calling him back. + +The silence was most oppressive, the loneliness was frightful; she had +been alone before in these mountains, but from choice; now the fact that +there was no escape from them made the sensation a very different one. + +She sat down and brooded over her situation until she felt that if she +did not do something and in some way divert her thoughts she would break +down again. He had said that the cabin and its contents were hers. She +resolved to inspect them more closely. She hobbled back into the great +room and looked about her again. There was nothing that demanded careful +scrutiny; she wasn't quite sure whether she was within the proprieties +or not, but she seized the oldest and most worn of the volumes on the +shelf. It was a text book on mining and metallurgy she observed, and +opening it at the fly leaf, across the page she saw written in a firm +vigorous masculine hand a name, "William Berkeley Newbold," and beneath +these words, "Thayer Hall, Harvard," and a date some seven years back. + +The owner of that book, whether the present possessor or not, had been a +college man. Say that he had graduated at twenty-one or twenty-two, he +would be twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old now, but if so, why that +white hair? Perhaps though the book did not belong to the man of the +cabin. + +She turned to other books on the shelf. Many of them were technical +books which she had sufficient general culture to realize could be only +available to a man highly educated and a special student of mines and +mining--a mining engineer, she decided, with a glance at those +instruments and appliances of a scientific character plainly, but of +whose actual use she was ignorant. + +A rapid inspection of the other books confirmed her in the conclusion +that the man of the mountains was indeed the owner of the collection. +There were a few well worn volumes of poetry and essays. A Bible, +Shakespeare, Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, Tennyson, Keats, a small +dictionary, a compendious encyclopedia, just the books, she thought, +smiling at her conceit, that a man of education and culture would want +to have upon a desert island where his supply of literature would be +limited. + +The old ones were autographed as the first book she had looked in; +others, newer editions to the little library if she could judge by their +condition, were unsigned. + +Into the corner cupboard and the drawers of course she did not look. +There was nothing else in the room to attract her attention, save some +piles of manuscript neatly arranged on one of the shelves, each one +covered with a square of board and kept in place by pieces of glistening +quartz. There were four of these piles and another half the size of the +first four on the table. These of course she did not examine, further +than to note that the writing was in the same bold free hand as the +signature in the books. If she had been an expert she might have deduced +much from the writing; as it was she fancied it was strong, direct, +manly. + +Having completed her inspection of this room, she opened the door and +went into the other; it was smaller and less inviting. It had only one +window and a door opening outside. There was a cook stove here and +shelves with cooking utensils and granite ware, and more rude box +receptacles on the walls which were filled with a bountiful and well +selected store of canned goods and provisions of various kinds. This was +evidently the kitchen, supply room, china closet. She saw no sign of a +bed in it and wondered where and how the man had spent the night. + +By rights her mind should have been filled with her uncle and his party +and in their alarm she should have shared, but she was so extremely +comfortable, except for her foot, which did not greatly trouble her so +long as she kept it quiet, that she felt a certain degree of contentment +not to say happiness. The Adventure was so romantic and thrilling--save +for those awful moments in the pool--especially to the soul of a +conventional woman who had been brought up in the most humdrum and +stereotyped fashion of the earth's ways, and with never an opportunity +for the development of the spirit of romance which all of us exhibit +some time in our life and which thank God some of us never lose, that +she found herself reveling in it. + +She lost herself in pleasing imaginations of the tales of her adventures +that she could tell when she got back to her uncle and when she got +further back to staid old Philadelphia. How shocked everybody would be +with it all there! Of course she resolved that she would never mention +one episode of that terrible day, and she had somehow absolute +confidence that this man, in spite of his grim, gruff taciturnity, who +had shown himself so exceedingly considerate of her feelings would never +mention it either. + +She had so much food for thought, that not even in the late afternoon of +the long day, could she force her mind to the printed pages of the book +she had taken at random from the shelf which lay open before her, where +she sat in the sun, her head covered by an old "Stetson" that she had +ventured to appropriate. She had dragged a bear skin out on the rocks in +the sun and sat curled up on it half reclining against a boulder +watching the trail, the Winchester by her side. She had eaten so late a +breakfast that she had made a rather frugal lunch out of whatever had +taken her fancy in the store room, and she was waiting most anxiously +now for the return of the man. + +The season was late and the sun sank behind the peaks quite early in the +afternoon, and it grew dark and chill long before the shadows fell upon +the dwellers of the lowlands. + +Enid drew the bear skin around her and waited with an ever growing +apprehension. If she should be compelled to spend the night alone in +that cabin, she felt that she could not endure it. She was never so glad +of anything in her life as when she saw him suddenly break out of the +woods and start up the steep trail, and for a moment her gladness was +not tempered by the fact, which she was presently to realize with great +dismay, that as he had gone, so he now returned, alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE CASTAWAYS OF THE MOUNTAINS + + +The man was evidently seeking her, for so soon as he caught sight of her +he broke into a run and came bounding up the steep ascent with the speed +and agility of a chamois or a mountain sheep. As he approached the girl +rose to her feet and supported herself upon the boulder against which +she had been leaning, at the same time extending her hand to greet him. + +"Oh," she cried, her voice rising nervously as he drew near, "I am so +glad you are back, another hour of loneliness and I believe I should +have gone crazy." + +Now whether that joy in his return was for him, personally or for him +abstractly, he could not tell; whether she was glad that he had come +back simply because he was a human being who would relieve her +loneliness or whether she rejoiced to see him individually, was a matter +not yet to be determined. He hoped the latter, he believed the former. +At any rate he caught and held her outstretched hand in the warm clasp +of both his own. Burning words of greeting rushed to his lips +torrentially, what he said, however, was quite commonplace; as is so +often the case, thought and outward speech did not correspond. + +"It's too cold for you out here, you must go into the house at once," he +declared masterfully and she obeyed with unwonted meekness. + +The sun had set and the night air had grown suddenly chill. Still +holding her hand they started toward the cabin a few rods away. Her +wounded foot was of little support to her and the excitement had +unnerved her; in spite of his hand she swayed; without a thought he +caught her about the waist and half lifted, half led her to the door. It +seemed as natural as it was inevitable for him to assist her in this way +and in her weakness and bewilderment she suffered it without comment or +resistance. Indeed there was such strength and power in his arm, she was +so secure there, that she liked it. As for him his pulses were bounding +at the contact; but for that matter even to look at her quickened his +heart beat. + +Entering the main room he led her gently to one of the chairs near the +table and immediately thereafter lighted the fire which he had taken the +precaution to lay before his departure. It had been dark in the cabin, +but the fire soon filled it with glorious light. She watched him at his +task and as he rose from the hearth questioned him. + +"Now tell me," she began, "you found--" + +"First your supper, and then the story," he answered, turning toward the +door of the other room. + +"No," pleaded the girl, "can't you see that nothing is of any importance +to me but the story? Did you find the camp?" + +"I found the place where it had been." + +"Where it had been!" + +"There wasn't a single vestige of it left. That whole pocket, I knew it +well, had been swept clean by the flood." + +"But Kirkby, and Mrs. Maitland and--" + +"They weren't there." + +"Did you search for them?" + +"Certainly." + +"But they can't have been drowned," she exclaimed piteously. + +"Of course not," he began reassuringly. "Kirkby is a veteran of these +mountains and--" + +"But do you know him?" queried the girl in great surprise. + +"I did once," said the man, flushing darkly at his admission. "I haven't +seen him for five years." + +So that was the measure of his isolation, thought the woman, keen for +the slightest evidence as to her companion's history, of which, by the +way, he meant to tell her nothing. + +"Well?" she asked, breaking the pause. + +"Kirkby would certainly see the cloudburst coming and he would take the +people with him in the camp up on the hogback near it. It is far above +the flood line, they would be quite safe there." + +"And did you look for them there?" + +"I did. The trail had been washed out, but I scrambled up and found +undisputed evidence that my surmise was correct. I haven't a doubt that +all who were in the camp were saved." + +"Thank God for that," said the girl, greatly relieved and comforted by +his reassuring words. "And my uncle, Mr. Robert Maitland, and the rest +on the mountain, what do you think of them?" + +"I am sure that they must have escaped too. I don't think any of them +have suffered more than a thorough drenching in the downpour and that +they are all safe and perhaps on their way to the settlements now." + +"But they wouldn't go back without searching for me, would they?" cried +the girl. + +"Certainly not, I suppose they are searching for you now." + +"Well then--" + +"Wait," said the man. "You started down the caņon, you told everybody +that you were going that way. They naturally searched in that direction; +they hadn't the faintest idea that you were going up the river." + +"No," admitted Enid, "that is true. I did not tell anyone. I didn't +dream of going up the caņon when I started out in the morning; it was +the result of a sudden impulse." + +"God bless that--" burst out the man and then he checked himself, +flushing again, darkly. + +What had he been about to say? The question flashed into his own mind +and into the woman's mind at the same time when she heard, the +incompleted sentence; but she, too, checked the question that rose to +her lips. + +"This is the way I figure it," continued the man hurriedly to cover up +his confusion. "They fancy themselves alone in these mountains, which +save for me they are; they believe you to have gone down the caņon. +Kirkby with Mrs. Maitland and the others waited on the ridge until Mr. +Maitland and his party joined them. They couldn't have saved very much +to eat or wear from the camp, they were miles from a settlement, they +probably divided into two parties; the larger with the woman and +children started for home, the second went down the caņon searching for +your dead body!" + +"And had it not been for you," cried the girl impulsively, "they had +found it." + +"God permitted me to be of service to you," answered the man simply. "I +can follow their speculations exactly; up or down, they believed you to +have been in the caņon when the storm broke, therefore there was only +one place and one direction to search for you." + +"And that was?" + +"Down the caņon." + +"What did you do then?" + +"I went down the caņon myself. I think I saw evidences that someone had +preceded me, too." + +"Did you overtake them!" + +"Certainly not; they traveled as rapidly as I, they must have started +early in the morning and they had several hours the advantage of me." + +"But they must have stopped somewhere for the night and--" + +"Yes," answered the man. "If I had had only myself to consider, I should +have pressed on through the night and overtaken them when they camped." + +"Only yourself?" + +"You made me promise to return here by nightfall. I don't know whether I +should have obeyed you or not. I kept on as long as I dared and still +leave myself time to get back to you by dark." + +She had no idea of the desperate speed he had made to reach her while it +was still daylight. + +"If you hadn't come when you did, I should have died," cried the girl +impetuously. "You did perfectly right. I don't think I am a coward, I +hope not, I never was afraid before, but--" + +"Don't apologize or explain to me, it's not necessary; I understand +everything you feel. It was only because I had given you my word to be +back by sunset that I left off following their trail. I was afraid that +you might think me dead or that something had happened and--" + +"I should, I did," admitted the girl. "It wasn't so bad during the day +time, but when the sun went down and you did not come I began to imagine +everything. I saw myself left alone here in these mountains, helpless, +wounded, without a human being to speak to. I could not bear it." + +"But I have been here alone for five years," said the man grimly. + +"That's different. I don't know why you have chosen solitude, but I--" + +"You are a woman," returned the other gently, "and you have suffered, +that accounts for everything." + +"Thank you," said Enid gratefully. "And I am so glad you came back to +me." + +"Back to you," reiterated the man and then he stopped. If he had allowed +his heart to speak he would have said, back to you from the very ends of +the world--"But I want you to believe that I honestly did not leave the +trail until the ultimate moment," he added. + +"I do believe it," she extended her hand to him. "You have been very +good to me, I trust you absolutely." + +And for the second time he took that graceful, dainty, aristocratic hand +in his own larger, stronger, firmer grasp. His face flushed again; under +other circumstances and in other days perhaps he might have kissed that +hand; as it was he only held it for a moment and then gently released +it. + +"And you think they are searching for me?" she asked. + +"I know it. I am sure of what I myself would do for one I love--I loved +I mean, and they--" + +"And they will find me?" + +The man shook his head. + +"I am afraid they will be convinced that you have gone down with the +flood. Didn't you have a cap or--" + +"Yes," said the woman, "and a sweater. The bear you shot covered the +sweater with blood. I could not put it on again." + +As she spoke she flushed a glorious crimson at the remembrance of that +meeting, but the man was looking away with studied care. She thanked him +in her heart for such generous and kindly consideration. + +"They will have gone down the stream with the rest, and it's just +possible that the searchers may find them, the body of the bear too. +This river ends in a deep mountain lake and I think it is going to snow, +it will be frozen hard to-morrow." + +"And they will think me--there?" + +"I am afraid so." + +"And they won't come up here?" + +"It is scarcely possible." + +"Oh!" exclaimed the woman faintly at the dire possibility that she might +not be found. + +"I took an empty bottle with me," said the man, breaking the silence, +"in which I had enclosed a paper saying that you were here and safe, +save for your wounded foot, and giving directions how to reach the +place. I built a cairn of rocks in a sheltered nook in the valley where +your camp had been pitched and left the tightly corked bottle wedged on +top of it. If they return to the camp they can scarcely fail to see it." + +"But if they don't go back there." + +"Well, it was just a chance." + +"And if they don't find me?" + +"You will have to stay here for a while; until your foot gets well +enough to travel," returned the man evasively. + +"But winter is coming on, you said the lake would freeze to-night, and +if it snows?" + +"It will snow." + +The woman stared at him, appalled. + +"And in that case--" + +"I am afraid," was the slow reply, "that you will have to stay here"--he +hesitated in the face of her white still face--"all winter," he added +desperately. + +"Alone!" exclaimed the girl faintly. "With you?" + +"Miss Maitland," said the man resolutely, "I might as well tell you the +truth. I can make my way to the settlements now or later, but it will be +a journey of perhaps a week. There will be no danger to me, but you will +have to stay here. You could not go with me. If I am any judge you +couldn't possibly use your foot for a mountain journey for at least +three weeks, and by that time we shall be snowed in as effectually as if +we were within the Arctic Circle. But if you will let me go alone to the +settlement I can bring back your uncle, and a woman to keep you company, +before the trails are impassable. Or enough men to make it practicable +to take you through the caņons and down the trails to your home again. I +could not do that alone even if you were well, in the depth of the +winter." + +The girl shook her head stubbornly. + +"A week alone in these mountains and I should be mad," she said +decisively. "It isn't to be thought of." + +"It must be thought of," urged the man. "You don't understand. It is +either that or spend the winter here--with me." + +The woman looked at him steadily. + +"And what have I to fear from you?" she asked. + +"Nothing, nothing," protested the other, "but the world?" + +"The world," said the woman reflectively. "I don't mean to say that it +means nothing to me, but it has cause enough for what it would fain say +now." She came to her decision swiftly. "There is no help for it," she +continued; "we are marooned together." She smiled faintly as she used +the old word of tropic island and southern sea. "You have shown me that +you are a man and a gentleman, in God and you I put my trust. When my +foot gets well, if you can teach me to walk on snow shoes and it is +possible to get through the passes, we will try to go back; if not, we +must wait." + +"The decision is yours," said the man, "yet I feel that I ought to point +out to you how--" + +"I see all that you see," she interrupted. "I know what is in your mind, +it is entirely clear to me, we can do nothing else." + +"So be it. You need have no apprehension as to your material comfort; I +have lived in these mountains for a long time, I am prepared for any +emergency, I pass my time in the summer getting ready for the winter. +There is a cave, or recess rather, behind the house which, as you see, +is built against the rock wall, and it is filled with wood enough to +keep us warm for two or three winters; I have an ample supply of +provisions and clothing for my own needs, but you will need something +warmer than that you wear," he continued. + +"Have you needle and thread and cloth?" she asked. + +"Everything," was the prompt answer. + +"Then I shall not suffer." + +"Are you that wonder of wonders," asked the man, smiling slightly, "an +educated woman who knows how to sew?" + +"It is a tradition of Philadelphia," answered the girl, "that her +daughters should be expert needlewomen." + +"Oh, you are from Philadelphia." + +"Yes, and you?" + +She threw the question at him so deftly and so quickly that she caught +him unaware and off his guard a second time within the hour. + +"Baltimore," he answered before he thought and then bit his lip. + +He had determined to vouchsafe her no information regarding himself and +here she had surprised him into an admission in the first blush of their +acquaintance, and she knew that she had triumphed for she smiled in +recognition of it. + +She tried another tack. + +"Mr. Newbold," she began at a venture, and as it was five years since he +had heard that name, his surprise at her knowledge, which after all was +very simple, betrayed him a third time. "We are like stories I have +read, people who have been cast away on desert islands and--" + +"Yes," said the man, "but no castaways that I have ever read of have +been so bountifully provided with everything necessary to the comfort +of life as we are. I told you I lacked nothing for your material +welfare, and even your mind need not stagnate." + +"I have looked at your books already," said the woman, answering his +glance. + +This was where she had found his name he realized. + +"You will have this room for your own use and I will take the other for +mine," he continued. + +"I am loath to dispossess you." + +"I shall be quite comfortable there, and this shall be your room +exclusively except when you bid me enter, as when I bring you your +meals; otherwise I shall hold it inviolate." + +"But," said the woman, "there must be an equal division of labor, I must +do my share." + +"There isn't much to do in the winter, except to take care of the +burros, keep up the fire and prepare what we have to eat." + +"I am afraid I should be unequal to outdoor work, but in the rest I must +do my part." + +He recognized at once that idleness would be irksome. + +"So you shall," he assented heartily, "when your foot is well enough to +make you an efficient member of our little society." + +"Thank you, and now--" + +"Is there anything else before I get supper?" + +"You think there is no hope of their searching for me here?" + +The man shook his head. + +"If James Armstrong had been in the party," she said reflectively, "I am +sure he would never have given up." + +"And who is James Armstrong, may I ask?" burst forth the other bluntly. + +"Why he--I--he is a friend of my uncle's and an--acquaintance of my +own." + +"Oh," said the man shortly and gloomily, as he turned away. + +Enid Maitland had been very brave in his presence, but when he went out +she put her head down on her arms on the table and cried softly to +herself. Was ever a woman in such a predicament, thrown into the arms of +a man who had established every conceivable claim upon her gratitude, +forced to live with him shut up in a two-room log cabin upon a lonely +mountain range, surrounded by lofty and inaccessible peaks, pierced by +terrific gorges soon to be impassable from the snows? She had read many +stories of castaways from Charles Reade's famous "Foul Play" down to +more modern instances, but in those cases there had always been an +island comparatively large over which to range, with privacy, +seclusion, opportunity for withdrawal; bright heavens, balmy breezes, +idyllic conditions. Here were two uplifted from the earth upon a +sky-piercing mountain; they would have had more range of action and more +liberty of motion if they had been upon a derelict in the ocean. + +And she realized at the same time that in all those stories the two +castaways always loved each other. Would it be so with them? Was it so! +And again the hot flame within outvied the fire on the hearth as the +blood rushed to the smooth surface of her cheek again. + +What would her father say if he could know her position, what would the +world say, and above all what would Armstrong say? It cannot be denied +that her thoughts were terribly and overwhelmingly dismayed, and yet +that despair was not without a certain relief. No man had ever so +interested her as this one. What was the mystery of his life, why was he +there, what had he meant when he had blessed the idle impulse that had +sent her into his arms? + +Her heart throbbed again. She lifted her face from her hands and dried +her tears, a warm glow stole over her and once again not altogether from +the fire. Who and what was this man? Who was that woman whose picture he +had taken from her? Well, she would have time to find out. And meantime +the world outside could think and do what it pleased. She sat staring +into the firelight, seeing pictures there, dreaming dreams. She was as +lovely as an angel to the man when he came back into the room. + + + + +BOOK IV + +OH YE ICE AND SNOW, PRAISE YE THE LORD + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE WOMAN'S HEART + + +That upper earth on which they lived was covered with a thick blanket of +snow. The lakes and pools were frozen from shore to shore. The mountain +brooks, if they flowed at all, ran under thick arches of ice. The +deepest caņons were well nigh impassable from huge drifts that sometimes +almost rose level with the tops of the walls. In every sheltered spot +great banks of white were massed. The spreading branches of the tall +pine trees in the valleys drooped under heavy burdens of snow. Only here +and there sharp gaunt peaks were swept clean by the fierce winter winds +and thrust themselves upward in the icy air, naked and bare. The cold +was polar in its bitter intensity. + +The little shelf, or plateau, jutting out from the mountain side upon +which the lonely cabin stood was sheltered from the prevailing winds, +but the house itself was almost covered with the drifts. The constant +fire roaring up the huge stone chimney had melted some of the snow at +the top and it had run down the slanting roof and formed huge icicles +on what had been the eaves of the house. The man had cut away the drifts +from doors and windows for light and liberty. At first every stormy +night would fill his laborious clearings with drifting snow, but as it +became packed down and frozen solid he was able to keep his various ways +open without a great deal of difficulty. A little work every morning and +evening sufficed. + +Every day he had to go down the mountain stairway to the bottom of the +pocket to feed and water the burros. What was a quick and simple task in +milder, warmer seasons, sometimes took him half a day under the present +rigorous conditions. And the woman never saw him start out in the storm +without a sinking heart and grave apprehension. On his return to the +cabin half frozen, almost spent and exhausted, she ever welcomed him +with eager gratitude and satisfaction which would shine in her eyes, +throb in her heart and tremble upon her lips, control it as she might. +And he thought it was well worth all the trouble and hardships of his +task to be so greeted when he came back to her. + +Winter had set in unusually early and with unprecedented severity. Any +kind of winter in the mountains would have amazed the girl, but even the +man with his larger experiences declared he had never before known such +sharp and sudden cold, or such deep and lasting snow. His daily records +had never shown such low temperatures, nor had his observation ever +noted such wild and furious storms as raged then and there. It seemed as +if Nature were in a conspiracy to seal up the mountains and all they +contained, to make ingress and egress alike impossible. + +A month had elapsed and Enid's foot was now quite well. The man had +managed to sew up her boot where his knife had cut it, and although the +job was a clumsy one the result was a usable shoe. It is astonishing the +comfort she took when she first put it on and discarded for good the +shapeless woolen stocking which had covered the clumsy bandage, happily +no longer necessary. Although the torn and bruised member had healed and +she could use it with care, her foot was still very tender and capable +of sustaining no violent or long continued strain. Of necessity she had +been largely confined to the house, but whenever it had been possible he +had wrapped her in his great bear skin coat and had helped her out to +the edge of the cliff for a breath of fresh air. + +Sometimes he would leave her there alone, would perhaps have left her +alone there always had she not imperiously required his company. + +Insensibly she had acquired the habit--not a difficult one for a woman +to fall into--of taking the lead in the small affairs of their +circumscribed existence, and he had acquiesced in her dominance without +hesitation or remonstrance. It was she who ordered their daily walk and +conversation. Her wishes were consulted about everything; to be sure no +great range of choice was allowed them, or liberty of action, or +freedom, in the constraints with which nature bound them, but whenever +there was any selection she made it. + +The man yielded everything to her and yet he did it without in any way +derogating from his self respect or without surrendering his natural +independence. The woman instinctively realized that in any great crisis, +in any large matter, the determination of which would naturally affect +their present or their future, their happiness, welfare, life, he would +assert himself, and his assertion would be unquestioned and +unquestionable by her. + +There was a delightful satisfaction to the woman in the whole situation. +She had a woman's desire to lead in the smaller things of life and yet +craved the woman's consciousness that in the great emergencies she would +be led, in the great battles she would be fought for, in the great +dangers she would be protected, in the great perils she would be saved. +There was rest, comfort, joy and satisfaction in these thoughts. + +The strength of the man she mastered was evidence of her own power and +charm. There was a sweet, voiceless, unconscious flattery in his +deference of which she could not be unaware. + +Having little else to do, she studied the man and she studied him with a +warm desire and an enthusiastic predisposition to find the best in him. +She would not have been a human girl if she had not been thrilled to the +very heart of her by what the man had done for her. She recognized that +whether he asserted it or not, he had established an everlasting and +indisputable claim upon her. + +The circumstances of their first meeting, which as the days passed did +not seem quite so horrible to her, and yet a thought of which would +bring the blood to her cheek still on the instant, had in some way +turned her over to him. His consideration of her, his gracious +tenderness toward her, his absolute abnegation, his evident overwhelming +desire to please her, to make the anomalous situation in which they +stood to each other bearable in spite of their lonely and unobserved +intimacy, by an absolute lack of presumption on his part--all those +things touched her profoundly. + +Although she did not recognize the fact then, perhaps, she loved him +from the moment her eyes had opened in the mist and rain after that +awful battle in the torrent to see him bending over her. + +No sight that had ever met Enid Maitland's eyes was so glorious, so awe +inspiring, so uplifting and magnificent as the view from the verge of +the cliff in the sunlight of some bright winter morning. Few women had +ever enjoyed such privileges as hers. She did not know whether she liked +the winter crowned range best that way, or whether she preferred the +snowy world, glittering cold in the moonlight; or even whether it was +more attractive when it was dark and the peaks and drifts were only +lighted by the stars which shone never so brightly as just above her +head. + +When he allowed her she loved to stand sometimes in the full fury of the +gale with the wind shrieking and sobbing, like lost souls in some icy +inferno, through the hills and over the pines, the snow beating upon +her, the sleet cutting her face if she dared to turn toward the storm. +Generally he left her alone in the quieter moments, but in the tempest +he stood watchful, on guard by her side, buttressing her, protecting +her, sheltering her. Indeed, his presence then was necessary; without +him she could scarce have maintained a footing. The force of the wind +might have hurled her down the mountain but for his strong arm. When +the cold grew too great he led her back carefully to the hut and the +warm fire. + +Ah, yes, life and the world were both beautiful to her then, in night, +in day, by sunlight, by moonlight, in calm and storm. Yet it made no +difference what was spread before the woman's eyes, what glorious +picture was exhibited to her gaze, she could not look at it more than a +moment without thinking of the man. With the most fascinating panorama +that the earth's surface could spread before human vision to engage her +attention she looked into her own heart and saw there this man! + +Oh, she had fought against it at first, but lately she had luxuriated in +it. She loved him, she loved him! And why not? What is it that women +love in men? Strength of body? She could remember yet how he had carried +her over the mountains in the midst of the storm, how she had been so +bravely upborne by his arms to his heart. She realized later what a task +that had been, what a feat of strength. The uprooting of that sapling, +and the overturning of that huge grizzly were child's play to the long +portage up the almost impassable caņon and mountain side which had +brought her to this dear haven. + +Was it strength of character she sought, resolution, determination? This +man had deliberately withdrawn from the world, buried himself in this +mountain; and had stayed there deaf to the alluring call of man or +woman; he had had the courage to do that. + +Was it strength of mind she admired? Enid Maitland was no mean judge of +the mental powers of her acquaintance. She was just as full of life and +spirit and the joy of them as any young woman should be, but she had not +been trained by and thrown with the best for nothing. _Noblesse oblige!_ +That his was a mind well stored with knowledge of the most varied sort +she easily and at once perceived. Of course the popular books of the +last five years had passed him by, and of such he knew nothing, but he +could talk intelligently, interestingly, entertainingly upon the great +classics. Keats and Shakespeare were his most thumbed volumes. He had +graduated from Harvard as a Civil Engineer with the highest honors of +his class and school and the youngest man to get his sheepskin! Enid +Maitland herself was a woman of broad culture and wide reading and she +deliberately set herself to fathom this man's capabilities. Not +infrequently, much to her surprise, sometimes to her dismay, but +generally to her satisfaction, she found that she had no plummet with +which to sound his greater depths. + +Did she seek in him that fine flower of good breeding, gentleness and +consideration? Where could she find these qualities better displayed? +She was absolutely alone with this man, entirely in his power, shut off +from the world and its interference as effectually as if they had both +been abandoned on an ice floe at the North Pole or cast away on some +lonely island in the South Seas, yet she felt as safe as if she had been +in her own house, or her uncle's, with every protection that human power +could give. He had never presumed upon the situation in the least +degree, he never once referred to the circumstances of their meeting in +the remotest way, he never even discussed her rescue from the flood, he +never told her how he had borne her through the rain to the lonely +shelter of the hills, and in no way did he say anything that the most +keenly scrutinizing mind would torture into an allusion to the pool and +the bear and the woman. The fineness of his breeding was never so well +exhibited as in this reticence. More often than not it is what he does +not rather than what he does that indicates the man. + +It would be folly to deny that he never thought of these things. Had he +forgotten them there would be no merit in his silence; but to remember +them and to keep still--aye, that showed the man! He would close his +eyes in that little room on the other side of the door and see again the +dark pool, her white shoulders, her graceful arms, the lovely face with +its crown of sunny hair rising above the rushing water. He had listened +to the roar of the wind through the long nights, when she thought him +asleep if she thought of him at all, and heard again the scream of the +storm that had brought her to his arms. No snow drop that touched his +cheek when he was abroad but reminded him of that night in the cold rain +when he had held her close and carried her on. He could not sit and mend +her boot without remembering that white foot before which he would fain +have prostrated himself and upon which he would have pressed passionate +kisses if he had given way to his desires. But he kept all these things +in his heart, pondered them and made no sign. + +Did she ask beauty in her lover? Ah, there at last he failed. According +to the canons of perfection he did not measure up to the standard. His +features were irregular, his chin a trifle too square, his mouth a +thought too firm, his brow wrinkled a little; but he was good to look +at, for he looked strong, he looked clean and he looked true. There was +about him, too, that stamp of practical efficiency that men who can do +things always have. You looked at him and you felt sure that what he +undertook, that he would accomplish; that decision and capability were +incarnate in him. + +But after all the things are said, love goes where it is sent, and I, at +least, am not the sender. This woman loved this man neither because nor +in spite of these qualities. That they were might account for her +affection, but if they had not been, it may be that that affection, that +that passion, would have sprung up in her heart still. No one can say, +no one can tell how or why those things are. She had loved him while she +raged against him and hated him. She did neither the one nor the other +of those two last things, now, and she loved him the more. + +Mystery is a great mover, there is nothing so attractive as a problem we +cannot solve. The very situation of the man, how he came there, what he +did there, why he remained there, questions to which she had yet no +answer, stimulated her profoundly. Because she did not know she +questioned in secret; interest was aroused and the transition to love +was easy. + +Propinquity, too, is responsible for many an affection. "The ivy clings +to the first met tree." Given a man and woman heart free and throw them +together and let there be decent kindness on both sides, and it is +almost inevitable that each shall love the other. Isolate them from the +world, let them see no other companions but the one man and the one +woman and the result becomes more inevitable. + +Yes, this woman loved this man. She said in her heart--and I am not one +to dispute her conclusions--that she would have loved him had he been +one among millions to stand before her, and it was true. He was the +complement of her nature. They differed in temperament as much as in +complexion, and yet in such differences as must always be to make +perfect love and perfect union, there were striking resemblances, +necessary points of contact. + +There was no reason whatever why Enid Maitland should not love this man. +The only possible check upon her feelings would have been her rather +anomalous relation to Armstrong, but she reflected that she had promised +him definitely nothing. When she had met him she had been heart whole, +he had made some impression upon her fancy and might have made more with +greater opportunity, but unfortunately for him, luckily for her, he had +not enjoyed that privilege. She scarcely thought of him longer. + +She would not have been human if her mind had not dwelt upon the world +beyond the skyline on the other side of the range. She knew how those +who loved her must be suffering on account of her disappearance, but +knowing herself safe and realizing that within a short time, when the +spring came again, she would go back to them and that their mourning +would be turned into joy by her arrival, she could not concern herself +very greatly over their present feelings and emotions; and besides, what +would be the use of worrying over those things. There was subject more +attractive for her thoughts close at hand. And she was too blissfully +happy to entertain for more than a moment any sorrow. + +She pictured her return and never by any chance did she think of going +back to civilization alone. The man she loved would be by her side, the +church's blessing would make them one. To do her justice in the +simplicity and purity of her thoughts she never once thought of what the +world might say about that long winter sojourn alone with this man. She +was so conscious of her own innocence and of his delicate forbearance, +she never once thought how humanity would elevate its brows and fairly +cry upon her from the house tops. She did not realize that were she ever +so pure and so innocent she could not now or ever reach the high +position which Cæsar, who was none too reputable himself, would fain +have had his wife enjoy? + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE MAN'S HEART + + +Now love produces both happiness and unhappiness, dependent upon +conditions, but on the whole I think the happiness predominates, for +love itself if it be true and high is its own reward. Love may feel +itself unworthy and may shrink even from the unlatching of the shoe lace +of the beloved, yet it joys in its own existence nevertheless. Of course +its greatest satisfaction is in the return, but there is a sweetness +even in the despair of the truly loving. + +Enid Maitland, however, did not have to endure indifference, or fight +against a passion which met with no response, for this man loved her +with a love that was greater even than her own. The moon, in the trite +aphorism, looks on many brooks, the brook sees no moon but the one above +him in the heavens. In one sense his merit in winning her affection for +himself from the hundreds of men she knew was the greater; in many years +he had only seen this one woman. Naturally she should be everything to +him. She represented to him not only the woman but womankind. He had +been a boy practically when he had buried himself in those mountains, +and in all that time he had seen nobody like Enid Maitland. Every +argument which has been exploited to show why she should love him could +be turned about to account for his passion for her. Those arguments are +not necessary, they are all supererogatory, like idle words. To him also +love had been born in an hour. It had flashed into existence as if from +the fiat of the Divine. + +Oh, he had fought against it. Like the eremites of old he had been +scourged into the desert by remorse and another passion, but time had +done its work. The woman he first loved had ministered not to the +spiritual side of the man, or if she had so ministered in any degree it +was because he had looked at her with a glamour of inexperience and +youth. During those five years of solitude, of study and of reflection, +the truth had gradually unrolled itself before him. Conclusions vastly +at variance with what he had ever believed possible as to the woman upon +whom he had first bestowed his heart had got into his being and were in +solution there, this present woman was the precipitant which brought +them to life. He knew now what the old appeal of his wife had been. He +knew now what the new appeal of this woman was. + +In humanity two things in life are inextricably intermingled, body and +soul. Where the function of one begins and the function of the other +ends no one is able to say. In all human passions there are admixtures +of the earth earthy. We are born the sons of the Old Adam as we are +re-born the sons of the New. Passions are complex. As in harvest wheat +and tares grow together until the end, so in love earth and heaven +mingle ever. He remembered a clause from an ancient marriage service he +had read. "With my body I thee worship," and with every fiber of his +physical being, he loved this woman. + +It would be idle to deny that, impossible to disguise the facts, but in +the melting pot of passion the preponderant ingredients were mental and +spiritual; and just because higher and holier things predominated, he +held her in his heart a sacred thing. Love is like a rose: the material +part is the beautiful blossom, the spiritual factor is the fragrance +which abides in the rose jar even after every leaf has faded away, or +which may be expressed from the soft petals by the hard circumstances of +pain and sorrow until there is left nothing but the lingering perfume of +the flower. + +His body trembled if she laid a hand upon him, his soul thirsted for +her; present or absent he conjured before his tortured brain the +sweetness that inhabited her breast. He had been clear-sighted enough +in analyzing the past, he was neither clear-sighted nor coherent in +thinking of the present. He worshiped her, he could have thrown himself +upon his knees to her; if it would have added to her happiness she could +have killed him, smiling at her. Rode she in the Juggernaut car of the +ancient idol, with his body would he have unhesitatingly paved the way +and have been glad of the privilege. He longed to compass her with sweet +observances. The world revenged itself upon him for his long neglect, it +had summed up in this one woman all its charm, its beauty, its romance, +and had thrust her into his very arms. His was one of those great +passions which illuminate the records of the past. Paolo had not loved +Francesca more. + +Oh, yes, the woman knew he loved her. It was not in the power of mortal +man, no matter how iron his restraint, how absolute the imposition of +his will, to keep his heart hidden, his passion undisclosed. No one +could keep such things secret. His love for her cried aloud in a +thousand ways: even his look when he dared to turn his eyes upon her was +eloquent of his feeling. He never said a word, however; he held his lips +at least fettered and bound for he believed that honor and its +obligations weighed down the balance upon the contrary side to which +his inclinations lay. + +He was not worthy of this woman. In the first place all he had to offer +her was a blood-stained hand. That might have been overcome in his mind; +but pride in his self-punishment, his resolution to withdraw himself +from man and woman until such time as God completed his expiation and +signified His acceptance of the penitent by taking away his life, held +him inexorably. + +The dark face of his wife rose before him. He forced himself to think +upon her; she had loved him, she had given him all that she could. He +remembered how she had pleaded with him that he take her on that last +and most dangerous of journeys, her devotion to him had been so great +she could not let him go out of her sight a moment, he thought +fatuously! And he had killed her. In the queer turmoil of his brain he +blamed himself for everything. He could not be false to his purpose, +false to her memory, unworthy of the passion in which he believed she +had held him and which he believed he had inspired. + +If he had gone out in the world, after her death, he might have +forgotten most of these things, he might have lived them down. Saner, +clearer views would have come to him. His morbid self-reproach and +self-consciousness would have been changed. But he had lived with them +alone for five years and now there was no putting them aside. Honor and +pride, the only things that may successfully fight against love, +overcame him. He could not give way. He wanted to, every time he was in +her presence he longed to, sweep her to his heart and crush her in his +arms and bend her head back and press kisses of fire on her lips. + +But honor and pride held him back. How long would they continue to +exercise dominion over him? Would the time come when his passion rising +like a sea would thunder upon these artificial embankments of his soul, +beat them down and sweep them away? + +At first the disparity between their situations, not so much on account +of family or of property--the treasures of the mountains, hidden since +creation, he had discovered and let lie--but because of the youth and +position of the woman compared to his own maturer years, his desperate +experience, and his social withdrawal, had reinforced his determination +to live and love without a sign. But he had long since got beyond this. +Had he been free he would have taken her like a viking of old, if he had +to pluck her from amid a thousand swords and carry her to a beggar's hut +which love would have turned to a palace. And she would have come with +him on the same conditions. + +He did not know that. Women have learned through centuries of weakness +that fine art of concealment which man has never mastered. She never let +him see what she thought of him. Yet he was not without suspicion; if +that suspicion grew to certainty, would he control himself then? + +At first he had sought to keep out of her way, but she had compelled him +to come in. The room that was kitchen and bedroom and store-room for him +was cheerless and somewhat cold. Save at night or when he was busy with +other tasks outside they lived together in the great room. It was always +warm, it was always bright, it was always cheerful, there. + +The little piles of manuscript she had noted were books he had written. +He made no effort to conceal such things from her. He talked frankly +enough about his life in the hills, indeed there was no possibility of +avoiding the discussion of such topics. On but two subjects was he +inexorably silent. One was the present state of his affections and the +other was the why and wherefore of his lonely life. She knew beyond +peradventure that he loved her, but she had no faint suspicion even as +to the reason why he had become a recluse. He had never given her the +slightest clew to his past save that admission that he had known Kirkby, +which was in itself nothing definite and which she never connected with +that package of letters which she still kept with her. + +The man's mind was too active and fertile to be satisfied with manual +labor alone, the books that he had written were scientific treatises in +the main. One was a learned discussion of the fauna and flora of the +mountains. Another was an exhaustive account of the mineral resources +and geological formations of the range. He had only to allow a whisper, +a suspicion of his discovery of gold and silver in the mountains to +escape him and the caņons and crests alike would be filled with eager +prospectors. Still a third work was a scientific analysis of the water +powers in the caņons. + +He had willingly allowed her to read them all. Much of them she found +technical and, aside from the fact that he had written them, +uninteresting. But there was one book remaining in which he simply +discussed the mountains in the various seasons of the year; when the +snows covered them, when the grass and the moss came again, when the +flowers bloomed, when autumn touched the trees. There was the soul of +the man, poetry expressed in prose, man-like but none the less poetry +for that. This book she pored over, she questioned him about it, they +discussed it as they discussed Keats and the other poets. + +Those were happy evenings. She on one side of the fire sewing, her +finger wound with cloth to hold his giant thimble, fashioning for +herself some winter garments out of a gay colored, red, white and black +ancient and exquisitely woven Navajo blanket, soft and pliable almost as +an old fashioned piece of satin--priceless if she had but known +it--which he put at her disposal. While on the other side of the same +homely blaze he made her out of the skins of some of the animals that he +had killed, shapeless foot coverings, half moccasin and wholly legging, +which she could wear over her shoes in her short excursions around the +plateau and which would keep her feet warm and comfortable. + +By her permission he smoked as he worked, enjoying the hour, putting +aside the past and the future and for a few moments blissfully content. +Sometimes he laid aside his pipe and whatever work he was engaged upon +and read to her from some immortal noble number. Sometimes the +entertainment fell to her and she sang to him in her glorious contralto +voice, music that made him mad. Once he could stand it no longer. At +the end of a burst of song which filled the little room--he had risen +to his feet while she sang, compelled to the erect position by the +magnificent melody--as the last notes died away and she smiled at him, +triumphant and expectant of his praise and his approval, he hurled +himself out of the room and into the night; wrestling for hours with the +storm which after all was but a trifle to that which raged in his bosom. +While she, left alone and deserted, quaked within the silent room till +she heard him come back. + +Often and often when she slept quietly on one side the thin partition, +he lay awake on the other, and sometimes his passion drove him forth to +cool the fever, the fire in his soul, in the icy, wintry air. The +struggle within him preyed upon him, the keen loving eye of the woman +searched his face, scrutinized him, looked into his heart, saw what was +there. + +She determined to end it, deciding that he must confess his affections. +She had no premonition of the truth and no consideration of any evil +consequences held her back. She could give free range to her love and +her devotion. She had the ordering of their lives and she had the power +to end the situation growing more and more impossible. She fancied the +matter easily terminable. She thought she had only to let him see her +heart in such ways as a maiden may, to bring joy to his own, to make +him speak. She did not dream of the reality. + +One night, therefore, a month or more after she had come, she resolved +to end the uncertainty. She believed the easiest and the quickest way +would be to get him to tell her why he was there. She naturally surmised +that the woman of the picture, which she had never seen since the first +day of her arrival, was in some measure the cause of it; and the only +pain she had in the situation was the keen jealousy that would obtrude +itself at the thought of that woman. She remembered everything that he +had said to her and she recalled that he had once made the remark that +he would treat her as he would have his wife treated if he had one; +therefore whoever and whatever the picture of this woman was, she was +not his wife. She might have been someone he had loved, who had not +loved him. She might have died. She was jealous of her, but she did not +fear her. + +After a long and painful effort the woman had completed the winter suit +she had made for herself. He had advised her and had helped her. It was +a belted tunic that fell to her knees, the red and black stripes ran +around it, edged the broad collar, cuffed the warm sleeves and marked +the graceful waist line. It was excessively becoming to her. He had been +down into the valley, or the pocket, for a final inspection of the +burros before the night, which promised to be severe, fell, and she had +taken advantage of the opportunity to put it on. + +She knew that she was beautiful; her determination to make this evening +count had brought an unusual color to her cheeks, an unwonted sparkle to +her eye. She stood up as she heard him enter the other room, she was +standing erect as he came through the door and faced her. He had only +seen her in the now somewhat shabby blue of her ordinary camp dress +before, and her beauty fairly smote him in his face. He stood before +her, wrapped in his great fur coat, snow and ice clinging to it, +entranced. The woman smiled at the effect she produced. + +"Take off your coat," she said gently, approaching him. "Here, let me +help you. Do you realize that I have been here over a month now? I want +to have a little talk with you. I want you to tell me something." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE KISS ON THE HAND + + +"Did it ever occur to you," began Enid Maitland gravely enough, for she +quite realized the serious nature of the impending conversation, "did it +ever occur to you that you know practically all about me, while I know +practically nothing about you?" + +The man bowed his head. + +"You may have fancied that I was not aware of it, but in one way or +another you have possessed yourself of pretty nearly all of my short +and, until I met you, most uneventful life," she continued. + +Newbold might have answered that there was one subject which had been +casually introduced by her upon one occasion and to which she had never +again referred, but which was to him the most important of all subjects +connected with her; and that was the nature of her relationship to one +James Armstrong whose name, although he had heard it but once, he had +not forgotten. The girl had been frankness itself in following his deft +leads when he talked with her about herself, but she had shown the same +reticence in recurring to Armstrong that he had displayed in questioning +her about him. The statement she had just made as to his acquaintance +with her history was therefore sufficiently near the truth to pass +unchallenged and once again he gravely bowed in acquiescence. + +"I have withheld nothing from you," went on the girl; "whatever you +wanted to know, I have told you. I had nothing to conceal, as you have +found out. Why you wanted to know about me, I am not quite sure." + +"It was because--" burst out the man impetuously, and then he stopped +abruptly and just in time. + +Enid Maitland smiled at him in a way that indicated she knew what was +behind the sudden check he had imposed upon himself. + +"Whatever your reason, your curiosity--" + +"Don't call it that, please." + +"Your desire, then, has been gratified. Now it is my turn. I am not even +sure about your name. I have seen it in these books and naturally I have +imagined that it is yours." + +"It is mine." + +"Well, that is really all that I know about you. And now I shall be +quite frank. I want to know more. You evidently have something to +conceal or you would not be living here in this way. I have never asked +you about yourself, or manifested the least curiosity to solve the +problem you present, to find the solution of the mystery of your life." + +"Perhaps," said the man, "you didn't care enough about it to take the +trouble to inquire." + +"You know," answered the girl, "that is not true. I have been consumed +with desire to know?" + +"A woman's curiosity?" + +"Not that," was the soft answer that turned away his wrath. + +She was indeed frank. There was that in her way of uttering those two +simple words that set his pulses bounding. He was not altogether and +absolutely blind. + +"Come," said the girl, extending her hand to him, "we are alone here +together. We must help each other. You have helped me, you have been of +the greatest service to me. I can't begin to count all that you have +done for me; my gratitude--" + +"Only that?" + +"But that is all that you have ever asked or expected," answered the +young woman in a low voice, whose gentle tones did not at all accord +with the boldness and courage of the speech. + +"You mean?" asked the man, staring at her, his face aflame. + +"I mean," answered the girl swiftly, willfully misinterpreting and +turning his half-spoken question another way, "I mean that I am sure +that some trouble has brought you here. I do not wish to force your +confidence--I have no right to do so--yet I should like to enjoy it. +Can't you give it to me? I want to help you. I want to do my best to +make some return for what you have been to me and have done for me." + +"I ask but one thing," he said quickly. + +"And what is that?" + +But again he checked himself. + +"No," he said, "I am not free to ask anything of you." + +And that answer to Enid Maitland was like a knife thrust in the heart. +The two had been standing, confronting each other. Her heart grew faint +within her. She stretched out her hand vaguely, as if for support. He +stepped toward her, but before he reached her she caught the back of the +chair and sank down weakly. That he should be bound and not free, had +never once occurred to her. She had quite misinterpreted the meaning of +his remark. + +The man did not help her; he could not help her. He just stood and +looked at her. She fought valiantly for self-control a moment or two +and then utterly oblivious to the betrayal of her feelings involved in +the question--the moments were too great for consideration of such +trivial matters--she faltered: + +"You mean there is some other woman?" + +He shook his head in negation. + +"I don't understand." + +"There was some other woman?" + +"Where is she now?" + +"Dead." + +"But you said you were not free." + +He nodded. + +"Did you care so much for her that now--that now--" + +"Enid," he cried desperately. "Believe me, I never knew what love was +until I met you." + +The secret was out now, it had been known to her long since, but now it +was publicly proclaimed. Even a man as blind, as obsessed, as he could +not mistake the joy that illuminated her face at this announcement. That +very joy and satisfaction produced upon him, however, a very different +effect than might have been anticipated. Had he been free indeed he +would have swept her to his breast and covered her sweet face with +kisses broken by whispered words of passionate endearment. Instead of +that he shrank back from her and it was she who was forced to take up +the burden of the conversation. + +"You say that she is dead," she began in sweet appealing bewilderment, +"and that you care so much for me and yet you--" + +"I am a murderer," he broke out harshly. "There is blood upon my hands, +the blood of a woman who loved me and whom, boy as I was, I thought that +I loved. She was my wife, I killed her." + +"Great Heaven!" cried the girl, amazed beyond measure or expectation by +this sudden avowal which she had never once suspected, and her hand +instinctively went to the bosom of her dress where she kept that soiled, +water-stained packet of letters, "are you that man?" + +"I am that man that did that thing, but what do you know?" he asked +quickly, amazed in his turn. + +"Old Kirkby, my uncle Robert Maitland, told me your story. They said +that you had disappeared from the haunts of men--" + +"And they were right. What else was there for me to do? Although +innocent of crime, I was blood guilty. I was mad. No punishment could be +visited upon me like that imposed by the stern, awful, appalling fact. I +swore to prison myself, to have nothing more forever to do with mankind +or womankind with whom I was unworthy to associate, to live alone until +God took me. To cherish my memories, to make such expiation as I could, +to pray daily for forgiveness. I came here to the wildest, the most +inaccessible, the loneliest, spot in the range. No one ever would come +here I fancied, no one ever did come here but you. I was happy after a +fashion, or at least content. I had chosen the better part. I had work, +I could read, write, remember and dream. But you came and since that +time life has been heaven and hell. Heaven because I love you, hell +because to love you means disloyalty to the past, to a woman who loved +me. Heaven because you are here, I can hear your voice, I can see you, +your soul is spread out before me in its sweetness, in its purity; hell +because I am false to my determination, to my vow, to the love of the +past." + +"And did you love her so much, then?" asked the girl, now fiercely +jealous and forgetful of other things for the moment. + +"It's not that," said the man. "I was not much more than a boy, a year +or two out of college. I had been in the mountains a year. This woman +lived in a mining camp, she was a fresh, clean, healthy girl, her father +died and the whole camp fathered her, looked after her, and all the +young men in the range for miles on either side were in love with her. +I supposed that I was, too, and--well, I won her from the others. We had +been married but a few months and a part of the time my business as a +mining engineer had called me away from her. I can remember the day +before we started on the last journey. I was going alone again, but she +was so unhappy over my departure, she clung to me, pleaded with me, +implored me to take her with me, insisted on going wherever I went, +would not be left behind. She couldn't bear me out of her sight, it +seemed. I don't know what there was in me to have inspired such +devotion, but I must speak the truth, however it may sound. She seemed +wild, crazy about me. I didn't understand it; frankly, I didn't know +what such love was--then--but I took her along. Shall I not be honest +with you? In spite of the attraction physical, I had begun to feel even +then that she was not the mate for me. I don't deserve it, and it shames +me to say it of course, but I wanted a better mind, a higher soul. That +made it harder--what I had to do, you know." + +"Yes, I know." + +"The only thing I could do when I came to my senses was to sacrifice +myself to her memory because she had loved me so; as it were, she gave +up her life for me, I could do no less than be true and loyal to the +remembrance. It wasn't a sacrifice either until you came, but as soon as +you opened your eyes and looked into mine in the rain and the storm upon +the rock to which I had carried you after I had fought for you, I knew +that I loved you. I knew that the love that had come into my heart was +the love of which I had dreamed, that everything that had gone before +was nothing, that I had found the one woman whose soul should mate with +mine." + +"And this before I had said a word to you?" + +"What are words? The heart speaks to the heart, the soul whispers to the +soul. And so it was with us. I had fought for you, you were mine, mine. +My heart sang it as I panted and struggled over the rocks carrying you. +It said the words again and again as I laid you down here in this cabin. +It repeated them over and over; mine, mine! It says that every day and +hour. And yet honor and fidelity bid me stay. I am free, yet bound; free +to love you, but not to take you. My heart says yes, my conscience no. I +should despise myself if I were false to the love which my wife bore me, +and how could I offer you a blood stained hand?" + +He had drawn very near her while he spoke; she had risen again and the +two confronted each other. He stretched out his hand as he asked that +last question, almost as if he had offered it to her. She made the best +answer possible to his demand, for before he could divine what she would +be at, she had seized his hand and kissed it, and this time it was the +man whose knees gave way. He sank down in the chair and buried his face +in his hands. + +"Oh, God! Oh, God!" he cried in his humiliation and shame. "If I had +only met you first, or if my wife had died as others die, and not by my +hand in that awful hour. I can see her now, broken, bruised, bleeding, +torn. I can hear the report of that weapon. Her last glance at me in the +midst of her indescribable agony was one of thankfulness and gratitude. +I can't stand it, I am unworthy even of her." + +"But you could not help it, it was not your fault. And you can't +help--caring--for me--" + +"I ought to help it, I ought not love you, I ought to have known that I +was not fit to love any woman, that I had no right, that I was pledged +like a monk to the past. I have been weak, a fool. I love you and my +honor goes, I love you and my self respect goes, I love you and my pride +goes. Would God I could say I love you and my life goes and end it all." +He stared at her a little space. "There is only one ray of satisfaction +in it at all, one gleam of comfort," he added. + +"And what is that?" + +"You don't know what the suffering is, you don't understand, you don't +comprehend." + +"And why not?" + +"Because you do not love me." + +"But I do," said the woman quite simply, as if it were a matter of +course not only that she should love him, but that she should also tell +him so. + +The man stared at her, amazed. Such fierce surges of joy throbbed +through him as he had not thought the human frame could sustain. This +woman loved him, in some strange way he had gained her affection. It was +impossible, yet she had said so! He had been a blind fool. He could see +that now. She stood before him and smiled up at him, looking at him +through eyes misted with tears, with lips parted, with color coming and +going in her cheek and with her bosom rising and falling. She loved him, +he had but to step nearer to her to take her in his arms. There was +trust, devotion, surrender, everything, in her attitude and between +them, like that great gulf which lay between the rich man and the +beggar, that separated heaven and hell, was that he could not cross. + +"I never dreamed, I never hoped--oh," he exclaimed as if he had got his +death wound, "this cannot be borne." + +He turned away, but in two swift steps she caught him. + +"Where do you go?" + +"Out, out into the night." + +"You cannot go now, it is dark; hark to the storm, you will miss your +footing; you would fall, you would freeze, you would die." + +"What matters that?" + +"I cannot have it." + +"It would be better so." + +He strove again to wrench himself away, but she would not be denied. She +clung to him tenaciously. + +"I will not let you go unless you give me your word of honor that you +will not leave the plateau, and that you will come back to me." + +"I tell you that the quicker and more surely I go out of your life, the +happier and better it will be for you." + +"And I tell you," said the woman resolutely, "that you can never go out +of my life again, living or dead," she released him with one hand and +laid it upon her heart, "you are here." + +"Enid," cried the man. + +"No," she thrust him gently away with one hand yet detained him with the +other--that was emblematic of the situation between them. "Not now, not +yet, let me think, but promise me you will do yourself no harm, you will +let nothing imperil your life." + +"As you will," said the man regretfully. "I had purposed to end it now +and forever, but I promise." + +"Your word of honor?" + +"My word of honor." + +"And you won't break it?" + +"I never broke it to a human being, much less will I do so to you?" + +She released him. He went into the other room and she heard him cross +the floor and open the door and go out into the night, into the storm +again. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE FACE IN THE LOCKET + + +Left alone in the room she sat down again before the fire and drew from +her pocket the packet of letters. She knew them by heart, she had read +and re-read them often when she had been alone. They had fascinated her. +They were letters from some other man to this man's wife. They were +signed by an initial only and the identity of the writer was quite +unknown to her. The woman's replies were not with the others, but it was +easy enough to see what those replies had been. All the passion of which +the woman had been capable had evidently been bestowed upon the writer +of the letters she had treasured. + +Her story was quite plain. She had married Newbold in a fit of pique. He +was an Eastern man, the best educated, the most fascinating and +interesting of the men who frequented the camp. There had been a quarrel +between the letter writer and the woman, there were always quarrels, +apparently, but this had been a serious one and the man had savagely +flung away and left her. He had not come back as he usually did. She +had waited for him and then she had married Newbold and then he had +come back--too late! + +He had wanted to kill the other, but she had prevented, and while +Newbold was away he had made desperate love to her. He had besought her +to leave her husband, to go away with him. He had used every argument +that he could to that end and the woman had hesitated and wavered, but +she had not consented; she had not denied her love for him any more than +she had denied her respect and a certain admiration for her gallant +trusting husband. She had refused again and again the requests of her +lover. She could not control her heart, nevertheless she had kept to her +marriage vows. But the force of her resistance had grown weaker and she +had realized that alone she would perhaps inevitably succumb. + +Her lover had been away when her husband returned prior to that last +fateful journey. Enid Maitland saw now why she had besought him to take +her with him. She had been afraid to be left alone! She had not dared to +depend upon her own powers any more, her only salvation had been to go +with this man whom she did not love, whom at times she almost hated, to +keep from falling into the arms of the man she did love. She had been +more or less afraid of Newbold. She had soon realized, because she was +not blinded by any passion as he, that they had been utterly mismated. +She had come to understand that when the same knowledge of the truth +came to him, as it inevitably must some day, nothing but unhappiness +would be their portion. + +Every kind of an argument in addition to those so passionately adduced +in these letters urging her to break away from her husband and to seek +happiness for herself while yet there was time, had besieged her heart, +had seconded her lover's plea and had assailed her will, and yet she had +not given way. + +Now Enid Maitland hated the woman who had enjoyed the first young love +of the man she herself loved. She hated her because of her priority of +possession, because her memory yet came between her and that man. She +hated her because Newbold was still true to her memory, because Newbold, +believing in the greatness of her passion for him, thought it shame and +dishonor to his manhood to be false to her, no matter what love and +longing drew him on. + +Yet there was a stern sense of justice in the bosom of this young woman. +She exulted in the successful battle the poor woman had waged for the +preservation of her honor and her good name, against such odds. It was a +sex triumph for which she was glad. She was proud of her for the stern +rigor with which she had refused to take the easiest way and the +desperation with which she had clung to him she did not love, but to +whom she was bound by the laws of God and man, in order that she might +not fall into the arms of the man she did love, in defiance of right. + +Enid Maitland and this woman were as far removed from each other as the +opposite poles of the earth, but there was yet a common quality in each +one, of virtuous womanhood, of lofty morality. Natural, perhaps, in the +one and to be expected; unnatural, perhaps, and to be unexpected in the +other, but there! Now that she knew what love was and what its power and +what its force--for all that she had felt and experienced and dreamed +about before were as nothing to what it was since he had spoken--she +could understand what the struggle must have been in that woman's heart. +She could honor her, reverence her, pity her. + +She could understand the feeling of the man, too, she could think much +more clearly than he. He was distracted by two passions, for his pride +and his honor and for her; she had as yet but one, for him. And as there +was less turmoil and confusion in her mind, she was the more capable of +looking the facts in the face and making the right deduction from them. + +She could understand how in the first frightful rush of his grief and +remorse and love the very fact that Newbold had been compelled to kill +his wife, of whom she guessed he was beginning to grow a little weary, +under such circumstances had added immensely to his remorse and +quickened his determination to expiate his guilt and cherish her memory. +She could understand why he would do just as he had done, go into the +wilderness to be alone in horror of himself and in horror of his fellow +men, to think only, mistakenly, of her. + +Now he was paying the penalty of that isolation. Men were made to live +with one another, and no one could violate that law natural, or by so +long an inheritance as to have so become, without paying that penalty. +His ideas of loyalty and fidelity were warped, his conceptions of his +duty were narrow. There was something noble in his determination, it is +true, but there was something also very foolish. The dividing line +between wisdom and folly is sometimes as indefinite as that between +comedy and tragedy, between laughter and tears. If the woman he had +married and killed had only hated him and he had known, it would have +been different, but since he believed so in her love he could do nothing +else. + +At that period in her reflections Enid Maitland saw a great light. The +woman had not loved her husband after all, she had loved another. That +passion of which he had dreamed had not been for him. By a strange chain +of circumstances Enid Maitland held in her hand the solution of the +problem. She had but to give him these letters to show him that his +golden image had stood upon feet of clay, that the love upon which he +had dwelt was not his. Once convinced of that he would come quickly to +her arms. She cried a prayer of blessing on old Kirkby and started to +her feet, the letters in hand, to call Newbold back to her and tell him, +and then she stopped. + +Woman as she was, she had respect for the binding conditions and laws of +honor as well as he. Chance, nay, Providence, had put the honor of this +woman, her rival, in her hands. The world had long since forgotten this +poor unfortunate; in no heart was her memory cherished save in that of +her husband. His idea of her was a false one, to be sure, but not even +to procure her own happiness could Enid Maitland overthrow that ideal, +shatter that memory. + +She sat down again with the letters in her hand. It had been very simple +a moment since, but it was not so now. She had but to show him those +letters to remove the great barrier between them. She could not do it. +It was clearly impossible. The reputation of her dead sister who had +struggled so bravely to the end was in her hands, she could not +sacrifice her even for her own happiness. + +Quixotic, you say? I do not think so. She had blundered unwittingly, +unwillingly, upon the heart secret of the other woman, she could not +betray it. Even if the other woman had been really unfaithful in deed as +well as in thought to her husband, Enid could hardly have destroyed his +recollection of her. How much more impossible it was since the other +woman had fought so heroically and so successfully for her honor. +Womanhood demanded her silence. Loyalty, honor, compelled her silence. + +A dead hand grasped his heart and the same dead hand grasped hers. She +could see no way out of the difficulty. So far as she knew, no human +soul except old Kirkby and herself knew this woman's story. She could +not tell Newbold and she would have to impose upon Kirkby the same +silence as she herself exercised. There was absolutely no way in which +the man could find out. He must cherish his dream as he would. She would +not enlighten him, she would not disabuse his mind, she could not +shatter his ideal, she could not betray his wife. They might love as +the angels of heaven and yet be kept forever apart--by a scruple, an +idea, a principle, an abstraction, honor, a name. + +Her mind told her these things were idle and foolish, but her soul would +not hear of it. And in spite of her resolutions she felt that eventually +there would be some way. She would not have been a human woman if she +had not hoped and prayed that. She believed that God had created them +for each other, that He had thrown them together. She was enough of a +fatalist in this instance at least to accept their intimacy as the +result of His ordination. There must be some way out of the dilemma. + +Yet she knew that he would be true to his belief, and she felt that she +would not be false to her obligation. What of that? There would be some +way. Perhaps somebody else knew, and then there flashed into her mind +the writer of the letters. Who was he? Was he yet alive? Had he any part +to play in this strange tragedy aside from that he had already essayed? + +Sometimes an answer to a secret query is made openly. At this juncture +Newbold came back. He stopped before her unsteadily, his face now marked +not only by the fierceness of the storm outside, but by the fiercer +grapple of the storm in his heart. + +"You have a right," he began, "to know everything now. I can withhold +nothing from you." + +He had in his hand a picture and something yellow that gleamed in the +light. "There," he continued, extending them toward her, "is the picture +of the poor woman, who loved me and whom I killed, you saw it once +before." + +"Yes," she nodded, taking it from him carefully and looking again in a +strange commixture of pride, resentment and pity at the bold, somewhat +coarse, entirely uncultured, yet handsome face which gave no evidence of +the moral purpose which she had displayed. + +"And here," said the man, offering the other article, "is something that +no human eye but mine has ever seen since that day. It is a locket I +took from her neck. Until you came I wore it next my heart." + +"And since then?" + +"Since then I have been unworthy her as I am unworthy you, and I have +put it aside." + +"Does it contain another picture?" + +"Yes." + +"Of her?" + +"A man's face." + +"Yours?" + +He shook his head. + +"Look and see," he answered. "Press the spring." + +Suiting action to word the next second Enid Maitland found herself +gazing upon the pictured semblance of Mr. James Armstrong! + +She was utterly unable to suppress an exclamation and a start of +surprise at the astonishing revelation. The man looked at her curiously, +he opened his mouth to question her, but she recovered herself in part +at least and swiftly interrupted him in a panic of terror lest she +should betray her knowledge. + +"And what is the picture of another man doing in your wife's locket?" +she asked to gain time, for she very well knew the reply; knew it, +indeed, better than Newbold himself; who, as it happened, was equally in +the dark both as to the man and the reason. + +"I don't know," answered the other. + +"Did you know this man?" + +"I never saw him in my life that I can recall." + +"And have you--did you--" + +"Did I suspect my wife?" he asked. "Never. I had too many evidences that +she loved me and me alone for a ghost of suspicion to enter my mind. It +may have been a brother, or her father in his youth." + +"And why did you wear it?" + +"Because I took it from her dead heart. Some day I shall find out who +the man is, and when I shall I know there will be nothing to her +discredit in the knowledge." + +Enid Maitland nodded her head. She closed the locket, laid it on the +table and pushed it away from her. So this was the man the woman had +loved, who had begged her to go away with him, this handsome Armstrong +who had come within an ace of winning her own affection, to whom she was +in some measure pledged! + +How strangely does fate work out its purposes. Enid had come from the +Atlantic seaboard to be the second woman that both these two men loved! + +If she ever saw Mr. James Armstrong again, and she had no doubt that she +would, she would have some strange things to say to him. She held in her +hands now all the threads of the mystery, she was master of all the +solutions, and each thread was as a chain that bound her. + +"My friend," she said at last with a deep sigh, "you must forget this +night and go on as before. You love me, thank God for that, but honor +and respect interpose between us. And I love you, and I thank God for +that, too, but for me as well the same barrier rises. Whether we shall +ever surmount these barriers God alone knows. He brought us together, He +put that love in our hearts, we will have to leave it to Him to do as +He will with us both. Meanwhile we must go on as before." + +"No," cried the man, "you impose upon me tasks beyond my strength; you +don't know what love like mine is, you don't know the heart hunger, the +awful madness I feel. Think, I have been alone with a recollection for +all these years, a man in the dark, in the night, and the light comes, +you are here. The first night I brought you here I walked that room on +the other side of that narrow door like a lion pent up in bars of steel. +I had only my own love, my own passionate adoration to move me then, but +now that I know you love me, that I see it in your eyes, that I hear it +from your lips, that I mark it in the beat of your heart, can I keep +silent? Can I live on and on? Can I see you, touch you, breathe the same +air with you, be shut up in the same room with you hour after hour, day +after day, and go on as before? I can't do it; it is an impossibility. +What keeps me now from taking you in my arms and from kissing the color +into your cheeks, from making your lips my own, from drinking the light +from your eyes?" He swayed near to her, his voice rose, "What restrains +me?" he demanded. + +"Nothing," said the woman, never shrinking back an inch, facing him with +all the courage and daring with which a goddess might look upon a man. +"Nothing but my weakness and your strength." + +"Yes, that's it; but do not count too much upon the one or the other. +Great God, how can I keep away from you. Life on the old terms is +insupportable. I must go." + +"And where?" + +"Anywhere, so it be away." + +"And when?" + +"Now." + +"It would be death in the snow and in the mountains to-night. No, no, +you can not go." + +"Well, to-morrow then. It will be fair, I can't take you with me, but I +must go alone to the settlements, I must tell your friends you are here, +alive, well. I shall find men to come back and get you. What I cannot do +alone numbers together may effect. They can carry you over the worst of +the trails, you shall be restored to your people, to your world again. +You can forget me." + +"And do you think?" asked the woman, "that I could ever forget you?" + +"I don't know." + +"And will you forget me?" + +"Not as long as life throbs in my veins, and beyond." + +"And I too," was the return. + +"So be it. You won't be afraid to stay here alone, now." + +"No, not since you love me," was the noble answer. "I suppose I must, +there is no other way, we could not go on as before. And you will come +back to me as quickly as you can with the others?" + +"I shall not come back. I will give them the direction, they can find +you without me. When I say good-by to you to-morrow it shall be +forever." + +"And I swear to you," asserted the woman in quick desperation, "if you +do not come back, they shall have nothing to carry from here but my dead +body. You do not alone know what love is," she cried resolutely, "and I +will not let you go unless I have your word to return." + +"And how will you prevent my going?" + +"I can't. But I will follow you on my hands and knees in the snow until +I freeze and die unless I have your promise." + +"You have beaten me," said the man hopelessly. "You always do. Honor, +what is it? Pride, what is it? Self respect, what is it? Say the word +and I am at your feet, I put the past behind me." + +"I don't say the word," answered the woman bravely, white faced, pale +lipped, but resolute. "To be yours, to have you mine, is the greatest +desire of my heart, but not in the coward's way, not at the expense of +honor, of self respect--no not that way. Courage, my friend, God will +show us the way, and meantime good night." + +"I shall start in the morning." + +"Yes," she nodded reluctantly but knowing it had to be, "but you won't +go without bidding me good-bye." + +"No." + +"Good night then," she said extending her hand. + +"Good night," he whispered hoarsely and refused it backing away. "I +don't dare to take it. I don't dare to touch you again. I love you so, +my only salvation is to keep away." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE STRENGTH OF THE WEAK + + +Although Enid Maitland had spoken bravely enough while he was there, +when she was alone her heart sank into the depths as she contemplated +the dreadful and unsolvable dilemma in which these two lovers found +themselves so unwittingly and inextricably involved. It was indeed a +curious and bewildering situation. Passionate adoration for the other +rose in each breast like the surging tide of a mighty sea and like that +tide upon the shore it broke upon conventions, ideas, ideals and +obligations intangible to the naked eye but as real as those iron coasts +that have withstood the waves' assaults since the world's morning. + +The man had shaped his life upon a mistake. He believed absolutely in +the unquestioned devotion of a woman to whom he had been forced to mete +out death in an unprecedented and terrible manner. His unwillingness to +derogate by his own conduct from the standard of devotion which he +believed had inhabited his wife's bosom, made it impossible for him to +allow the real love that had come into his heart for this new woman to +have free course; honor, pride and self respect scourged him just in +proportion to his passion for Enid Maitland. + +The more he loved her, the more ashamed he was. By a curious combination +of circumstances, Enid Maitland knew the truth, she knew that from one +point of view the woman had been entirely unworthy the reverence in +which her husband held her memory. She knew that his wife had not loved +him at all, that her whole heart had been given to another man, that +what Newbold had mistaken for a passionate desire for his society +because there was no satisfaction in life for the wife away from him was +due to a fear lest without his protection she should be unable to resist +the appeal of the other man which her heart seconded so powerfully. If +it were only that Newbold would not be false to the obligation of the +other woman's devotion, Enid might have solved the problem in a moment. + +It was not so simple, however. The fact that Newbold cherished this +memory, the fact that this other woman had fought so desperately, had +tried so hard not to give way, entitled her to Enid Maitland's +admiration and demanded her highest consideration as well. Chance, or +Providence, had put her in possession of this woman's secret. It was as +if she had been caught inadvertently eavesdropping. She could not in +honor make use of what she had overheard, as it were; she could not +blacken the other woman's memory, she could not enlighten this man at +the expense of his dead wife's reputation. + +Although she longed for him as much as he longed for her, although her +love for him amazed her by its depth and intensity, even to bring her +happiness commensurate with her feelings she could not betray her dead +sister. The imposts of honor, how hard they are to sustain when they +conflict with love and longing. + +Enid Maitland was naturally not a little thrown off her balance by the +situation and the power that was hers. What she could not do herself she +could not allow anyone else to do. The obligation upon her must be +extended to others. Old Kirkby had no right to the woman's secret any +more than she, he must be silenced. Armstrong, the only other being +privy to the truth, must be silenced too. + +One thing at least arose out of the sea of trouble in a tangible way, +she was done with Armstrong. Even if she had not so loved Newbold that +she could scarcely give a thought to any other human being, she was done +with Armstrong. + +A singular situation! Armstrong had loved another woman, so had Newbold, +and the latter had even married this other woman, yet she was quite +willing to forgive Newbold, she made every excuse for him, she made none +for Armstrong. She was an eminently sane, just person, yet as she +thought of the situation her anger against Armstrong grew hotter and +hotter. It was a safety valve to her feelings, although she did not +realize it. After all, Armstrong's actions rendered her a certain +service; if she could get over the objection in her soul, if she could +ever satisfy her sense of honor and duty, and obligation, she could +settle the question at once. She had only to show the letters to Newbold +and to say, "These were written by the man of the picture; it was he and +not you your wife loved," and Newbold would take her to his heart +instantly. + +These thoughts were not without a certain comfort to her. All the +compensation of self-sacrifice is in its realization. That she could do +and yet did not somehow ennobled her love for him. Even women are +alloyed with base metal. In the powerful and universal appeal of this +man to her, she rejoiced at whatever was of the soul rather than of the +body. To possess power, to refrain from using it in obedience to some +higher law is perhaps to pay oneself the most flattering of +compliments. There was a satisfaction to her soul in this which was yet +denied him. + +Her action was quite different from his. She was putting away happiness +which she might have had in compliance with a higher law than that which +bids humanity enjoy. It was flattering to her mind. In his case it was +otherwise: he had no consciousness that he was a victim of misplaced +trust, of misinterpreted action; he thought the woman for whom he was +putting away happiness was almost as worthy, if infinitely less +desirable, as the woman whom he now loved. + +Every sting of conscious weakness, every feeling of realized shame, +every fear of ultimate disloyalty, scourged him. She could glory in it; +he was ashamed, humiliated, broken. + +She heard him savagely walking up and down the other room, restlessly +impelled by the same Erinnyes who of old scourged Orestes, the violater +of the laws of moral being, drove him on. These malign Eumenides held +him in their hands. He was bound and helpless; rage as he might in one +moment, pray as he did in another, no light came into the whirling +darkness of his torn, tempest tossed, driven soul. The irresistible +impulse and the immovable body the philosophers puzzled over were +exemplified in him. While he almost hated the new woman, while he +almost loved the old, yet that he did neither the one thing nor the +other absolutely was significant. + +Indeed he knew that he was glad Enid Maitland had come into his life. No +life is complete until it is touched by that divine fire which for lack +of another name we call love. Because we can experience that sensation +we are said to be made in God's image. The image is blurred as the +animal predominates, it is clearer as the spiritual has the ascendency. + +The man raved in his mind. White faced, stern, he walked up and down, he +tossed his arms about him, he stopped, his eyes closed, he threw his +hands up toward God, his heart cried out under the lacerations of the +blows inflicted upon it. No flagellant of old ever trembled beneath the +body lash as he under the spiritual punishment. + +He prayed that he might die at the same moment that he longed to live. +He grappled blindly for solutions of the problem that would leave him +with untarnished honor and undiminished self-respect and fidelity, and +yet give him this woman; and in vain. He strove to find a way to +reconcile the past with the present, realizing as he did so the futility +of such a proposition. One or the other must be supreme; he must +inexorably hold to his ideas and his ideals, or he must inevitably take +the woman. + +How frightful was the battle that raged within his bosom. Sometimes in +his despair he thought that he would have been glad if he and she had +gone down together in the dark waters before all this came upon him. The +floods of which the heavens had emptied themselves had borne her to him. +Oh, if they had only swept him out of life with its trouble, its trials, +its anxieties, its obligations, its impossibilities! If they had gone +together! And then he knew that he was glad even for the torture, +because he had seen her, because he had loved her, and because she had +loved him. + +He marveled at himself curiously and in a detached way. There was a +woman who loved him, who had confessed it boldly and innocently; there +were none to say him nay. The woman who stood between had been dead five +years, the world knew nothing, cared nothing; they could go out +together, he could take her, she would come. On the impulse he turned +and ran to the door and beat upon it. Her voice bade him enter and he +came in. + +Her heart yearned to him. She was shocked, appalled, at the torture she +saw upon his face. Had he been laid upon the rack and every joint pulled +from its sockets, he could not have been more white and agonized. + +"I give up," he cried. "What are honor and self-respect to me? I want +you. I have put the past behind. You love me, and I, I am yours with +every fiber of my being. Great God! Let us cast aside these foolish +quixotic scruples that have kept us apart. If a man's thoughts declare +his guilt I am already disloyal to the other woman; deeply, entirely so. +I have betrayed her, shamed her, abandoned her. Let me have some +compensation for what I have gone through. You love me, come to me." + +"No," answered the woman, and no task ever laid upon her had been harder +than that. "I do love you, I will not deny it, every part of me responds +to your appeal. I should be so happy that I cannot even think of it, if +I could put my hand in your own, if I could lay my head upon your +shoulder, if I could feel your heart beat against mine, if I could give +myself up to you, I would be so glad, so glad. But it can not be, not +now." + +"Why not?" pleaded the man. + +He was by her side, his arm went around her. She did not resist +physically, it would have been useless; she only laid her slender hand +upon his broad breast and threw her head back and looked at him. + +"See," she said, "how helpless I am, how weak in your hands? Every +voice in my heart bids me give way. If you insist I can deny you +nothing. I am helpless, alone, but it must not be. I know you better +than you know yourself, you will not take advantage of affection so +unbounded, of weakness so pitiable." + +Was it the wisdom of calculation, or was it the wisdom of instinct by +which she chose her course? Resistance would have been unavailing, in +weakness was her strength. + +_Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth!_ + +Yes, that was true. She knew it now if never before, and so did he. + +Slowly the man released her. She did not even then draw away from him; +she stood with her hand still on his breast, she could feel the beating +of his heart beneath her fingers. + +"I am right," she said softly. "It kills me to deny you anything, my +heart yearns toward you, why should I deny it, it is my glory not my +shame." + +"There is nothing above love like ours," he pleaded, wondering what +marvelous mastery she exercised that she stopped him by a hand's touch, +a whispered word, a faith. + +"No; love is life, love is God, but even God Himself is under +obligations of righteousness. For me to come to you now, to marry you +now, to be your wife, would be unholy. There would not be that perfect +confidence between us that must endure in that relation. Your honor and +mine, your self-respect and mine would interpose. If I can't have you +with a clear conscience, if you can't come to me in the same way, we are +better apart. Although it kills me, although life without you seems +nothing and I would rather not live it, we are better apart. I cannot be +your wife until--" + +"Until what and until when?" demanded Newbold. + +"I don't know," said the woman, "but I believe that somewhere, somehow, +we shall find a way out of our difficulty. There is a way," she said a +little incautiously, "I know it." + +"Show it to me." + +"No, I can not." + +"What prevents?" + +"The same thing which prevents you, honor, loyalty." + +"To a man?" + +"To a woman." + +"I don't understand." + +"No, but you will some day," she smiled at him. "See," she said, +"through my tears I can smile at you, though my heart is breaking. I +know that in God's good time this will work itself out." + +"I can't wait for God, I want you now," persisted the other. + +"Hush, don't say that," answered the woman, for a moment laying her hand +on his lips. "But I forgive you, I know how you suffer." + +The man could say nothing, do nothing. He stared at her a moment and his +hand went to his throat as if he were choking. + +"Unworthy," he said hoarsely, "unworthy of the past, unworthy of the +present, unworthy of the future. May God forgive me, I never can." + +"He will forgive you, never fear," answered Enid gently. + +"And you?" asked her lover. "I have ruined your life." + +"No, you have ennobled it. Let nothing ever make you forget that. +Wherever you are and whatever you do and whatever you may have been, I +love you and I shall love you to the end. Now you must go, it is so +late, I can't stand any more. I throw myself on your mercy again. I grow +weaker and weaker before you. As you are a man, as you are stronger, +save me from myself. If you were to take me again in your arms," she +went on steadily, "I know not how I could drive you back. For God's +sake, if you love me--" + +That was the hardest thing he had ever done, to turn and go out of the +room, out of her sight and leave her standing there with eyes shining, +with pulses throbbing, with breath coming fast, with bosom panting. Once +more, and at a touch she might have yielded! + + + + +BOOK V + +THE CUP IS DRAINED + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE CHALLENGE OF THE RANGE + + +Mr. James Armstrong sat at his desk before the west window of his +private room in one of the tallest buildings in Denver. His suite of +offices was situated on one of the top floors and from it over the +intervening house tops and other buildings, he had a clear and +unobstructed view of the mighty range. The earth was covered with snow. +It had fallen steadily through the night but with the dawn the air had +cleared and the sun had come out brightly although it was very cold. + +Letters, papers, documents, the demands of a business extensive and +varied, were left unnoticed. He sat with his elbow on the desk and his +head on his hand, looking moodily at the range. In the month that had +elapsed since he had received news of Enid Maitland's disappearance he +had sat often in that way, in that place, staring at the range, a prey +to most despondent reflections, heavy hearted and disconsolate indeed. + +After that memorable interview with Mr. Stephen Maitland in Philadelphia +he had deemed it proper to await there the arrival of Mr. Robert +Maitland. A brief conversation with that distracted gentleman had put +him in possession of all the facts in the case. As Robert Maitland had +said, after his presentation of the tragic story, the situation was +quite hopeless. Even Armstrong reluctantly admitted that her uncle and +old Kirkby had done everything that was possible for the rescue or +discovery of the girl. + +Therefore the two despondent gentlemen had shortly after returned to +their western homes, Robert Maitland in this instance being accompanied +by his brother Stephen. The latter never knew how much his daughter had +been to him until this evil fate had befallen her. Robert Maitland had +promised to inaugurate a thorough and extensive search to solve the +mystery of her death, which he felt was certain, in the spring when the +weather permitted humanity to have free course through the mountains. + +Mr. Stephen Maitland found a certain melancholy satisfaction in being at +least near the place where neither he nor anyone had any doubt his +daughter's remains lay hid beneath the snow or ice on the mountains in +the freezing cold. Robert Maitland had no other idea than that Enid's +body was in the lake. He intended to drain it--an engineering task of no +great difficulty--and yet he intended also to search the hills for +miles on either side of the main stream down which she had gone; for she +might possibly have strayed away and died of starvation and exposure +rather than drowning. At any rate he would leave nothing undone to +discover her. + +He had strenuously opposed Armstrong's recklessly expressed intention of +going into the mountains immediately to search for her. Armstrong was +not easily moved from any purpose he once entertained or lightly to be +hindered from attempting any enterprise that he projected, but by the +time the party reached Denver the winter had set in and even he realized +the futility of any immediate search for a dead body lost in the +mountains. Admitting that Enid was dead the conclusions were sound of +course. + +The others pointed out to Armstrong that if the woman they all loved had +by any fortunate chance escaped the cloud burst she must inevitably have +perished from cold, starvation and exposure in the mountain long since. +There was scarcely a possibility that she could have escaped the flood, +but if she had it would only to be devoted to death a little later. If +she was not in the lake what remained of her would be in some lateral +caņon. It would be impossible to discover her body in the deep snows +until the spring and the warm weather came. When the snows melted what +was concealed would be revealed. Alone, she could do nothing. And +admitting again that Enid was alone this conclusion was as sound as the +other. + +Now no one had the faintest hope that Enid Maitland was yet alive except +perhaps her father, Mr. Stephen Maitland. They could not convince him, +he was so old and set in his opinions and so utterly unfamiliar with the +conditions that they tried to describe to him, that he clung to his +belief in spite of all, and finally they let him take such comfort as he +could from his vain hope without any further attempt at contradiction. + +In spite of all the arguments, however, Mr. James Armstrong was not +satisfied. He was as hopeless as the rest, but his temperament would not +permit him to accept the inevitable calmly. It was barely possible that +she might not be dead and that she might not be alone. There was +scarcely enough possibility of this to justify a suspicion, but that is +not saying there was none at all. + +Day after day he had sat in his office denying himself to everyone and +refusing to consider anything, brooding over the situation. He loved +Enid Maitland, he loved her before and now that he had lost her he loved +her still more. + +Not altogether admirable had been James Armstrong's outwardly successful +career. In much that is high and noble and manly his actions--and his +character--had often been lacking, but even the base can love and +sometimes love transforms if it be given a chance. The passion of Cymon +for Iphigenia, made a man and prince out of the rustic boor. His real +love for Enid Maitland might have done more for Armstrong than he +himself or anyone who knew him as he was--and few there were who had +such knowledge of him--dreamed was possible. There was one thing that +love could not do, however; it could not make him a patient philosopher, +a good waiter. His rule of life was not very high, but in one way it was +admirable in that prompt bold decisive action was its chiefest +characteristic. + +On this certain morning a month after the heart breaking disaster his +power of passive endurance had been strained to the vanishing point. The +great white range was flung in his face like a challenge. Within its +secret recesses lay the solution of the mystery. Somewhere, dead or +alive, beyond the soaring rampart was the woman he loved. It was +impossible for him to remain quiet any longer. Common sense, reason, +every argument that had been adduced, suddenly became of no weight. He +lifted his head and stared straight westward. His eyes swept the long +semi-circle of the horizon across which the mighty range was drawn like +the chord of a gigantic arc or the string of a mighty bow. Each white +peak mocked him, the insolent aggression of the range called him +irresistibly to action. + +"By God," he said under his breath, rising to his feet, "winter or no +winter, I go." + +Robert Maitland had offices in the same building. Having once come to a +final determination there was no more uncertainty or hesitation about +Armstrong's course. In another moment he was standing in the private +room of his friend. The two men were not alone there. Stephen Maitland +sat in a low chair before another window removed from the desk somewhat, +staring out at the range. The old man was huddled down in his seat, +every line of his figure spoke of grief and despair. Of all the places +in Denver he liked best his brother's office fronting the rampart of the +mountains, and hour after hour he sat there quietly looking at the +summits, sometimes softly shrouded in white, sometimes swept bare by the +fierce winter gales that blew across them, sometimes shining and +sparkling so that the eye could scarce sustain their reflection of the +dazzling sun of Colorado; and at other times seen dimly through mists of +whirling snow. + +Oh, yes, the mountains challenged him also to the other side of the +range. His heart yearned for his child, but he was too old to make the +attempt. He could only sit and pray and wait with such faint and fading +hope as he could still cherish until the break up of the spring came. +For the rest he troubled nobody; nobody noticed him, nobody marked him, +nobody minded him. Robert Maitland transacted his business a little more +softly, a little more gently, that was all. Yet the presence of his +brother was a living grief and a living reproach to him. Although he was +quite blameless he blamed himself. He did not know how much he had grown +to love his niece until he had lost her. His conscience accused him +hourly, and yet he knew not where he was at fault or how he could have +done differently. It was a helpless and hopeless situation. To him, +therefore, entered Armstrong. + +"Maitland," he began, "I can't stand it any longer, I'm going into the +mountains." + +"You are mad!" + +"I can't help it. I can't sit here and face them, damn them, and remain +quiet." + +"You will never come out alive." + +"Oh, yes I will, but if I don't I swear to God I don't care." + +Old Stephen Maitland rose unsteadily to his feet and gripped the back of +his chair. + +"Did I hear aright, sir?" he asked with all the polished and graceful +courtesy of birth and breeding which never deserted him in any emergency +whatsoever. "Do you say--" + +"I said I was going into the mountains to search for her." + +"It is madness," urged Robert Maitland. + +But the old man did not hear him. + +"Thank God!" he exclaimed with deep feeling. "I have sat here day after +day and watched those mighty hills, and I have said to myself that if I +had youth and strength as I have love, I would not wait." + +"You are right," returned Armstrong, equally moved, and indeed it would +have been hard to have heard and seen that father unresponsively, "and I +am not going to wait either." + +"I understand your feeling, Jim, and yours too, Steve," began Robert +Maitland, arguing against his own emotions, "but even if she escaped the +flood, she must be dead by this time." + +"You needn't go over the old arguments, Bob. I'm going into the +mountains and I'm going now. No," he continued swiftly, as the other +opened his mouth to interpose further objections, "you needn't say +another word. I'm a free agent and I'm old enough to decide what I can +do. There is no argument, there is no force, there is no appeal, there +is nothing that will restrain me. I can't sit here and eat my heart out +when she may be there." + +"But it's impossible!" + +"It isn't impossible. How do I know that there may not have been +somebody in the mountains, she may have wandered to some settlement, +some hunter's cabin, some prospector's hut." + +"But we were there for weeks and saw nothing, no evidence of humanity." + +"I don't care. The mountains are filled with secret nooks you could pass +by within a stone's throw and never see into, she may be in one of them. +I suppose she is dead and it's all foolish, this hope, but I'll never +believe it until I have examined every square rod within a radius of +fifty miles from your camp. I'll take the long chance, the longest +even." + +"Well, that's all right," said Robert Maitland. "Of course I intend to +do that as soon as the spring opens, but what's the use of trying to do +it now?" + +"It's use to me. I'll either go mad here in Denver, or I must go to seek +for her there." + +"But you will never come back if you once get in those mountains alone." + +"I don't care whether I do or not. It's no use, old man, I am going and +that's all there is about it." + +Robert Maitland knew men, he recognized finality when he heard it or +when he saw it and it was quite evident that he was in the presence of +it then. It was of no use for him or anyone to say more. + +"Very well," he said, "I honor you for your feeling even if I don't +think much of your common sense." + +"Damn common sense," cried Armstrong triumphantly, "it's love that moves +me now." + +At that moment there was a tap on the door. A clerk from an outer office +bidden to enter announced that old Kirkby was in the ante-room. + +"Bring him in," directed Maitland, eager to welcome him. + +He fancied that the new comer would undoubtedly assist him in dissuading +Armstrong from his foolhardy, useless enterprise. + +"Mornin', old man," drawled Kirkby. + +"Howdy, Armstrong. My respects to you, sir," he said, sinking his voice +a little as he bowed respectfully toward Mr. Stephen Maitland, a very +sympathetic look in the old frontiersman's eyes at the sight of the +bereaved father. + +"Kirkby, you've come in the very nick of time," at once began Robert +Maitland. + +"Allus glad to be Johnny-on-the-spot," smiled the older man. + +"Armstrong here," continued the other intent upon his purpose, "says he +can't wait until the spring and the snows melt, he is going into the +mountains now to look for Enid." + +Kirkby did not love Armstrong, he did not care for him a little bit, but +there was something in the bold hardihood of the man, something in the +way which he met the reckless challenge of the mountains that the old +man and all the others felt that moved the inmost soul of the hardy +frontiersman. He threw an approving glance at him. + +"I tell him that it is absurd, impossible; that he risks his life for +nothing, and I want you to tell him the same thing. You know more about +the mountains than either of us." + +"Mr. Kirkby," quavered Stephen Maitland, "allow me. I don't want to +influence you against your better judgment, but if you could sit here as +I have done and think that maybe she is there and perhaps alive still, +and in need, you would not say a word to deter him." + +"Why, Steve," expostulated Robert Maitland, "surely you know I would +risk anything for Enid; somehow it seems as if I were being put in the +selfish position by my opposition." + +"No, no," said his brother, "it isn't that. You have your wife and +children, but this young man--" + +"Well, what do you say, Kirkby? Not that it makes any difference to me +what anybody says. Come, we are wasting time," interposed Armstrong, +who, now that he had made up his mind, was anxious to be off. + +"Jim Armstrong," answered Kirkby decidedly, "I never thought much of you +in the past, an' I think sence you've put out this last projick of yourn +that I'm entitled to call you a damn fool, w'ich you are, an' I'm +another, for I'm goin' into the mountains with you." + +"Oh, thank God!" cried Stephen Maitland fervently. + +"I know you don't like me," answered Armstrong; "that's neither here nor +there. Perhaps you have cause to dislike me, perhaps you have not; I +don't like you any too well myself; but there is no man on earth I'd +rather have go with me on a quest of this kind than you, and there's my +hand on it." + +Kirkby shook it vigorously. + +"This ain't committin' myself," he said cautiously. "So far's I'm +concerned you ain't good enough for Miss Maitland, but I admires your +spirit, Armstrong, an' I'm goin' with you. Tain't no good, twon't +produce nothin', most likely we'll never come back agin; but jest the +same I'm goin' along; nobody's goin' to show me the trail; my nerve and +grit w'en it comes to helpin' a young feemale like that girl is as good +as anybody's I guess. You're her father," he drawled on, turning to +Stephen Maitland, "an' I ain't no kin to her, but by gosh, I believe I +can understand better than anyone else yere what you are feelin'." + +"Kirkby," said Robert Maitland, smiling at the other two, "you have gone +clean back on me. I thought you had more sense. But somehow I guess it's +contagious, for I am going along with you two myself." + +"And I, cannot I accompany you?" pleaded Stephen Maitland, eagerly +drawing near to the other three. + +"Not much," said old Kirkby promptly. "You ain't got the stren'th, ol' +man, you don't know them mountains, nuther; you'd be helpless on a pair +of snow shoes, there ain't anything you could do, you'd jest be a drag +on us. Without sayin' anything about myself, w'ich I'm too modest for +that, there ain't three better men in Colorado to tackle this job than +Jim Armstrong an' Bob Maitland an'--well, as I said, I won't mention no +other names." + +"God bless you all, gentlemen," faltered Stephen Maitland. "I think +perhaps I may have been wrong, a little prejudiced against the west, you +are men that would do honor to any family, to any society in +Philadelphia or anywhere else." + +"Lord love ye," drawled Kirkby, his eyes twinkling, "there ain't no +three men on the Atlantic seaboard that kin match up with two of us +yere, to say nothin' of the third." + +"Well," said Robert Maitland, "the thing now is to decide on what's to +be done." + +"My plan," said Armstrong, "is to go to the old camp." + +"Yep," said Kirkby, "that's a good point of deeparture, as my seafarin' +father down Cape Cod way used to say, an' wot's next." + +"I am going up the caņon instead of down," said the man, with a flash of +inspiration. + +"That ain't no bad idea nuther," assented the old man; "we looked the +ground over pretty thoroughly down the caņon, mebbe we can find +something up it." + +"And what do you propose to take with you?" asked Maitland. + +"What we can carry on the backs of men. We will make a camp somewhere +about where you did. We can get enough husky men up at Morrison who will +pack in what we want and with that as a basis we will explore the upper +reaches of the range." + +"And when do we start?" + +"There is a train for Morrison in two hours," answered Armstrong. "We +can get what we want in the way of sleeping bags and equipment between +now and then if we hurry about it." + +"Ef we are goin' to do it, we might as well git a move on us," assented +Kirkby, making ready to go. + +"Right," answered Robert Maitland grimly. "When three men set out to +make fools of themselves the sooner they get at it and get over with it +the better. I've got some business matters to settle, you two get what's +needed and I'll bear my share." + +A week later a little band of men on snow shoes, wrapped in furs to +their eyes, every one heavily burdened with a pack, staggered into the +clearing where once had been pitched the Maitland camp. The place was +covered with snow of course, but on a shelf of rock half way up the +hogback, they found a comparatively level clearing and there, all +working like beavers, they built a rude hut which they covered with +canvas and then with tightly packed snow and which would keep the three +who remained from freezing to death. Fortunately they were favored by a +brief period of pleasant weather and a few days served to make a +sufficiently habitable camp. + +Maitland, Kirkby and Armstrong worked with the rest. There was no +thought of search at first. Their lives depended upon the erection of a +suitable shelter and it was not until the helpers, leaving their burdens +behind them, had departed that the three men even considered what was to +be done next. + +"We must begin a systematic search to-morrow," said Armstrong decisively +as the three men sat around the cheerful fire in the hut. + +"Yes," assented Maitland. "Shall we go together, or separately?" + +"Separately, of course. We are all hardy and experienced men, nothing is +apt to happen to us, we will meet here every night and plan the next +day's work. What do you say, Kirkby?" + +The old man had been quietly smoking while the others talked. He smiled +at them in a way which aroused their curiosity and made them feel that +he had news for them. + +"While you was puttin' the finishin' touches on this yere camp, I come +acrost a heap o' stuns, that somehow the wind had swept bare. There was +a big drift in front of it w'ich kep' us from seein' it afore; it was +built up in the open w'ere there want no trees, an' in our lumberin' +operations we want lookin' that-a-way. I came acrost a bottle by chance +an'--" + +"Well, for God's sake, old man," cried Armstrong impatiently, "what did +you find in it, anything?" + +"This," answered Kirkby, carefully producing a folded scrap of paper +from his leather vest. + +Armstrong fell on it ravenously, and as Maitland bent over him they both +read these words by the fire light. + + "_Miss Enid Maitland, whose foot is so badly crushed as to prevent + her traveling, is safe in a cabin at the head of this canon. I put + this notice here to reassure any who may be seeking her as to her + welfare. Follow the stream up to its source._" + + _Wm. Berkeley Newbold._ + +"Thank God!" exclaimed Robert Maitland. + +"You called me a damn fool, Kirkby," said Armstrong, his eyes gleaming. +"What do you think of it now?" + +"It's the damn fool, I find," said Kirkby sapiently, "that gener'ly gits +there. Providence seems to be a-watchin' over 'em." + +"You said you chanced on this paper, Jack," continued Maitland, "it +looks to me like the deliberate intention of Almighty God." + +"I reckon so," answered the other simply. "You see He's got to look +after all the damn fools on earth to keep 'em from doin' too much damage +to theirselves an' to others in this yere crooked trail of a world." + +"Let us start now," urged Armstrong. + +"Tain't possible," said the old man, taking another puff at his pipe, +and only a glistening of the eye betrayed the joy that he felt; +otherwise his phlegmatic calm was unbroken, his demeanor just as +undisturbed as it always was. "We'd jest throw away our lives a +wanderin' round these yere mountains in the dark, we've got to have +light an' clear weather. Ef it should be snowin' in the mornin' we'd +have to wait until it cleared." + +"I won't wait a minute," cried Armstrong. "At daybreak, weather or no +weather, I start." + +"What's your hurry, Jim?" continued Kirkby calmly. "The gal's safe, one +day more or less ain't goin' to make no difference." + +"She's with another man," answered Armstrong quickly. + +"Do you know this Newbold?" asked Maitland, looking at the note again. + +"No, not personally, but I have heard of him." + +"I know him," answered Kirkby quickly, "an' you've seed him too, Bob; +he's the fellow that shot his wife, that married Louise Rosser." + +"That man!" + +"The very same." + +"You say you never saw him, Jim?" asked Maitland. + +"I repeat I never met him," said Armstrong, flushing suddenly, "but I +knew his wife." + +"Yes, you did that--" drawled the old mountaineer. + +"What do you mean?" flashed Armstrong. + +"I mean that you knowed her, that's all," answered the old man with an +innocent air that was almost childlike. + +When the others woke up in the morning Armstrong's sleeping bag was +empty. Kirkby crawled out of his own warm nest, opened the door and +peered out into the storm. + +"Well," he said, "I guess the damn fool has beat God this time; it don't +look to me as if even He could save him now." + +"But we must go after him at once," urged Maitland. + +"See for yourself," answered the old man, throwing wider the door. +"We've got to wait 'til this wind dies down unless we give the Almighty +the job o' lookin' after three instid o' one." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE CONVERGING TRAILS + + +Whatever the feelings of the others, Armstrong found himself unable to +sleep that night. It seemed to him that fate was about to play him the +meanest and most fantastic of tricks. Many times before in his crowded +life he had loved other women, or so he characterized his feelings, but +his passion for Louise Rosser Newbold had been in a class by itself +until he had met Enid Maitland. Between the two there had been many +women, but these two were the high points, the rest was lowland. + +Once before, therefore, this Newbold had cut in ahead of him and had won +the woman he loved. Armstrong had cherished a hard grudge against him +for a long time. He had not been of those who had formed the rescue +party led by old Kirkby and Maitland which had buried the poor woman on +the great butte in the deep caņon. Before he got back to the camp the +whole affair was over and Newbold had departed. Luckily for him, +Armstrong had always thought, for he had been so mad with grief and rage +and jealousy that if he had come across him helpless or not he would +have killed him out of hand. + +Armstrong had soon enough forgotten Louise Rosser, but he had not +forgotten Newbold. All his ancient animosity had flamed into instant +life again, at the sight of his name last night. The inveteracy of his +hatred had been in no way abated by the lapse of time it seemed. + +Everybody in the mining camp had supposed that Newbold had wandered off +and perished in the mountains, else Armstrong might have pursued him and +hunted him down. The sight of his name on that piece of paper was +outward and visible evidence that he still lived. It had almost the +shock of a resurrection, and a resurrection to hatred rather than to +love. If Newbold had been alone in the world, if Armstrong had chanced +upon him in the solitude, he would have hated him just as he did; but +when he thought that his ancient enemy was with the woman he now loved, +with a growing intensity, beside which his former resentment seemed weak +and feeble, he hated him yet the more. + +He could not tell when the notice, which he had examined carefully, was +written; there was no date upon it, but he could come to only one +conclusion. Newbold must have found Enid Maitland alone in the mountains +very shortly after her departure and he had had her with him in his +cabin alone for at least a month. Armstrong gritted his teeth at the +thought. He did not undervalue the personality of Newbold, he had never +happened to see him, but he had heard enough about him to understand his +qualities as a man. The tie that bound Armstrong to Enid Maitland was a +strong one, but the tie by which he held her to him, if indeed he held +her at all, was very tenuous and easily broken; perhaps it was broken +already, and so he hated him still more and more. + +Indeed his animosity was so great and growing that for the moment he +took no joy in the assurance of the girl's safety, yet he was not +altogether an unfair man and in calmer moments he thanked God in his own +rough way that the woman he loved was alive and well, or had been when +the note was written. He rejoiced that she had not been swept away with +the flood or that she had not been lost in the mountains and forced to +wander on, finally to starve and freeze and die. In one moment her +nearness caused his heart to throb with joyful anticipation. The +certainty that at the first flush of day he would seek her again sent +the warm blood to his cheeks. But these thoughts would be succeeded by +the knowledge that she was with his enemy. Was this man to rob him of +the latest love as he had robbed him of the first? Perhaps the hardest +task that was ever laid upon Armstrong was to lie quietly in his +sleeping bag and wait until the morning. + +So soon as the first indication of dawn showed through the cracks of the +door, he slipped quietly out of his sleeping bag and without disturbing +the others drew on his boots, put on his heavy fur coat and cap and +gloves, slung his Winchester and his snow shoes over his shoulder and +without stopping for a bite to eat softly opened the door, stepped out +and closed it after him. It was quite dark in the bottom of the caņon, +although a few pale gleams overhead indicated the near approach of day. +It was quite still, too. There were clouds on the mountain top heavy +with threat of wind and snow. + +The way was not difficult, the direction of it that is. Nor was the +going very difficult at first; the snow was frozen and the crust was +strong enough to bear him. He did not need his snow shoes and indeed +would have had little chance to use them in the narrow broken rocky +pass. He had slipped away from the others because he wanted to be the +first to see the man and the woman. He did not want any witness to that +meeting. They would have to come on later of course, but he wanted an +hour or two in private with Enid and Newbold without any interruption. +His conscience was not clear. Nor could he settle upon a course of +action. + +How much Newbold knew of his former attempt to win away his wife, how +much of what he knew he had told Enid Maitland, Armstrong could not +surmise. Putting himself into Newbold's place and imagining that the +engineer had possessed entire information, he decided that he must have +told everything to Enid Maitland so soon as he had found out the quasi +relation between her and Armstrong. And Armstrong did not believe the +woman he loved could be in anybody's presence a month without telling +something about him. Still it was possible that Newbold knew nothing and +that he told nothing therefore. + +The situation was paralyzing to a man of Armstrong's decided, determined +temperament. He could not decide upon the line of conduct he should +pursue. His course in this, the most critical emergency he had ever +faced, must be determined by circumstances of which he felt with savage +resentment he was in some measure the sport. He would have to leave to +chance what ought to be subject to his will. Of only one thing was he +sure--he would stop at nothing, murder, lying, nothing to win that +woman, and to settle his score with that man. + +There was really only one thing he could do and that was to press on up +the caņon. He had no idea how far it might be or how long a journey he +would have to make before he reached that shelf on the high hill where +stood that hut in which she dwelt. As the crow flies it could not be a +great distance, but the caņon zigzagged through the mountains with as +many curves and angles as a lightning flash. He plodded on therefore +with furious haste, recklessly speeding over places where a misstep in +the snow or a slip on the icy rocks would have meant death or disaster +to him. + +He had gone about an hour, and had perhaps made four miles from the +camp, when the storm burst upon him. It was now broad day and the sky +was filled with clouds and the air with driving snow. The wind whistled +down the caņon with terrific force, it was with difficulty that he made +any headway at all against it. It was a local storm; if he could have +looked through the snow he would have discovered calmness on the top of +the peaks. It was one of those sudden squalls of wind and snow which +rage with terrific force while they last but whose range was limited and +whose duration would be as short as it was violent. + +A less determined man than he would have bowed to the inevitable and +sought some shelter behind a rock until the fury of the tempest was +spent, but there was no storm that blew that could stop this man so long +as he had strength to drive against it. So he bent his head to the +fierce blast and struggled on. There was something titantic and +magnificent about the iron determination and persistence of Armstrong. +The two most powerful passions which move humanity were at his service; +love led him and hate drove him. And the two were so intermingled that +it was difficult to say which predominated, now one and now the other. +The resultant of the two forces however was an onward move that would +not be denied. + +His fur coat was soon covered with snow and ice, the sharp needles of +the storm cut his face wherever it was exposed. The wind forced its way +through his garments and chilled him to the bone. He had eaten nothing +since the night before and his vitality was not at its flood, but he +pressed onward and upward and there was something grand in his +indomitable progress. _Excelsior!_ + +Back in the hut Kirkby and Maitland sat around the fire waiting most +impatiently for the wind to blow itself out and for that snow to stop +falling through which Armstrong struggled forward. As he followed the +windings of the caņon, not daring to ascend to the summit of either +wall and seek short cuts across the range, he was sensible that he was +constantly rising. There were many indications to his experienced mind; +the decrease in the height of the surrounding pines, the increasing +rarity of the icy air, the growing difficulty in breathing under the +sustained exertion he was making, the quick throbbing of his accelerated +heart, all told him he was approaching his journey's end. + +He judged that he must now be drawing near the source of the stream, and +that he would presently come upon the shelter. He had no means of +ascertaining the time, he would not have dared to unbutton his coat to +glance at his watch, and it is difficult to measure the flying minutes +in such scenes as those through which he passed, but he thought he must +have gone at least seven miles in perhaps three hours, which he fancied +had elapsed, his progress in the last two having been frightfully slow. +Every foot of advance he had to fight for. + +Suddenly, after a quick turn in the caņon, a passage through a narrow +entrance between lofty cliffs, and he found himself in a pocket or a +circular amphitheater which he could see was closed on the further side. +The bottom of this enclosure or valley was covered with pines, now +drooping under tremendous burdens of snow. In the midst of the pines a +lakelet was frozen solid, the ice was covered with the same dazzling +carpet of white. + +He could have seen nothing of this had not the sudden storm now stopped +as precipitately almost as it had begun. Indeed, accustomed to the +grayness of the snowfall, his eyes were fairly dazzled by the bright +light of the sun, now quite high over the range, which struck him full +in the face. + +He stopped, panting, exhausted, and leaned against the rocky wall of the +caņon's mouth which, here rose sheer over his head. This certainly was +the end of the trail, the lake was the source of the frozen rivulet +along whose rocky and torn banks he had tramped since dawn. Here if +anywhere he would find the object of his quest. + +Refreshed by the brief pause and encouraged by the sudden stilling of +the storm, he stepped out of the caņon and ascended a little knoll +whence he had a full view of the pocket over the tops of the pines. +Shading his eyes from the light with his hand as best he could, he +slowly swept the circumference with his eager glance, seeing nothing +until his eye fell upon a huge broken trail of rocks projecting from the +snow, indicating the ascent to a broad bare shelf of the mountains +across the lake to the right. Following this up he saw a huge block of +snow which suggested dimly the outlines of a hut! + +Was that the place? Was she there? He stared fascinated and as he did so +a thin curl of smoke rose above the snow heap and wavered up in the cold +quiet air! That was a human habitation then, it could be none other than +the hut referred to in the note. Enid Maitland must be there, and +Newbold! + +The lake lay directly in front of him beyond the trees at the foot of +the knoll and between him and the slope that led up to the hut. If it +had been summer, he would have been compelled to follow the water's edge +to the right or to the left, both journeys would have led over difficult +trails with little to choose between them, but the lake was now frozen +hard and covered with snow. He had no doubt that the snow would bear +him, but to make sure he drew his snow shoes from his shoulder, slipped +his feet in the straps, and sped straight on through the trees and then +across the lake like an arrow from a bow. + +In five minutes he was at the foot of the giant stairs. Kicking off his +snow shoes he scrambled up the broken way, easily finding in the snow a +trail which had evidently been passed and repassed daily. In a few +moments he was at the top of the shelf. A hard trampled path ran +between high walls of snow to a door! + +Behind that door what would he find? Just what he brought to it, love +and hate he fancied. We usually find on the other side of doors no more +and no less than we bring to our own sides. But whatever it might be, +there was no hesitation in Armstrong's course. He ran toward it, laid +his hand on the latch and opened it. + +What creatures of habit we are! Early in that same morning, after one +vain attempt again to influence the woman who was now the deciding and +determining factor and who seemed to be taking the man's place, Newbold, +ready for his journey, had torn himself away from her presence and had +plunged down the giant stair. He had done everything that mortal man +could do for her comfort; wood enough to last her for two weeks had been +taken from the cave and piled in the kitchen and elsewhere so as to be +easily accessible to her, the stores she already had the run of and he +had fitted a stout bar to the outer door which would render it +impregnable to any attack that might be made against it, although he saw +no quarter from which any assault impended. + +Enid had recovered not only her strength but a good deal of her nerve. +That she loved this man and that he loved her had given her courage. +She would be fearfully lonely of course, but not so much afraid as +before. The month of immunity in the mountains without any interruption +had dissipated any possible apprehensions on her part. It was with a +sinking heart however that she saw him go at last. + +They had been so much together in that month they had learned what love +was. When he came back it would be different, he would not come alone. +The first human being he met would bring the world to the door of the +lonely but beloved cabin in the mountains--the world with its questions, +its inferences, its suspicions, its denunciations and its accusations! +Some kind of an explanation would have to be made, some sort of an +answer would have to be given, some solution of the problem would have +to be arrived at. What these would be she could not tell. + +Newbold's departure was like the end of an era to her. The curtain +dropped, when it rose again what was to be expected? There was no +comfort except in the thought that she loved him. So long as their +affections matched and ran together nothing else mattered. With the +solution of it all next to her sadly beating heart she was still +supremely confident that Love, or God--and there was not so much +difference between them as to make it worth while to mention the One +rather than the Other--would find the way. + +Their leave taking had been singularly cold and abrupt. She had realized +the danger he was apt to incur and she had exacted a reluctant promise +from him that he would be careful. + +"Don't throw your life away, don't risk it even, remember that it is +mine," she had urged. + +And just as simply as she had enjoined it upon him he had promised. He +had given his word that he would not send help back to her but that he +would bring it back, and she had confidence in that word. A confidence +that had he been inclined to break his promise would have made it +absolutely impossible. There had been a long clasp of the hands, a long +look in the eyes, a long breath in the breast, a long throb in the heart +and then--farewell. They dared no more. + +Once before he had left her and she had stood upon the plateau and +followed his vanishing figure with anxious troubled thought until it had +been lost in the depths of the forest below. She had controlled herself +in this second parting for his sake as well as her own. Under the ashes +of his grim repression she realized the presence of live coals which a +breath would have fanned into flame. She dared nothing while he was +there, but when he shut the door behind him the necessity for +self-control was removed. She had laid her arms on the table and bowed +her head upon them and shook and quivered with emotions unrelieved by a +single tear--weeping was for lighter hearts and less severe demands! + +His position after all was the easier of the two. As of old it was the +man who went forth to the battle field while the woman could only wait +passively the issue of the fight. Although he was half blinded with +emotion he had to give some thought to his progress, and there was yet +one task to be done before he could set forth upon his journey toward +civilization and rescue. + +It was fortunate, as it turned out, that this obligation detained him. +He was that type of a merciful man whose mercies extended to his beasts. +The poor little burros must be attended to and their safety assured so +far as it could be, for it would be impossible for Enid Maitland to care +for them. Indeed he had already exacted a promise from her that she +would not leave the plateau and risk her life on the icy stairs with +which she was so unfamiliar. + +He had gone to the corral and shaken down food enough for them which if +it had been doled out to them day by day would have lasted longer than +the week he intended to be absent; of course he realized that they would +eat it up in half that time, but even so they would probably suffer not +too great discomfort before he got back. + +All these preparations took some little time. It had grown somewhat late +in the morning before he started. There had been a fierce storm raging +when he first looked out and at her earnest solicitation he had delayed +his departure until it had subsided. + +His tasks at the corral were at last completed; he had done what he +could for them both, nothing now remained but to make the quickest and +safest way to the settlement. Shouldering the pack containing his ax and +gun and sleeping bag and such provisions as would serve to tide him over +until he reached human habitations, he set forth. He did not look up to +the hut; indeed, he could not have seen it for the corral was almost +directly beneath it; but if it had been in full view he would not have +looked back, he could not trust himself to; every instinct, every +impulse in his soul would fain drag him back to that hut and to the +woman. It was only his will and, did he but know it, her will that made +him carry out his purpose. + +He would have saved perhaps half a mile on his journey if he had gone +straight across the lake to the mouth of the caņon. We are creatures of +habit. He had always gone around the lake on the familiar trail and +unconsciously he followed that trail that morning. He was thinking of +her as he plodded on in a mechanical way over the trail which followed +the border of the lake for a time, plunged into the woods, wound among +the pines and at last reached that narrow rift in the encircling wall +through which the river flowed. He had passed along the white way +oblivious to all his surroundings, but as he came to the entrance he +could not fail to notice what he suddenly saw in the snow. + +Robinson Crusoe when he discovered the famous footprint of Man Friday in +the sand was not more astonished at what met his vision than Newbold on +that winter morning. For there, in the virgin whiteness, were the tracks +of a man! + +He stopped dead with a sudden contraction of the heart. Humanity other +than he and she in that wilderness? It could not be! For a moment he +doubted the evidence of his own senses. He shook his pack loose from his +shoulders and bent down to examine the tracks to read if he could their +indications. He could see that some one had come up the caņon, that +someone had leaned against the wall, that someone had gone on. Where had +he gone? + +To follow the new trail was child's play for him. He ran by the side of +it until he reached the knoll. The stranger had stopped again, he had +shifted from one foot to another, evidently he had been looking about +him seeking someone, only Enid Maitland of course. The trail ran forward +to the edge of the frozen lake, there the man had put on his snow shoes, +there he had sped across the lake like an arrow and like an arrow +himself, although he had left behind his own snow shoes, Newbold ran +upon his track. Fortunately the snow crest upbore him. The trail ran +straight to the foot of the rocky stairs. The newcomer had easily found +his way there. + +With beating heart and throbbing pulse, Newbold himself bounded up the +acclivity after the stranger, marking as he did so evidences of the +other's prior ascent. Reaching the top like him he ran down the narrow +path and in his turn laid his hand upon the door. + +He was not mistaken, he heard voices within. He listened a second and +then flung it open, and as the other had done, he entered. + +Way back on the trail, old Kirkby and Robert Maitland, the storm having +ceased, were rapidly climbing up the caņon. Fate was bringing all the +actors of the little drama within the shadow of her hand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE ODDS AGAINST HIM + + +The noise of the opening of the door and the in-rush of cold air that +followed awoke Enid Maitland to instant action. She rose to her feet and +faced the entrance through which she expected Newbold to reappear--for +of course the newcomer must be he--and for the life of her she could not +help that radiating flash of joy at that momentary anticipation which +fairly transfigured her being; although if she had stopped to reflect +she would have remembered that not in the whole course of their +acquaintance had Newbold ever entered her room at any time without +knocking and receiving permission. + +Some of that joy yet lingered in her lovely face when she tardily +recognized the newcomer in the half light. Armstrong, scarcely waiting +to close the door, sprang forward joyfully with his hands outstretched. + +"Enid!" he cried. + +Naturally he thought the look of expectant happiness he had surprised +upon her face was for him and he accounted for its sudden disappearance +by the shock of his unexpected, unannounced, abrupt, entrance. + +The warm color had flushed her face, but as she stared at him her aspect +rapidly changed. She grew paler. The happy light that had shone in her +eyes faded away and as he approached her she shrank back. + +"You!" she exclaimed almost in terror. + +"Yes," he answered smilingly, "I have found you at last. Thank God you +are safe and well. Oh, if you could only know the agonies I have gone +through. I thought I loved you when I left you six weeks ago, but now--" + +In eager impetuosity he drew nearer to her. Another moment and he would +have taken her in his arms, but she would have none of him. + +"Stop," she said with a cold and inflexible sternness that gave pause +even to his buoyant joyful assurance. + +"Why, what's the matter?" + +"The matter? Everything, but--" + +"No evasions, please," continued the man still cheerfully but with a +growing misgiving. His suspicions in abeyance for the moment because of +his joy at seeing her alive and well arose with renewed force. "I left +you practically pledged to me," he resumed. + +"Not so fast," answered Enid Maitland, determined to combat the +slightest attempt to establish a binding claim upon her. + +"Isn't it true?" asked Armstrong. "Here, wait," he said before she could +answer, "I am half frozen, I have been searching for you since early +morning in the storm." He unbuttoned and unbelted his huge fur coat as +he spoke and threw it carelessly on the floor by his Winchester leaning +against the wall. "Now," he resumed, "I can talk better." + +"You must have something to eat then," said the girl. + +She was glad of the interruption since she was playing for time. She did +not quite know how the interview would end, he had come upon her so +unexpectedly and she had never formulated how she should say to him that +which she felt she must say. She must have time to think, to collect +herself, which he on his part was quite willing to give her, for he was +not much better prepared for the interview than she. He really was +hungry and tired; his early journey had been foolhardy and in the +highest degree dangerous. The violence of his admiration for her, added +to the excitement of her presence and the probable nearness of Newbold +as to whose whereabouts he wondered, were not conducive to rapid +recuperation. It would be comfort to him also to have food and time. + +"Sit down," she said. "I shall be back in a moment." + +The fire of the morning was still burning in the stove in the kitchen; +to heat a can of soup, to make him some buttered toast and hot coffee +were the tasks of a few moments. She brought them back to him, set them +on the table before him and bade him fall to. + +"By Jove," exclaimed the man after a little time as he began to eat +hastily but with great relish what she had prepared, while she stood +over him watching him silently, "this is cozy. A warm, comfortable room, +something to eat served by the finest woman in the world, the prettiest +girl on earth to look at--what more could a man desire? This is the way +it's going to be always in the future." + +"You have no warrant whatever for saying or hoping that," answered the +girl slowly but decisively. + +"Have I not?" asked the man quickly. "Did you not say to me a little +while ago that you liked me better than any man you had ever met and +that I might win you if I could? Well, I can, and what's more I will in +spite of yourself." He laughed. "Why, the memory of that kiss I stole +from you makes me mad." He pushed away the things before him and rose to +his feet once more. "Come, give me another," he said; "it isn't in the +power of woman to stand out against a love like mine." + +"Isn't it?" + +"No, indeed." + +"Louise Newbold did," she answered very quietly, but with the swiftness +and the dexterity of a sword thrust by a master hand, a mighty arm. + +Armstrong stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment. + +"What do you know about Louise Rosser or Newbold?" he asked at last. + +"All that I want to know." + +"And did that damned hound tell you?" + +"If you mean Mr. Newbold, he never mentioned your name, he does not know +you exist." + +"Where is he now?" thundered the man. + +"Have no fear," answered the woman calmly, "he has gone to the +settlements to tell them I am safe and to seek help to get me out of the +mountains." + +"Fear!" exclaimed Armstrong, proudly, "I fear nothing on earth. For +years, ever since I heard his name in fact, I have longed to meet him. I +want to know who told you about that woman, Kirkby?" + +"He never mentioned your name in connection with her." + +"But you must have heard it somewhere," cried the man thoroughly +bewildered. "The birds of the air didn't tell it to you, did they?" + +"She told me herself," answered Enid Maitland. + +"She told you! Why, she's been dead in her grave five years, shot to +death by that murderous dog of a husband of hers." + +"A word with you, Mr. Armstrong," said the woman with great spirit. "You +can't talk that way about Mr. Newbold; he saved my life twice over, from +a bear and then in the cloud burst which caught me in the caņon." + +"That evens up a little," said Armstrong. "Perhaps for your sake I will +spare him." + +"You!" laughed the woman contemptuously. "Spare him! Be advised, look to +yourself; if he ever finds out what I know, I don't believe any power on +earth could save you." + +"Oh," said Armstrong carelessly enough, although he was consumed with +hate and jealousy and raging against her clearly evident disdain, "I can +take care of myself, I guess. Anyway, I only want to talk about you, not +about him or her. Your father--" + +"Is he well?" + +"Well enough, but heart-broken, crushed. I happened to be in his house +in Philadelphia when the telegram came from your uncle that you were +lost and probably dead. I had just asked him for your hand," he added, +smiling grimly at the recollection. + +"You had no right to do that." + +"I know that." + +"It was not, it is not, his to give." + +"Still, when I won you I thought it would be pleasant all around if he +knew and approved." + +"And did he?" + +"Not then, he literally drove me out of the house; but afterward he said +if I could find you I could have you; and I have found you and I will +have you whether you like it or not." + +"Never," said the woman decisively. + +The situation had got on Armstrong's nerves, and he must perforce show +himself in his true colors. His only resources were his strength, not of +mind but of body. He made another most damaging mistake at this +juncture. + +"We are alone here, and I am master, remember," he said meaningly. +"Come, let's make it up. Give me a kiss for my pains and--" + +"I have been alone here for a month with another man," answered Enid +Maitland, who was strangely unafraid in spite of his threat. "A +gentleman, he has never so much as offered to touch my hand without my +permission; the contrast is quite to your disadvantage." + +"Are you jealous of Louise Rosser?" asked Armstrong, suddenly seeing +that he was losing ground and casting about desperately to account for +it, and to recover what was escaping him. "Why, that was nothing, a mere +boy and girl affair," he ran on with specious good humor, as if it were +all a trifle. "The woman was, I hate to say it, just crazy in love with +me, but I really never cared anything especially for her, it was just a +harmless sort of flirtation anyway. She afterward married this man +Newbold and that's all there was about it." + +The truth would not serve him and in his desperation and desire he +staked everything on this astounding lie. The woman he loved looked at +him with her face as rigid as a mask. + +"You won't hold that against me, will you?" pleaded the man. "I told you +that I'd been a man among men, yes among women, too, here in this rough +country and that I wasn't worthy of you; there are lots of things in my +past that I ought to be ashamed of and I am, and the more I see you the +more ashamed I grow, but as for loving any one else all that I've ever +thought or felt or experienced before now is just nothing." + +And this indeed was true, and even Enid Maitland with all her prejudice +could realize and understand it. Out of the same mouth, it was said of +old, proceeded blessing and cursing, and from these same lips came truth +and falsehood; but the power of the truth to influence this woman was as +nothing to the power of falsehood. She could never have loved him, she +now knew; a better man had won her affections, a nobler being claimed +her heart; but if Armstrong had told the truth regarding his +relationship to Newbold's wife and then had completed it with his +passionate avowal of his present love for her, she would have at least +admired him and respected him. + +"You have not told me the truth," she answered directly, "you have +deliberately been false." + +"Can't you see," protested the man, drawing nearer to her, "how much I +love you?" + +"Oh, that, yes I suppose that is true; so far as you can love anyone I +will admit that you do love me." + +"So far as I can love anyone?" he repeated after her. "Give me a chance +and I'll show you." + +"But you haven't told the truth about Mrs. Newbold. You have calumniated +the dead, you have sought to shelter yourself by throwing the burden of +a guilty passion upon the weaker vessel, it isn't man-like, it isn't--" + +Armstrong was a bold fighter, quick and prompt in his decisions. He made +another effort to set himself right. He staked his all on another throw +of the dice, which he began to feel were somehow loaded against him. + +"You are right," he admitted, wondering anxiously how much the woman +really knew. "It wasn't true, it was a coward's act, I am ashamed of it. +I'm so mad with love for you that I scarcely know what I am doing, but I +will make a clean breast of it now. I loved Louise Rosser after a +fashion before ever Newbold came on the scene. We were pledged to each +other, a foolish quarrel arose, she was jealous of other girls--" + +"And had she no right to be?" + +"Oh, I suppose so. We broke it off anyway, and then she married Newbold, +out of pique, I suppose, or what you will. I thought I was heart-broken +at the time, it did hit me pretty hard; it was five or six years ago, I +was a youngster then, I am a man now. The woman has been dead long +since. There was some cock-and-bull story about her falling off a cliff +and her husband being compelled to shoot her. I didn't half believe it +at the time and naturally I have been waiting to get even with him. I +have been hating him for five years, but he has been good to you and we +will let bygones be bygones. What do I care for Louise Rosser, or for +him, or for what he did to her, now? I am sorry that I said what I did, +but you will have to charge it to my blinding passion for you. I can +truthfully say that you are the one woman that I have ever craved with +all my heart. I will do anything, be anything, to win you." + +It was very brilliantly done, he had not told a single untruth, he had +admitted much, but he had withheld the essentials after all. He was +playing against desperate odds, he had no knowledge of how much she +knew, or where she had learned anything. Everyone about the mining camp +where she had lived had known of his love for Louise Rosser, but he had +not supposed there was a single human soul who had been privy to its +later developments, and he could not figure out any way by which Enid +Maitland could have learned by any possibility any more of the story +than he had told her. He had calculated swiftly and with the utmost +nicety, just how much he should confess. He was a keen witted, clever +man and he was fighting for what he held most dear, but his eagerness +and zeal, as they have often done, overrode his judgment, and he made +another mistake at this juncture. His evil genius was at his elbow. + +"You must remember," he continued, "that you have been alone here in +these mountains with a man for over a month; the world--" + +"What, what do you mean?" exclaimed the girl, who indeed knew very well +what he meant, but who would not admit the possibility. + +"It's not every man," he added, blindly rushing to his doom, "that would +care for you or want you--after that." + +He received a sudden and terrible enlightenment. + +"You coward," she cried, with upraised hand, whether in protest or to +strike him neither ever knew, for at that moment the door opened the +second time that morning to admit another man. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE LAST RESORT OF KINGS AND MEN + + +The sudden entrant upon a quarrel between others is invariably at a +disadvantage. Usually he is unaware of the cause of difference and +generally he has no idea of the stage of development of the affair that +has been reached. Newbold suffered from this lack of knowledge and to +these disadvantages were added others. For instance, he had not the +faintest idea as to who or what was the stranger. The room was not very +light in the day time, Armstrong happened to be standing with his back +to it at some distance from the window by the side of which Enid stood. +Six years naturally and inevitably make some difference in a man's +appearance and it is not to be wondered that at first Newbold did not +recognize the man before him as the original of the face in his wife's +locket, although he had studied that face over and over again. A nearer +scrutiny, a longer study would have enlightened him of course, but for +the present he saw nothing but a stranger visibly perturbed on one side +and the woman he loved apparently fiercely resentful, sternly +indignant, confronting the other with an upraised hand. + +The man, whoever he was, had affronted her, had aroused her indignation, +perhaps had insulted her, that was plain. He went swiftly to her side, +he interposed himself between her and the man. + +"Enid," he asked, and his easy use of the name was a revelation and an +illumination to Armstrong, "who is this man, what has he done?" + +It was Armstrong who replied. If Newbold were in the dark, not so he; +although they had never spoken, he had seen Newbold. He recognized him +instantly, indeed recognized or not the newcomer could be no other than +he. There was doubtless no other man in the mountains. He had expected +to find him when he approached the hut and was ready for him. + +To the fire of his ancient hatred and jealousy was added a new fuel that +increased its heat and flame. This man had come between Armstrong and +the woman he loved before and had got away unscathed, evidently he had +come between him and this new woman he loved. Well, he should be made to +suffer for it this time and by Armstrong's own hands. The instant +Newbold had entered the room Armstrong had thirsted to leap upon him and +he meant to do it. One or the other of them, he swore in his heart, +should never leave that room alive. + +But Newbold should have his chance. Armstrong was as brave, as fearless, +as intrepid, as any man on earth. There was much that was admirable in +his character; he would not take any man at a disadvantage in an +encounter such as he proposed. He would not hesitate to rob a man of his +wife if he could and he would not shrink from any deceit necessary to +gain his purpose with a woman, for good or evil, but he had his own +ideas of honor, he would not shoot an enemy in the back for instance. + +Singular perversion, this, to which some minds are liable! To take from +a man his wife by subtle and underhand methods, to rob him of that which +makes life dear and sweet--there was nothing dishonorable in that! But +to take his life, a thing of infinitely less moment, by the same +process--that was not to be thought of. In Armstrong's code it was +right, it was imperative, to confront a man with the truth and take the +consequences; but to confront a woman with a lie and take her body and +soul, if so be she might be gained, was equally admirable. And there are +other souls than Armstrong's in which this moral inconsistency and +obliquity about men and women has lodgment. + +Armstrong confronted Newbold therefore, lustful of battle; he yearned to +leap upon him, his fingers itched to grasp him, then trembled slightly +as he rubbed them nervously against his thumbs; his face protruded a +little, his eyes narrowed. + +"My name is Armstrong," he said, determined to precipitate the issue +without further delay and flinging the words at the other in a tone of +hectoring defiance which, however, strange to say, did not seem to +affect Newbold in exactly the degree he had anticipated. + +Yet the name was an illumination to Newbold, though not at all in the +way the speaker had fancied; the recollection of it was the one fact +concerning the woman he loved that rankled in the solitary's mind. He +had often wanted to ask Enid Maitland what she had meant by that chance +allusion to Armstrong which she had made in the beginning of their +acquaintance, but he had refrained. At first he had no right to question +her, there could be no natural end to their affections; and latterly +when their hearts had been disclosed to each other in the wild, +tempestuous, passionate scenes of the last two or three days, he had had +things of greater moment to engage his attention, subjects of more +importance to discuss with her. + +He had for the time being forgotten Armstrong and he had not before +known what jealousy was until he had entered that room. To have seen her +with any man would have given him acute pain, perhaps just because he +had been so long withdrawn from human society, but to see her with this +man who flashed instantly into his recollection upon the utterance of +his name was an added exasperation. + +Newbold turned to the woman, to whom indeed he had addressed his +question in the first place, and there was something in his movement +which bespoke a galling, almost contemptuous, obliviousness to the +presence of the other man which was indeed hard for him to bear. + +Hate begets hate. He was quite conscious of Armstrong's antagonism, +which was entirely undisguised and open and which was growing greater +with every passing moment. The score against Newbold was running up in +the mind of his visitor. + +"Ah," coolly said the owner of the cabin to the latest of his two +guests, "I do remember Miss Maitland did mention your name the first day +she spent here. Is he a--a friend of yours?" he asked of the woman. + +"Not now," answered Enid Maitland. + +She too was in a strange state of perturbation on account of the +dilemma in which she found herself involved. She was determined not to +betray the unconscious confidence of the dead. She hoped fervently that +Newbold would not recognize Armstrong as the man of the locket, but if +he did she was resolute that he should not also be recognized as the man +of the letters, at least not by her act. Newbold was ignorant of the +existence of those letters and she did not intend that he should be +enlightened so far as she could prevent it. But she was keen enough to +see that the first recognition would be inevitable; she even admitted +the fact that Armstrong would probably precipitate it himself. Well, no +human soul, not even their writer, knew that she had the letters except +old Kirkby and he was far away. She wished that she had destroyed them; +she had determined to do so at the first convenient opportunity. Before +that, however, she intended to show them not to Newbold but to +Armstrong, to disclose his perfidy, to convict him of the falsehood he +had told her and to justify herself even in his eyes for the action she +had taken. + +Mingled with all these quick reflections was a deadly fear. She was +quick to perceive the hatred Armstrong cherished against Newbold on the +one hand because of the old love affair, the long standing grudge +breaking into sudden life; on the other because of her own failure to +come to Armstrong's hand and her love for Newbold which she had no +desire to conceal. The cumulation of all these passionate antagonisms +would only make him the more desperate, she knew. + +Whether or not Newbold found out Armstrong's connection with his past +love there was sufficient provocation in the present to evoke all the +oppugnation and resentment of his nature. Enid felt as she might if the +puncheons of the floor had been sticks of dynamite with active +detonators in every heel that pressed them; as if the slightest movement +on the part of anyone would bring about an explosion. + +The tensity of the situation was bewildering to her. It had come upon +her with such startling force; the unexpected arrival of Armstrong, of +all the men on earth the one who ought not to be there, and then the +equally startling arrival of Newbold, of whom perhaps the same might +have been said. If Newbold had only gone on, if he had not come back, if +she had been rescued by her uncle or old Kirkby--But "ifs" were idle, +she had to face a present situation to which she was utterly unequal. + +She had entirely repudiated Armstrong, that was one sure point; she knew +how guilty he had been toward Newbold's wife, that was another; she +realized how he had deceived her, that was the third. These eliminated +the man from her affections. But it is one thing to thrust a man out of +your heart and another to thrust him out of your life; he was still +there. And by no means the sport of blind fate, Armstrong intended to +have something to say as to the course of events, to use his own powers +to determine the issue. + +Of but one thing besides her hatred for Armstrong was Enid Maitland +absolutely certain; she would never disclose to the man she loved the +fact that the woman, the memory of whose supposed passion he cherished, +had been unfaithful to him in heart if not in deed. Nothing could wrest +that secret from her. She had been infected by Newbold's quixotic ideas, +the contagion of his perversion of common sense had fastened itself upon +her. She would not have been human either if she had not experienced a +thrill of pride and joy at the possibility that in some way, of which +she yet swore she would not be the instrument blind or otherwise, the +facts might be disclosed which would enable Newbold to claim her openly +and honorably, without hesitation before or remorse after, as his wife. +This fascinating flash of expectant hopeful feeling she thought unworthy +of her and strove to fight it down, but with manifest impossibility. + +It has taken time to set these things down; to speak or to write is a +slow process and the ratio between outward expressions and inward is as +great as that between light and sound. Questions and answers between +these three followed as swiftly as thrust and parry between accomplished +swordsmen, and yet between each demand and reply they had time to +entertain these swift thoughts--as the drowning compass life experiences +in seconds! + +"I may not be her friend," said Armstrong steadily, "but she left me in +these mountains a month ago with more than a half way promise to marry +me, and I have sought her through the snows to claim the fulfillment." + +"You never told me that," exclaimed Newbold sternly and again addressing +the woman rather than the man. + +"There was nothing to tell," she answered quickly. "I was a young girl, +heart free. I liked this man, perhaps because he was so different from +those to whom I had been accustomed and when he pressed his suit upon +me, I told him the truth. I did not love him, I did not know whether I +might grow to care for him or not; if I did, I should marry him and if I +did not no power on earth could make me. And now--I hate him!" + +She flung the hard and bitter words at him savagely. + +Armstrong was beside himself with fury at her remark, and Newbold's cool +indifference to him personally was unendurable. In battle such as he +waged he had the mistaken idea that anything was fair. He could not +really tell whether it was love of woman or hate of man that was most +dominant; he saw at once the state of affairs between the two. He could +hurt the man and the woman with one statement; what might be its +ulterior effect he did not stop to consider; perhaps if he had he would +not have cared greatly then. He realized anyway that since Newbold's +arrival his chance with Enid was gone; perhaps whether Newbold were +alive or dead it was gone forever, although Armstrong did not think +that, he was not capable of thinking very far into the future in his +then condition, the present bulked too large for that. + +"I did not think after that kiss in the road that you would go back on +me this way, Enid," he said quickly. + +"The kiss in the road!" cried Newbold, staring again at the woman. + +"You coward," repeated she, with one swift envenomed glance at the other +man and then she turned to her lover. She laid her hand upon his arm, +she lifted her face up to him. "As God is my judge," she cried, her +voice rising with the tragic intensity of the moment and thrilling with +indignant protest, "he took it from me like the thief and the coward he +was and he tells it now like the liar he is. We were riding side by +side, I was utterly unsuspicious, I thought him a gentleman, he caught +me and kissed me before I knew it, I drove him from me. That's all." + +"I believe you," said Newbold gently, and then, for the second time, he +addressed himself to Armstrong. "You came doubtless to rescue Miss +Maitland, and in so far your purpose was admirable and you deserve +thanks and respect, but no further. This is my cabin, your words and +your conduct render you unwelcome here. Miss Maitland is under my +protection, if you will come outside I will be glad to talk with you +further." + +"Under your protection?" sneered Armstrong, completely beside himself. +"After a month with you alone I take it she needs no further +protection." + +Newbold did not leap upon the man for that mordant insult to the woman, +his approach was slow, relentless, terrible. Eight or ten feet separated +them. Armstrong met him half way, his impetuosity was the greater, he +sprang forward, turned about, faced the full light from the narrow +window. + +"Well," he cried, "have you got anything to say or do about it?" + +For Newbold had stopped, appalled. He stood staring as if petrified; +recognition, recollection rushed over him. Now and at last he knew the +man. The face that confronted him was the same face that had stared out +at him from the locket he had taken from the bruised breast of his dead +wife, which had been a mystery to him for all these years. + +"Well," tauntingly asked Armstrong again, "what are you waiting for, are +you afraid?" + +From Newbold's belt depended a holster and a heavy revolver. As +Armstrong made to attack him he flashed it out with astonishing +quickness and presented it. The newcomer was unarmed, his Winchester +leaned against the wall by his fur coat and he had no pistol. + +"If you move a step forward or backward," said Newbold with deadly calm, +"I will kill you without mercy." + +"So you'd take advantage of a weaponless man, would you?" sneered +Armstrong. + +"Oh, for God's sake," cried the woman, "don't kill him." + +"You both misjudge me," was the answer. "I shall take no advantage of +this man. I would disdain to do so if it were necessary, but before the +last resort I must have speech with him, and this is the only way in +which I can keep him quiet for a moment, if as I suspect, his hate +measures with mine." + +"You have the advantage," protested Armstrong. "Say your say and get it +over with. I've waited all these years for a chance to kill you and my +patience is exhausted." + +Still keeping the other covered, Newbold stepped over to the table, +pulled out the drawer and drew from it the locket. Enid remembered she +had hastily thrust it there when he had handed it to her and there it +had lain unnoted and forgotten. It was quite evident to her what was +toward now. Newbold had recognized the other man, explanations were +inevitable. With his left hand Newbold sought the catch of the locket +and pressed the spring. In two steps he faced Armstrong with the open +locket thrust toward him. + +"Your picture?" he asked. + +"Mine." + +"Do you know the locket?" + +"I gave it to a woman named Louise Rosser five or six years ago." + +"My wife." + +"Yes, she was crazy in love with me but--" + +With diabolic malice Armstrong left the sentence uncompleted. The +inference he meant should be drawn from his reticence was obvious. + +"I took it from her dead body," gritted out Newbold. + +"She was beside herself with love for me, an old affair, you know," said +Armstrong more explicitly, thinking to use a spear with a double barb to +pierce the woman's and the man's heart alike. That he defamed the dead +was of no moment then. "She wanted to leave you," he ran on glibly, "she +wanted me to take her back and--" + +"Untrue," burst forth from Enid Maitland's lips. "A slanderous, +dastardly, cowardly untruth." + +But the men paid no attention to her in their excitement, perhaps they +did not even hear her. Newbold thrust his pistol violently forward. + +"Would you murder me as you murdered the woman?" gibed Armstrong in +bitter taunt. + +Then Enid Maitland found it in her heart to urge Newbold to kill him +where he stood, but she had no time if she could have carried out her +design, for Newbold flung the weapon from him and the next moment the +two men leaped upon each other, straining, struggling, clawing, +battling like savage beasts, each seeking to clasp his fingers around +the throat of the other and then twist and crush until life was gone. + +Saying nothing, fighting in a grim silence that was terrible, they +reeled crashing about the little room. No two men on earth could have +been better matched, yet Newbold had a slight advantage in height and +strength, as he had also the advantage in simple life and splendid +condition. Armstrong's hate and fierce temper counterbalanced these at +first and with arms locked and legs twined, with teeth clenched and eyes +blinded and pulses throbbing and hearts beating, they strove together. + +The woman shrank back against the wall and stared frightened. She feared +for her lover, she feared for herself. Strange primitive feelings +throbbed in her veins. It was an old situation, when two male animals +fought for supremacy and the ownership of a female, whose destiny was +entirely removed from her own hands. + +Armstrong had shown himself in his true colors at last. She would have +nothing to hope from him if he were the victor and she even wondered in +terror what might happen to her if the man she loved triumphed after the +passions aroused in such a battle. She grew sick and giddy, her bosom +rose and fell, her breath came fast as she followed the panting, +struggling, clinging, grinding figures about the room. + +At first there had been no advantage to either, but now after five +minutes--or was it hours?--of fierce fighting, the strength and superior +condition of her lover began to tell. He was forcing the other backward. +Slowly, inch by inch, foot by foot, step by step, he mastered him. The +two intertwining figures were broadside to her now, she could see their +faces inflamed by the lust of the battle, engorged, blood red with hate +and fury. There was a look of exultation in one and the shadow of +approaching disaster in the other. But the consciousness that he was +being mastered ever so little only increased Armstrong's determination +and he fought back with the frenzy, the strength of a maddened gorilla, +and again for a space the issue was in doubt. But not for long. + +The table, a heavy, cumbersome, four-legged affair, solid almost as a +rock, stood in the way. Newbold at last backed Armstrong up against it +and by superhuman effort bent him over it, held him with one arm and +using the table as a support, wrenched his left hand free, and sunk his +fingers around the other's throat. It was all up with Armstrong. It was +only a question of time now. + +[Illustration: It was all up with Armstrong] + +"Now," Newbold guttered out hoarsely, "you slandered the dead woman I +married, and you insulted the living one I love. Take back what you said +before you die." + +"I forgive him," cried Enid Maitland. "Oh, don't kill him before my +eyes." + +Armstrong was past speech. The inveteracy of his hatred could be seen +even in his fast glazing eyes, the indomitableness of his purpose yet +spoke in the negative shake of his head. He could die, but he would die +in his hate and in his purpose. + +Enid ran to the two, she grappled Newbold's arm with both her own and +strove with all her might to tear it away from the other's throat. Her +lover paid no more attention to her than if a summer breeze had touched +him. Armstrong grew black in the face, his limbs relaxed, another second +or two and it would have been over with him. + +Once more the door was thrown open, through it two snow covered men +entered. One swift glance told them all, one of them at least had +expected it. On the one side Kirkby, on the other Maitland, tore Newbold +away from his prey just in time to save Armstrong's life. Indeed the +latter was so far gone that he fell from the table to the floor +unconscious, choking, almost dying. It was Enid Maitland who received +his head in her arms and helped bring him back to life while the panting +Newbold stood staring dully at the woman he loved and the man he hated +on the floor at his feet. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE BECOMING END + + +"Why did you interfere?" when at last he got his breath again, asked +Newbold of Maitland who still held him firmly although restraint was now +unnecessary, the heat and fire of his passion being somewhat gone out of +him. "I meant to kill him." + +"He'd oughter die sure nuff," drawled old Kirkby, rising from where he +had been kneeling by Armstrong's side, "but I don't know's how you're +bound to be his executioner. He's all right now, Miss Enid," said the +old man. "Here"--he took a pillow from the bunk and slipped it under his +head and then extending his hands he lifted the excited almost +distraught woman to her feet--"tain't fittin' for you to tend on him." + +"Oh," exclaimed Enid, her limbs trembling, the blood flowing away from +her heart, her face deathly white, fighting against the faintness that +came with the reaction, while old Kirkby supported and encouraged her. +"I thank God you came. I don't know what would have happened if you had +not." + +"Has this man mistreated you?" asked Robert Maitland, suddenly +tightening his grip upon his hard breathing but unresisting passive +prisoner. + +"No, no," answered his niece. "He has been everything that a man should +be." + +"And Armstrong?" continued her uncle. + +"No, not even he." + +"I came in time, thank God!" ejaculated Newbold. + +By this time Armstrong had recovered consciousness. To his other causes +for hatred were now added chagrin, mortification, shame. He had been +overcome. He would have been a dead man and by Newbold's hands if the +others had not interfered. He almost wished they had let his enemy +alone. Well, he had lost everything but a chance for revenge on them +all. + +"She has been alone here with this man in this cabin for a month," he +said thickly. "I was willing to take her in spite of that, but--" + +"He made that damned suggestion before," cried Newbold, his rage +returning. "I don't know who you are--" + +"My name is Robert Maitland, and I am this girl's uncle." + +"Well, if you were her father, I could only swear--" + +"It isn't necessary to swear anything," answered Maitland serenely. "I +know this child. And I believe I'm beginning to find out this man." + +"Thank you, Uncle Robert," said Enid gratefully, coming nearer to him as +she spoke. "No man could have done more for me than Mr. Newbold has, and +no one could have been more considerate of me. As for you," she turned +on, Armstrong, who now slowly got to his feet, "your insinuations +against me are on a par with your charges against the dead woman, +beneath contempt." + +"What did he say about her?" asked Old Kirkby. + +"You know my story?" asked Newbold. + +"Yes." + +"He said that my wife had been unfaithful to me--with him--and that he +had refused to take her back." + +"And it was true," snarled Armstrong. + +It was all Maitland could do to check Newbold's rush, but in the end it +was old Kirkby who most effectively interposed. + +"That's a damned lie," he said quietly with his usual drawling voice. + +"You can say so," laughed Armstrong, "but that doesn't alter the +facts." + +"An' I can prove it," answered the old man triumphantly. + +It was coming, the secret that she had tried to conceal was about to be +revealed, thought Enid. She made a movement toward the old man. She +opened her mouth to bid him be silent and then stopped. It would be +useless she knew. The determination was no longer hers. The direction of +affairs had been withdrawn from her. After all it was better that the +unloving wife should be proved faithful, even if her husband's cherished +memory of her love for him had to be destroyed thereby. Helpless she +listened knowing full well what the old frontiersman's next word would +be. + +"Prove it!" mocked Armstrong. "How?" + +"By your own hand, out of your own mouth, you dog," thundered old +Kirkby. "Miss Enid, w'ere are them letters I give you?" + +"I--I--" faltered the girl, but there was no escape from the keen glance +of the old man, her hand went to the bosom of her tunic. + +"Letters!" exclaimed Armstrong. "What letters?" + +"These," answered Enid Maitland, holding up the packet. + +Armstrong reached for them but Kirkby again interposed. + +"No, you don't," he said dryly. "Them ain't for your eyes yit. Mr. +Newbold, I found them letters on the little shelf w'ere your wife first +struck w'en she fell over onto the butte w'ere she died. I figgered out +her dress was tore open there an' them letters she was carryin' fell out +an' lodged there. We had ropes an' we went down over the rocks that way. +I went first an' I picked 'em up. I never told nobody about it an' I +never showed 'em to a single human bein' until I give 'em to Miss +Maitland at the camp." + +"Why not?" asked Newbold, taking the letters. + +"There wasn't no good tellin' nobody then, jest fer the sake o' stirrin' +up trouble." + +"But why did you give them to her at last?" + +"Because I was afeered she might fall in love with Armstrong. I supposed +she'd know his writin', but w'en she didn't I jest let her keep 'em +anyway. I knowed it'd all come out somehow; there is a God above us in +spite of all the damned scoundrels on earth like this un." + +"Are these letters addressed to my dead wife?" asked Newbold. + +"They are," answered Enid Maitland; "look and see." + +"And did Mr. Armstrong write them?" + +"He'll deny it, I suppose," answered Kirkby. + +"But I am familiar with his handwriting," said Maitland. + +Taking the still unopened packet from Newbold he opened it, examined one +of the letters and handed them all back. + +"There is no doubt about it," he said. "It's Armstrong's hand, I'll +swear to it." + +"Oh, I'll acknowledge them," said Armstrong, seeing the absolute +futility of further denial. He had forgotten all about the letters. He +had not dreamed they were in existence. "You've got me beat between you, +the cards are stacked against me, I've done my damndest--" and indeed +that was true. + +Well, he had played a great game, battling for a high stake he had stuck +at nothing. A career in which some good had mingled with much bad was +now at an end. He had lost utterly, would he show himself a good loser? + +"Mr. Armstrong," said Newbold, quietly extending his hand, "here are +your letters." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I am not in the habit of reading letters addressed to other people +without permission and when the recipient of them is dead long since, I +am doubly bound." + +"You're a damned fool," cried Armstrong contemptuously. + +"That kind of a charge from your kind of a man is perhaps the highest +compliment you could pay me. I don't know whether I shall ever get rid +of the doubt you have tried to lodge in my soul about my dead wife, +but--" + +"There ain't no doubt about it," protested old Kirkby earnestly. "I've +read them letters a hundred times over, havin' no scruples whatsomever, +an' in every one of 'em he was beggin' an' pleadin' with her to go away +with him an' fightin' her refusal to do it. I guess I've got to admit +that she didn't love you none, Newbold, an' she did love this here +wuthless Armstrong, but for the sake of her reputation I'll prove to you +all from them letters of hisn, from his own words, that there didn't +live a cleaner hearted, more virtuous, upright feemale than that there +wife of yourn, even if she didn't love you. It's God's truth an' you kin +take it from me." + +"Mr. Armstrong," cried Enid Maitland, interposing at this juncture, "not +very long ago I told you I liked you better than any man I had ever +seen, I thought perhaps I might have loved you, and that was true. You +have played the coward's part and the liar's part in this room--" + +"Did I fight him like a coward?" asked Armstrong. + +"No," answered Newbold for her, remembering the struggle, "you fought +like a man." + +Singular perversion of language and thought there! If two struggled like +wild beasts that was fighting like men! + +"But let that pass," continued the woman. "I don't deny your physical +courage, but I am going to appeal to another kind of a courage which I +believe you possess. You have showed your evil side here in this room, +but I don't believe that's the only side you have, else I couldn't even +have liked you in the past. You have made a charge against two women, +one dead and one living. It makes little difference what you say about +me; I need no defense and no justification in the eyes of those here who +love me and for the rest of the world I don't care. But you have slain +this man's confidence in a woman he once loved, and whom he thought +loved him. As you are a man, tell him that it was a lie and that she was +innocent of anything else although she did love you." + +What a singular situation, an observer who knew all might have +reflected? Here was Enid Maitland pleading for the good name of the +woman who had married the man she now loved, and whom by rights she +should have jealously hated. + +"You ask me more than I can," faltered Armstrong, yet greatly moved by +this touching appeal to his better self. + +"Let him speak no word," protested Newbold quickly. "I wouldn't believe +him on his oath." + +"Steady now, steady," interposed Kirkby with his frontier instinct for +fair play. "The man's down, Newbold, don't hit him now." + +"Give him a chance," added Maitland earnestly. + +"You would not believe me, eh?" laughed Armstrong horribly; "well then +this is what I say, whether it is true or a lie you can be the judge." + +What was he about to say? They all recognized instinctively that his +forthcoming deliverance would be a final one. Would good or evil +dominate him now? Enid Maitland had made her plea and it had been a +powerful one; the man did truly love the woman who urged him, there was +nothing left for him but a chance that she should think a little better +of him than he merited, he had come to the end of his resources. And +Enid Maitland spoke again as he hesitated. + +"Oh, think, think before you speak," she cried. + +"If I thought," answered Armstrong quickly, "I should go mad. Newbold, +your wife was as pure as the snow. That she loved me I cannot and will +not deny. She married you in a fit of jealousy and anger after a quarrel +between us in which I was to blame, and when I came back to the camp in +your absence I strove to make it up and used every argument that I +possessed to get her to leave you and to go with me. Although she had no +love for you she was too good and too true a woman for that. Now you've +got the truth, damn you; believe it or not as you like. Miss Maitland," +he added swiftly, "if I had met you sooner, I might have been a better +man. Good-by." + +He turned suddenly and none preventing, indeed it was not possible, he +ran to the outer door; as he did so his hand snatched something that lay +on the chest of drawers. There was a flash of light as he drew in his +arm but none saw what it was. In a few seconds he was outside the door. +The table was between old Kirkby and the exit, Maitland and Newbold were +nearest. The old man came to his senses first. + +"After him," he cried, "he means--" + +But before anybody could stir, the dull report of a pistol came through +the open door! + +They found Armstrong lying on his back in the snowy path, his face as +white as the drift that pillowed his head, Newbold's heavy revolver +still clutched in his right hand and a bloody, welling smudge on his +left breast over his heart. It was the woman who broke the silence. + +"Oh," she sobbed, "It can't be--" + +"Dead," said Maitland solemnly. + +"And it might have been by my hand," muttered Newbold to himself in +horror. + +"He'll never cause no more trouble to nobody in this world, Miss Enid +an' gents," said old Kirkby gravely. "Well, he was a damned fool an' a +damned villain in some ways," continued the old frontiersman +reflectively in the silence broken otherwise only by the woman's sobbing +breaths, "but he had some of the qualities that go to make a man, an' I +ain't doubtin' but what them last words of hisn was mighty near true. Ef +he had met a gal like you earlier in his life he mought have been a +different man." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE DRAUGHT OF JOY + + +The great library was the prettiest room in Robert Maitland's +magnificent mansion in Denver's most favored residence section. It was a +long, low studded room with a heavy beamed ceiling. The low book cases, +about five feet high, ran between all the windows and doors on all sides +of the room. At one end there was a huge open fireplace built of rough +stone, and as it was winter a cheerful fire of logs blazed on the +hearth. It was a man's room preëminently. The drawing room across the +hall was Mrs. Maitland's domain, but the library reflected her husband's +picturesque if somewhat erratic taste. On the walls there were pictures +of the west by Remington, Marchand, Dunton, Dixon and others, and to set +them off finely mounted heads of bear and deer and buffalo. Swords and +other arms stood here and there. The writing table was massive and the +chairs easy, comfortable and inviting. The floor was strewn with robes +and rugs. From the windows facing westward, since the house was set on +a high hill, one could see the great rampart of the range. + +There were three men in the room on that brilliant morning early in +January something like a month after these adventures in the mountains +which have been so veraciously set forth. Two of them were the brothers +Maitland, the third was Newbold. + +The shock produced upon Enid Maitland by the death of Armstrong, +together with the tremendous episodes that had preceded it, had utterly +prostrated her. They had spent the night at the hut in the mountains and +had decided that the woman must be taken back to the settlements in some +way at all hazards. + +The wit of old Kirkby had effected a solution of the problem. Using a +means certainly as old as Napoleon and the passage of his cannon over +the Great St. Bernard--and perhaps as old as Hannibal!--they had made a +rude sled from the trunk of a pine which they hollowed out and provided +with a back and runners. There was no lack of fur robes and blankets for +her comfort. + +Wherever it was practicable the three men hitched themselves to the sled +with ropes and dragged it and Enid over the snow. Of course for miles +down the caņon it was impossible to use the sled. When the way was +comparatively easy the woman supported by the two men, Newbold and +Maitland, made shift to get along afoot. When it became too difficult +for her, Newbold picked her up as he had done before and assisted by +Maitland carried her bodily to the next resting place. At these times +Kirkby looked after the sled. + +They had managed to reach the temporary hut in the old camp the first +night and rested there. They gathered up their sleeping bags and tents +and resumed their journey in the morning. They were strong men, and, +save for old Kirkby, young. It was a desperate endeavor but they carried +it through. + +When they hit the open trails the sledding was easy and they made great +progress. After a week of terrific going they struck the railroad and +the next day found them all safe in Maitland's house in Denver. + +To Mr. Stephen Maitland his daughter was as one who had risen from the +dead. And indeed when he first saw her she looked like death itself. No +one had known how terrible that journey had been to the woman. Her three +faithful attendants had surmised something, but in spite of all even +they did not realize that in these last days she had been sustained only +by the most violent effort of her will. She had no sooner reached the +house, greeted her father, her aunt and the children than she collapsed +utterly. + +The wonder was, said the physician, not that she did it then but that +she had not done it before. For a short time it appeared as if her +illness might be serious, but youth, vigor, a strong body and a good +constitution, a heart now free from care and apprehension and a great +desire to live and love and be loved, worked wonders. + +Newbold had enjoyed no opportunity for private conversation with the +woman he loved, which was perhaps just as well. He had the task of +readjusting himself to changed conditions; not only to a different +environment, but to strange and unusual departures from his long +cherished view points. + +He could no longer doubt Armstrong's final testimony to the purity of +his wife, although he had burned the letters unread, and by the same +token he could no longer cherish the dream that she had loved him and +him alone. Those words that had preceded that pistol shot had made it +possible for him to take Enid Maitland as his wife without doing +violence to his sense of honor or his self-respect. Armstrong had made +that much reparation. And Newbold could not doubt that the other had +known what would be the result of his speech and had chosen his words +deliberately. Score that last action to his credit. He was a sensitive +man, however; he realized the brutal and beastlike part he and Armstrong +had both played before this woman they both loved, how they had battled +like savage animals and how but for a lucky interposition he would have +added murder to his other disabilities. + +He was honest enough to say to himself that he would have done the same +thing over under the same circumstances, but that did not absolve his +conscience. He did not know how the woman looked at the transaction or +looked at him, for he had not enjoyed one moment alone with her to +enable him to find out. + +They had buried Armstrong in the snow, Robert Maitland saying over him a +brief but fervent petition in which even Newbold joined. Enid Maitland +herself had repeated eloquently to her Uncle and old Kirkby that night +before the fire the story of her rescue from the flood by this man, how +he had carried her in the storm to the hut and how he had treated her +since, and Maitland had afterwards repeated her account to his brother +in Denver. + +Maitland had insisted that Newbold share his hospitality, but that young +man had refused. Kirkby had a little place not far from Denver and +easily accessible to it and the old man had gladly taken the younger +one with him. Newbold had been in a fever of anxiety over Enid +Maitland's illness, but his alarm had soon been dispelled by the +physician's assurance and there was nothing now left for him but to wait +until she could see him. He inquired for her morning and evening at the +great house on the hill, he kept her room a bower of beauty with +priceless blossoms, but he had sent no word. + +Robert Maitland had promised to let him know, however, so soon as Enid +could see him and it was in pursuance of a telephone message that he was +in the library that morning. + +He had not yet become accustomed to the world, he had lived so long +alone that he had grown somewhat shy and retiring, the habits and +customs of years were not to be lightly thrown aside in a week or a +month. He had sought no interview with Enid's father heretofore, indeed +had rather avoided it, but on this morning he had asked for it, and when +Robert Maitland would have withdrawn he begged him to remain. + +"Mr. Maitland," Newbold began, "I presume that you know my unfortunate +history." + +"I have heard the general outlines of it, sir, from my brother and +others," answered the other kindly. + +"I need not dwell upon it further then. Although my hair is tinged with +gray and doubtless I look much older, I was only twenty-eight on my last +birthday. I was not born in this section of the country, my home was in +Baltimore." + +"Do you by any chance belong to the Maryland Newbolds, sir?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"They are distantly related to a most excellent family of the same name +in Philadelphia, I believe?" + +"I have always understood that to be the truth." + +"Ah, a very satisfactory connection indeed," said Stephen Maitland with +no little satisfaction. "Proceed, sir." + +"There is nothing much else to say about myself, except that I love your +daughter and with your permission I want her for my wife." + +Mr. Stephen Maitland had thought long and seriously over the state of +affairs. He had proposed in his desperation to give Enid's hand to +Armstrong if he found her. It had been impossible to keep secret the +story of her adventure, her rescue and the death of Armstrong. It was +natural and inevitable that gossip should have busied itself with her +name. It would therefore have been somewhat difficult for Mr. Maitland +to have withheld his consent to her marriage to almost any reputable +man who had been thrown so intimately with her, but when the man was so +unexceptionably born and bred as Newbold, what had appeared as a more or +less disagreeable duty, almost an imperative imposition, became a +pleasure! + +Mr. Maitland was no bad judge of men when his prejudices were not +rampant and he looked with much satisfaction on the fine, clean limbed, +clear eyed, vigorous man who was at present suing for his daughter's +hand. Newbold had shaved his beard and had cropped close his mustache, +he was dressed in the habits of civilization and he was almost +metamorphosed. His shyness wore away as he talked and his inherited ease +of manner and his birthright of good breeding came back to him and sat +easily upon him. + +Under the circumstances the very best thing that could happen would be a +marriage between the two; indeed, to be quite honest, Mr. Stephen +Maitland would have felt that perhaps under any circumstances his +daughter could do no better than commit herself to a man like this. + +"I shall never attempt," he said at last, "to constrain my daughter. I +think I have learned something by my touch with this life here, perhaps +we of Philadelphia need a little broadening in airs more free. I am sure +that she would never give her hand without her heart, and therefore, +she must decide this matter herself. From her own lips you shall have +your answer." + +"But you, sir; I confess that I should feel easier and happier if I had +your sanction and approval." + +"Steve," said Mr. Robert Maitland, as the other hesitated, not because +he intended to refuse but because he was loath to say the word that so +far as he was concerned would give his daughter into another man's +keeping, "I think you can trust Newbold. There are men here who knew him +years ago; there is abundant evidence and testimony as to his qualities; +I vouch for him." + +"Robert," answered his brother, "I need no such testimony; the way in +which he saved Enid, the way he comported himself during that period of +isolation with her, his present bearing--in short, sir, if a father is +ever glad to give away his daughter, I might say that I should be glad +to entrust her to you. I believe you to be a man of honor and a +gentleman, your family is almost as old as my own, as for the disparity +in our fortunes, I can easily remedy that." + +Newbold smiled at Enid's father, but it was a pleasant smile, albeit +with a trace of mockery and a trace of triumph in it. + +"Mr. Maitland I am more grateful to you than I can say for your consent +and approval which I shall do my best to merit. I think I may claim to +have won your daughter's heart, to have added to that your sanction +completes my happiness. As for the disparity in our fortunes, while your +generosity touches me profoundly, I hardly think that you need be under +any uneasiness as to our material welfare." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I am a mining engineer, sir; I didn't live five years alone in the +mountains of Colorado for nothing." + +"Pray explain yourself, sir." + +"Did you find gold in the hills?" asked Robert Maitland, quicker to +understand. + +"The richest veins on the continent," answered Newbold. + +"And nobody knows anything about it?" + +"Not a soul." + +"Have you located the claims?" + +"Only one." + +"We'll go back as soon as the snow melts," said the younger Maitland, +"and take them up. You are sure?" + +"Absolutely." + +"But I don't quite understand?" queried Mr. Stephen Maitland. + +"He means," said his brother, "that he has discovered gold." + +"And silver too," interposed Newbold. + +"In unlimited quantities," continued the other Maitland. + +"Your daughter will have more money than she knows what to do with, +sir," smiled Newbold. + +"God bless me!" exclaimed the Philadelphian. + +"And that, whether she marries me or not, for the richest claim of all +is to be taken out in her name," added her lover. + +Mr. Stephen Maitland shook the other by the hand vigorously. + +"I congratulate you," he said, "you have beaten me on all points. I must +therefore regard you as the most eligible of suitors. Gold in these +mountains, well, well!" + +"And may I see your daughter and plead my cause in person, sir?" asked +Newbold. + +"Certainly, certainly. Robert, will you oblige me--" + +In compliance with his brother's gesture, Robert Maitland touched the +bell and bade the answering servant ask Miss Maitland to come down to +the library. + +"Now," said Mr. Stephen Maitland as the servant closed the door, "you +and I would best leave the young people alone, eh, Robert?" + +"By all means," answered the younger and opening the door again the two +older men went out leaving Newbold alone. + +He heard a soft step on the stair in the hall without, the gentle swish +of a dress as somebody descended from the floor above. A vision appeared +in the doorway. Without a movement in opposition, without a word of +remonstrance, without a throb of hesitation on her part, he took her in +his arms. From the drawing room opposite, Mr. Robert Maitland softly +tiptoed across the hall and closed the library door, neither of the +lovers being aware of his action. + +Often and often they had longed for each other on the opposite side of a +door and now at last the woman was in the man's arms and no door rose +between them, no barrier kept them apart any longer. There was no +obligation of loyalty or honor, real or imagined, to separate them now. +They had drunk deep of the chalice of courage, they had drained the cup +to the very bottom, they had shown each other that though love was the +greatest of passions, honor and loyalty were the most powerful of forces +and now they reaped the reward of their abnegation and devotion. + +At last the woman gave herself up to him in complete and entire +abandonment without fear and without reproach; and at last the man took +what was his own without the shadow of a reservation. She shrank from no +pressure of his arms, she turned her face away from no touch of his +lips. They two had proved their right to surrender by their ability to +conquer. + +Speech was hardly necessary between them and it was not for a long time +that coherent words came. Little murmurs of endearment, little +passionate whispers of a beloved name--these were enough then. + +When he could find strength to deny himself a little and to hold her at +arm's length and look at her, he found her paler, thinner and more +delicate than when he had seen her in the mountains. She had on some +witching creation of pale blue and silver, he didn't know what it was, +he didn't care, it made her only more like an angel to him than ever. +She found him, too, greatly changed and highly approved the alterations +in his appearance. + +"Why, Will," she said at last, "I never realized what a handsome man you +were." + +He laughed at her. + +"I always knew you were the most beautiful woman on earth." + +"Oh, yes, doubtless when I was the only one." + +"And if there were millions you would still be the only one. But it +isn't for your beauty alone that I love you. You knew all the time that +my fight against loving you was based upon a misinterpretation, a +mistake; you didn't tell me because you were thoughtful of a poor dead +woman." + +"Should I have told you?" + +"No. I have thought it all out: I was loyal through a mistake but you +wouldn't betray a dead sister, you would save her reputation in the mind +of the one being that remembered her, at the expense of your own +happiness. And if there were nothing else I could love you for that." + +"And is there anything else?" asked she who would fain be loved for +other qualities. + +"Everything," he answered rapturously, drawing her once more to his +heart. + +"I knew that there would be some way," answered the satisfied woman +softly after a little space. "Love like ours is not born to fall short +of the completest happiness. Oh, how fortunate for me was that idle +impulse that turned me up the caņon instead of down, for if it had not +been for that there would have been no meeting--" + +She stopped suddenly, her face aflame at the thought of the conditions +of that meeting, she must needs hide her face on his shoulder. + +He laughed gayly. + +"My little spirit of the fountain, my love, my wife that is to be! Did +you know that your father has done me the honor to give me your hand, +subject to the condition that your heart goes with it?" + +"You took that first," answered the woman looking up at him again. + +There was a knock on the door. Without waiting for permission it was +opened; this time three men entered, for old Kirkby had joined the +group. The blushing Enid made an impulsive movement to tear herself away +from Newbold's arms, but he shamelessly held her close. The three men +looked at the two lovers solemnly for a moment and then broke into +laughter. It was Kirkby who spoke first. + +"I hear as how you found gold in them mountains, Mr. Newbold." + +"I found something far more valuable than all the gold in Colorado in +these mountains," answered the other. + +"And what was that?" asked the old frontiersman curiously and +innocently. + +"This!" answered Newbold as he kissed the girl again. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Chalice Of Courage, by Cyrus Townsend Brady + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHALICE OF COURAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 37492-8.txt or 37492-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/4/9/37492/ + +Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 Chalice Of Courage + A Romance of Colorado + +Author: Cyrus Townsend Brady + +Illustrator: Harrison Fisher + J. N. Marchand + +Release Date: September 20, 2011 [EBook #37492] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHALICE OF COURAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>THE CHALICE OF COURAGE</h1> + +<h3><i>A Romance of Colorado</i></h3> + +<h2>BY CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY</h2> + +<h3>Author of "The Island of Regeneration," "The Better Man,"<br /> "Hearts and +the Highway," "As the Sparks Fly Upward," etc., etc.</h3> + + +<p class="center"><i>With Illustrations By<br /> +HARRISON FISHER and J. N. MARCHAND</i></p> + +<p class="center">NEW YORK<br /> +DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br /> +1912</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1911</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> W. G. CHAPMAN</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1912</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> DODD, MEAD & COMPANY</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Published, February, 1912</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center">To My Beloved Friend<br /> +<i>JOHN B. WALKER, JR.</i><br /> +Great-hearted, Great-souled, High-spirited<br /> +Man of Colorado.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus1" id="illus1"></a> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Leave me to myself, I would not take the finest, noblest +man on earth—"</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>Prefaces, like much study, are a weariness to the flesh; to some people, +not to me. I can conceive of no literary proposition more attractive +than the opportunity to write unlimited prefaces. Let me write the +preface and I care not who writes the book. Unfortunately for my +desires, I can only be prefatory in the case of my own. Happily my own +are sufficiently numerous to afford me some scope in the indulgence of +this passion for forewords.</p> + +<p>I suppose no one ever sat down to write a preface until after he had +written the book. It is like the final pat that the fond parent gives to +the child before it is allowed to depart in its best clothes. I have +seen the said parent accompany the child quite a distance on the way, +keeping up a continual process of adjustment of raiment which it was +evidently loath to discontinue.</p> + +<p>And that is my case exactly. Here is the novel with which I have done my +best, which I have written and rewritten after long and earnest thought, +and yet I cannot let it go forth without some final, shall I say caress? +And as it is, I really have nothing of importance to say! The final +pats and pulls and tugs and smoothings do not materially add to the +child's appearance or increase its fascination, and I am at a loss to +find a reason for the preface except it be the converse of the statement +about the famous and much disliked Dr. Fell!</p> + +<p>Perhaps, if I admit to you that I have been in the caņon, that I have +followed the course of the brook, that I have seen that lake, that I +have tramped those trails, it will serve to make you understand, dear +reader, how real and actual it all is to me. Yes, I have even looked +over the precipice down which the woman fell. I have talked with old +Kirkby; Robert Maitland is an intimate friend of mine; I have even met +his brother in Philadelphia and as for that glorious girl Enid—well, +being a married man, I will refrain from any personal appraisement of +her qualities. But I can with propriety dilate upon Newbold, and even +Armstrong, bad as he was, has some place in my regard.</p> + +<p>If these people shall by any chance seem real to you and become your +friends as they are mine, another of those pleasant ties that bind the +author and his public together will have been woven, knotted, forged. +Never mind the method so long as there is a tie. And with this hope, +looking out up the winter snows that might have covered the range, as I +have often seen them there, I bid you a happy good morning.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Cyrus Townsend Brady</span></p> + +<p><i>St. George's Rectory, Kansas City, Missouri.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Thanksgiving Day, 1911.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<h3>BOOK I<br /> +THE HIGHER LAW</h3> + +<table width="50%"> +<tr><td align="right">I </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">The Cup That Would Not Pass</span></a></td><td align="right">1</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"> II </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">Alone Upon the Trail</span></a></td><td align="right"> 16</td></tr> +</table> + +<h3>BOOK II<br /> +THE EAST AND THE WEST</h3> + +<table width="50%"> +<tr><td align="right">III </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">The Young Lady from Philadelphia</span></a></td><td align="right">29</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><span class="smcap">The Game Played in the Usual Way</span></a></td><td align="right">43</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">The Story and the Letters</span></a></td><td align="right">55</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">The Pool and the Water Sprite</span></a></td><td align="right">72</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">The Bear, the Man and the Flood</span></a></td><td align="right">88</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"> VIII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><span class="smcap">Death, Life and the Resurrection</span></a></td><td align="right">101</td></tr> +</table> + +<h3>BOOK III<br /> +FORGETTING AND FORGOT</h3> + +<table width="50%"> +<tr><td align="right">IX </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">A Wild Dash for the Hills</span></a></td><td align="right">123</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">A Telegram and a Caller</span></a></td><td align="right">136</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">Over the Hills and Far Away</span></a></td><td align="right">149</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">On the Two Sides of the Door</span></a></td><td align="right">166</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"> XIII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><span class="smcap">The Log Hut in the Mountains</span></a></td><td align="right">179</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><span class="smcap">A Tour of Inspection</span></a></td><td align="right">193</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><span class="smcap">The Castaways of the Mountains</span></a></td><td align="right">203</td></tr> +</table> + +<h3>BOOK IV<br /> +OH YE ICE AND SNOW, PRAISE YE THE LORD</h3> + +<table width="50%"> +<tr><td align="right">XVI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><span class="smcap">The Woman's Heart</span></a></td><td align="right">223</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><span class="smcap">The Man's Heart</span></a></td><td align="right">236</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVIII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><span class="smcap">The Kiss on the Hand</span></a></td><td align="right">248</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIX </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><span class="smcap">The Face in the Locket</span></a></td><td align="right">261</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XX </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><span class="smcap">The Strength of the Weak</span></a></td><td align="right">276</td></tr> +</table> + +<h3>BOOK V<br /> +THE CUP IS DRAINED</h3> + +<table width="50%"> +<tr><td align="right">XXI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><span class="smcap">The Challenge of the Range</span></a></td><td align="right">291</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><span class="smcap">The Converging Trails</span></a></td><td align="right">310</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><span class="smcap">The Odds Against Him</span></a></td><td align="right">327</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><span class="smcap">The Last Resort of Kings and Men</span></a></td><td align="right">339</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><span class="smcap">The Becoming End</span></a></td><td align="right">357</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"><span class="smcap">The Draught of Joy</span></a></td><td align="right">368</td></tr> +</table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<table width="50%"> +<tr><td><a href="#illus1">"<span class="smcap">Leave Me to Myself, I would not take the Finest, Noblest Man on +Earth—</span>" </a></td><td align="right"><i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#illus2">"<span class="smcap">Read the Letters," He Said. "They'll Tell the Story. Good-night.</span>" +</a></td><td align="right"><i>Facing page</i> 70</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#illus3">"<span class="smcap">Wait! I am a Woman, Absolutely alone, Entirely at Your Mercy</span>" </a></td><td align="right"> " " 156</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#illus4"><span class="smcap">It Was All up with Armstrong</span> </a></td><td align="right"> " " 354</td></tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE CHALICE OF COURAGE</h2> + +<h3>(Courtesy of <i>The Outlook</i>)</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Drink of the Chalice of Courage!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pressed to the trembling lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dark-veiled fears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the passing years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a dusty garment slip.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Drink of the Chalice of Courage!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poured for the Hero's feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the strength divine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of its subtle wine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is shared with the last and least.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Drink of the Chalice of Courage!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mead of mothers and men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sinewed might<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the Victor's might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be yours, again and again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8"><span class="smcap">Marie Hemstreet</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>BOOK I</h2> + +<h3>THE HIGHER LAW</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE CUP THAT WOULD NOT PASS</h3> + + +<p>The huge concave of the rocky wall towering above them threw the woman's +scream far into the vast profound of the caņon. It came sharp to the +man's ear, yet terminated abruptly; as when two rapidly moving trains +pass, the whistle of one is heard shrill for one moment only to be cut +short on the instant. Brief as it was, however, the sound was +sufficiently appalling; its suddenness, its unexpectedness, the awful +terror in its single note, as well as its instantaneity, almost stopped +his heart.</p> + +<p>With the indifference of experience and long usage he had been riding +carelessly along an old pre-historic trail through the caņon, probably +made and forgotten long before the Spaniards spied out the land. +Engrossed in his thoughts, he had been heedless alike of the wall above +and of the wall below. Prior to that moment neither the over-hanging +rock that curved above his head nor the almost sheer fall to the river a +thousand feet beneath the narrow ledge of the trail had influenced him +at all. He might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> been riding a country road so indifferent had +been his progress. That momentary shriek dying thinly away into a +strange silence changed everything.</p> + +<p>The man was riding a sure-footed mule, which perhaps somewhat accounted +for his lack of care, and it seemed as if the animal must also have +heard and understood the meaning of the woman's scream, for with no +bridle signal and no spoken word the mule stopped suddenly as if +petrified. Rider and ridden stood as if carved from stone.</p> + +<p>The man's comprehending, realizing fear almost paralyzed him. At first +he could scarcely force himself to do that toward which his whole being +tended—look around. Divining instantly the full meaning of that sudden +cry, it seemed hours before he could turn his head; really her cry and +his movement were practically simultaneous. He threw an agonized glance +backward on the narrow trail and saw—nothing! Where there had been +life, companionship, comradeship, a woman, there was now vacancy.</p> + +<p>The trail made a little bend behind him, he could see its surface for +some distance, but not what lay beneath. He did not need the testimony +of his eyes for that. He knew what was down there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<p>It seemed to his distorted perceptions that he moved slowly, his limbs +were like lead, every joint was as stiff as a rusty hinge. Actually he +dropped from the mule's back with reckless and life-defying haste and +fairly leaped backward on his path. Had there been any to note his +progress, they would have said he risked his own life over every foot of +the way. He ran down the narrow shelf, rock strewn and rough, swaying +upon the unfathomable brink until he reached the place where she had +been a moment since. There he dropped on one knee and looked downward.</p> + +<p>She was there! A few hundred feet below the trail edge the caņon wall, +generally a sheer precipice, broadened out into a great butte, or +buttress, which sloped somewhat more gently to the foaming, roaring +river far beneath. About a hundred and fifty feet under him a stubby +spur with a pocket on it jutted out from the face of the cliff; she had +evidently struck on that spur and bounded off and fallen, half rolling, +to the broad top of the butte two hundred or more feet below the pocket.</p> + +<p>Three hundred and fifty feet down to where she lay he could distinguish +little except a motionless huddled mass. The bright blue of her dress +made a splotch of unwonted color against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> the reddish brown monotones of +the mountain side and caņon wall. She was dead, of course; she must be +dead, the man felt. From that distance he could see no breathing, if +such there were; indeed as he stared she grew less and less distinct to +him, his eyes did not fill with tears, but to his vision the very earth +itself, the vast depths of the caņon, the towering wall on the other +side, seemed to quiver and heave before him. For the first time in his +life the elevation made him dizzy, sick. He put his hands to his face to +shut out the sight, he tore them away to look again. He lifted his eyes +toward the other side across the great gulf to the opposing wall which +matched the one upon which he stood, where the blue sky cloudless +overhung.</p> + +<p>"God!" he whispered in futile petition or mayhap expostulation.</p> + +<p>He was as near the absolute breaking point as a man may go and yet not +utterly give way, for he loved this woman as he loved that light of +heaven above him, and in the twinkling of an eye she was no more. And so +he stared and stared dumbly agonizing, wondering, helpless, misty-eyed, +blind.</p> + +<p>He sank back from the brink at last and tried to collect his thoughts. +What was he to do? There was but one answer to that question. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> must +go down to her. There was one quick and easy way; over the brink, the +way she had gone. That thought came to him for a moment, but he put it +away. He was not a coward, life was not his own to give or to take, +besides she might be alive, she might need him. There must be some other +way.</p> + +<p>Determining upon action, his resolution rose dominant, his vision +cleared. Once again he forced himself to look over the edge and see +other things than she. He was a daring, skillful and experienced +mountaineer; in a way mountaineering was his trade. He searched the side +of the caņon to the right and the left with eager scrutiny and found no +way within the compass of his vision to the depths below. He shut his +eyes and concentrated his thoughts to remember what they had passed over +that morning. There came to him the recollection of a place which as he +had viewed it he had idly thought might afford a practicable descent to +the river's rim.</p> + +<p>Forgetful of the patient animal beside him, he rose to his feet and with +one last look at the poor object below started on his wild plunge down +the trail over which some men might scarcely have crept on hands and +knees. Sweat bedewed his forehead, his limbs trembled, his pulses +throbbed, his heart beat almost to bursting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> Remorse sharpened by love, +passion quickened by despair, scourged him, desperate, on the way. And +God protected him also, or he had fallen at every uncertain, hurried, +headlong step.</p> + +<p>And as he ran, thoughts, reproaches, scourged him on. Why had he brought +her, why had he allowed her to take that trail which but for him and for +her had probably not been traversed by man or woman or beast, save the +mountain sheep, the gray wolves, or the grizzly bear, for five hundred +years. She had protested that she was as good a mountaineer as he—and +it was true—and she had insisted on accompanying him; he recollected +that there had been a sort of terror in her urgency,—he must take her, +he must not leave her alone, she had pleaded; he had objected, but he +had yielded, the joy of her companionship had meant so much to him in +his lonely journeying, and now—he accused himself bitterly as he surged +onward.</p> + +<p>After a time the man forced himself to observe the road, he discovered +that in an incredibly short period, perhaps an hour, he had traversed +what it had taken them four times as long to pass over that very day. He +must be near his goal. Ah, there it was at last, and in all the turmoil +and torture of his brain he found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> room for a throb of satisfaction when +he came upon the broken declivity. Yes, it did afford a practicable +descent; some landslide centuries back had made there a sort of rude, +rough, broken, megalithic stairway in the wall of the caņon. The man +threw himself upon it and with bleeding hands, bruised limbs and torn +clothing descended to the level of the river.</p> + +<p>Two atoms to the eye of the Divine, in that vast rift in the gigantic +mountains. One unconscious, motionless, save for faint gasping breaths; +the other toiling blindly along the river bank, fortunately here +affording practicable going, to the foot of the great butte upon whose +huge shoulder the other lay. The living and the dead in the waste and +the wilderness of the everlasting hills.</p> + +<p>Unconsciously but unerringly the man had fixed the landmarks in his mind +before he started on that terrific journey. Without a moment of +incertitude, or hesitation, he proceeded directly to the base of the +butte and as rapidly as if he had been fresh for the journey and the +endeavor. Up he climbed without a pause for rest. It was a desperate +going, almost sheer at times, but his passion found the way. He clawed +and tore at the rocks like an animal, he performed feats of strength and +skill and determination and reckless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> courage marvelous and impossible +under less exacting demands. Somehow or other he got to the top at last; +perhaps no man in all the ages since the world's first morning when God +Himself upheaved the range had so achieved that goal.</p> + +<p>The last ascent was up a little stretch of straight rock over which he +had to draw himself by main strength and determination. He fell panting +on the brink, but not for a moment did he remain prone; he got to his +feet at once and staggered across the plateau which made the head of the +butte toward the blue object on the further side beneath the wall of the +cliff above, and in a moment he bent over what had been—nay, as he saw +the slow choking uprise of her breast, what was—his wife.</p> + +<p>He knelt down beside her and looked at her for a moment, scarce daring +to touch her. Then he lifted his head and flung a glance around the +caņon as if seeking help from man. As he did so he became aware, below +him on the slope, of the dead body of the poor animal she had been +riding, whose misstep, from whatever cause he would never know, had +brought this catastrophe upon them.</p> + +<p>Nothing else met his gaze but the rocks, brown, gray, relieved here and +there by green<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> clumps of stunted pine. Nothing met his ear except far +beneath him the roar of the river, now reduced almost to a murmur, with +which the shivering leaves of aspens, rustled by the gentle breeze of +this glorious morning, blended softly like a sigh of summer. No, there +was nobody in the caņon, no help there. He threw his head back and +stretched out his arms toward the blue depths of the heavens above, to +the tops of the soaring peaks, and there was nothing there but the +eternal silence of a primeval day.</p> + +<p>"God! God!" he murmured again in his despair.</p> + +<p>It was the final word that comes to human lips in the last extremity +when life and its hopes and its possibilities tremble on the verge. And +no answer came to this poor man out of that vast void.</p> + +<p>He bent to the woman again. What he saw can hardly be described. Her +right arm and her left leg were bent backward and under her. They were +shattered, evidently. He was afraid to examine her and yet he knew that +practically every other bone in her body was broken as well. Her head +fell lower than her shoulders, the angle which she made with the uneven +rock on which she lay convinced him that her back was broken too. Her +clothing was rent by her contact with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> the rocky spur above, it was torn +from the neck downward, exposing a great red scar which ran across her +sweet white young breast, blood oozing from it, while in the middle of +it something yellow and bright gleamed in the light. Her cheek was cut +open, her glorious hair, matted, torn and bloody, was flung backward +from her down-thrown head.</p> + +<p>She should have been dead a thousand times, but she yet lived, she +breathed, her ensanguined bosom rose and fell. Through her pallid lips +bloody foam bubbled, she was still alive.</p> + +<p>The man must do something. He did not dare to move her body, yet he took +off his hat, folded it, lifted her head tenderly and slipped it +underneath; it made a better pillow than the hard rock, he thought. Then +he tore his handkerchief from his neck and wiped away the foam from her +lips. In his pocket he had a flask of whiskey, a canteen of water that +hung from his shoulder somehow had survived the rough usage of the +rocks. He mingled some of the water with a portion of the spirit in the +cup of the flask and poured a little down her throat. Tenderly he took +his handkerchief again, and wetting it laved her brow. Except to mutter +incoherent prayers again and again he said no word, but his heart was +filled with passionate endearments, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> lavished agonized and infinite +tenderness upon her in his soul.</p> + +<p>By and by she opened her eyes. In those eyes first of all he saw +bewilderment, and then terror and then anguish so great that it cannot +be described, pain so horrible that it is not good for man even to think +upon it. Incredible as it may seem, her head moved, her lips relaxed, +her set jaw unclenched, her tongue spoke thickly.</p> + +<p>"God!" she said.</p> + +<p>The same word that he had used, that final word that comes to the lips +when the heart is wrung, or the body is racked beyond human endurance. +The universal testimony to the existence of the Divine, that trouble and +sometimes trouble alone, wrings from man. No human name, not even his, +upon her lips in that first instant of realization!</p> + +<p>"How I—suffer," she faltered weakly.</p> + +<p>Her eyes closed again, the poor woman had told her God of her condition, +that was all she was equal to. Man and human relationships might come +later. The man knelt by her side, his hands upraised.</p> + +<p>"Louise," he whispered, "speak to me."</p> + +<p>Her eyes opened again.</p> + +<p>"Will," the anguished voice faltered on, "I am—broken—to pieces—kill +me. I can't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> stand—kill me"—her voice rose with a sudden fearful +appeal—"kill me."</p> + +<p>Then the eyes closed and this time they did not open, although now he +overwhelmed her with words, alas, all he had to give her. At last his +passion, his remorse, his love, gushing from him in a torrent of frantic +appeal awakened her again. She looked him once more in the face and once +more begged him for that quick relief he alone could give.</p> + +<p>"Kill me."</p> + +<p>That was her only plea. There has been One and only One, who could +sustain such crucifying anguish as she bore without such appeal being +wrested from the lips, yet even He, upon His cross, for one moment, +thought God had forsaken and forgotten Him!</p> + +<p>She was silent, but she was not dead. She was speechless, but she was +not unconscious, for she opened her eyes and looked at him with such +pitiful appeal that he would fain hide his face as he could not bear it, +and yet again and again as he stared down into her eyes he caught that +heart breaking entreaty, although now she made no sound. Every twisted +bone, every welling vein, every scarred and marred part on once smooth +soft flesh was eloquent of that piteous petition for relief. "Kill me" +she seemed to say in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> her voiceless agony. Agony the more appalling +because at last it could make no sound.</p> + +<p>He could not resist that appeal. He fought against it, but the demand +came to him with more and more terrific force until he could no longer +oppose it. That cup was tendered to him and he must drain it. No more +from his lips than from the lips of Him of the Garden could it be +withdrawn. Out of that chalice he must drink. It could not pass. Slowly, +never taking his eyes from her, as a man might who was fascinated or +hypnotized, he lifted his hand to his holster and drew out his revolver.</p> + +<p>No, he could not do it. He laid the weapon down on the rock again and +bowed forward on his knees, praying incoherently, protesting that God +should place this burden on mere man. In the silence he could hear the +awful rasp of her breath—the only answer. He looked up to find her eyes +upon him again.</p> + +<p>Life is a precious thing, to preserve it men go to the last limit. In +defense of it things are permitted that are permitted in no other case. +Is it ever nobler to destroy it than to conserve it? Was this such an +instance? What were the conditions?</p> + +<p>There was not a human being, white or red, within five days' journey +from the spot where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> these two children of malign destiny confronted +each other. That poor huddled broken mass of flesh and bones could not +have been carried a foot across that rocky slope without suffering +agonies beside which all the torture that might be racking her now would +be as nothing. He did not dare even to lay hand upon her to straighten +even one bent and twisted limb, he could not even level or compose her +body where she lay. He almost felt that he had been guilty of +unpardonable cruelty in giving her the stimulant and recalling her to +consciousness. Nor could he leave her where she was, to seek and bring +help to her. With all the speed that frantic desire, and passionate +adoration, and divine pity, would lend to him, it would be a week before +he could return, and by that time the wolves and the vultures—he could +not think that sentence to completion. That way madness lay.</p> + +<p>The woman was doomed, no mortal could survive her wounds, but she might +linger for days while high fever and inflammation supervened. And each +hour would add to her suffering. God was merciful to His Son, Christ +died quickly on the cross, mere man sometimes hung there for days.</p> + +<p>All these things ran like lightning through his brain. His hand closed +upon the pistol, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> eternal anodyne. No, he could not. And the +tortured eyes were open again, it seemed as if the woman had summoned +strength for a final appeal.</p> + +<p>"Will," she whispered, "if you—love me—kill me."</p> + +<p>He thrust the muzzle of his weapon against her heart, she could see his +movement and for a moment gratitude and love shone in her eyes, and then +with a hand that did not tremble, he pulled the trigger.</p> + +<p>A thousand thunder claps could not have roared in his ear with such +detonation. And he had done it! He had slain the thing he loved! Was it +in obedience to a higher law even than that writ on the ancient tables +of stone?</p> + +<p>For a moment he thought incoherently, the pistol fell from his hand, his +eyes turned to her face, her eyes were open still, but there was neither +pain, nor appeal, nor love, nor relief in them; there was no light in +them; only peace, calm, darkness, rest. His hand went out to them and +drew the lids down, and as he did so, something gave way in him and he +fell forward across the red, scarred white breast that no longer either +rose or fell.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>ALONE UPON THE TRAIL</h3> + + +<p>They had started from their last camp early in the morning. It had been +mid-day when she fell and long after noon when he killed her and lapsed +into merciful oblivion. It was dusk in the caņon when he came to life +again. The sun was still some distance above the horizon, but the +jutting walls of the great pass cut off the light, the butte top was in +ever deepening shadow.</p> + +<p>I have often wondered what were the feelings of Lazarus when he was +called back to life by the great cry of his Lord. "Hither—Out!" Could +that transition from the newer way of death to the older habit of living +have been accomplished without exquisite anguish and pain, brief, +sudden, but too sacred, like his other experiences, to dwell upon in +mortal hours?</p> + +<p>What he of Bethany might perhaps have experienced this man felt long +after under other circumstances. The enormous exertions of the day, the +cruel bruises and lacerations to which clothes and body gave evidence, +the sick, giddy, uncertain, helpless, feeling that comes when one +recovers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> consciousness after such a collapse, would have been hard +enough to bear; but he took absolutely no account of any of these things +for, as he lifted himself on his hands, almost animal-like for a moment, +from the cold body of his wife, everything came across him with a +sudden, terrific, overwhelming, rush of recollection.</p> + +<p>She was dead, and he had killed her. There were reasons, arguments, +excuses, for his course; he forgot them confronted by that grim, +terrific, tragic fact. The difference between that mysterious thing so +incapable of human definition which we call life, and that other +mysterious thing equally insusceptible of explanation which we call +death, is so great that when the two confront each other the most +indifferent is awed by the contrast. Many a man and many a woman prays +by the bedside of some agonized sufferer for a surcease of anguish only +to be brought about by death, by a dissolution of soul and body, +beseeching God of His mercy for the oblivion of the last, long, quiet, +sleep; but when the prayer has been granted, and the living eyes look +into the dead, the beating heart bends over the still one—it is a hard +soul indeed which has the strength not to wish again for a moment, one +little moment of life, to whisper one word of abiding love, to hear one +word of fond farewell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<p>Since that is true, what could this man think whose hand had pointed the +weapon and pulled the trigger and caused that great gaping hole through +what had once been a warm and loving heart? God had laid upon him a +task, than which none had ever been heavier on the shoulders of man, and +he did not think as he stared at her wildly that God had given him at +the same time strength to bear his burden.</p> + +<p>Later, it might be that cold reason would come to his aid and justify +him for what he had done, but now, now, he only realized that she was +dead, and he had killed her. He forgot her suffering in his own anguish +and reproach of himself. He found time to marvel at himself with a +strange sort of wonder. How could he have done it.</p> + +<p>Something broke the current of his thoughts, and it was good for him +that it was so. He heard a swish through the air and he looked away from +his dead wife in the direction of the sound. A little distance off upon +a pinnacle of rock he saw a vulture, a hideous, horrible, unclean, +carrion bird. While he watched, another and another settled softly down. +He rose to his feet and far beneath him from the tree clad banks of the +river the long howl of a wolf smote upon his ear. Gluttony and rapine +were at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> hand. Further down the declivity the body of the dead mule was +the object of the converging attack from earth and air. The threat of +that attack stirred him to life.</p> + +<p>There were things he had to do. The butte top was devoid of earth or +much vegetation, yet here and there in hollows where water settled or +drained, soft green moss grew. He stooped over and lifted the body of +the woman. She seemed to fall together loosely and almost break within +his hands—it was evidence of what the fall had done for her, +justification for his action, too, if he had been in a mood to reason +about it, but his only thought then was of how she must have suffered. +By a strange perversion he had to fight against the feeling that she was +suffering now. He laid her gently and tenderly down in a deep hollow in +the rock shaped almost to contain her. He straightened her poor twisted +limbs. He arranged with decent care the ragged dress, covering over the +torn breast and the frightful wound above her heart. With the last of +the water in the canteen, he washed her face, he could not wash out the +scar of course. With rude unskillful hands, yet with pitiable +tenderness, he strove to arrange her blood-matted hair, he pillowed her +head upon his hat again.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the last impression of life is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> stamped on the face of death, +sometimes we see in the awful fixity of feature that attends upon +dissolution, the index of the agony in which life has passed, but more +often, thank God, death lays upon pain and sorrow a smoothing, calming +hand. It was so in this instance. There was a great peace, a great +relief, in the face he looked upon; this poor woman had been tortured +not only in body, that he knew, but she had suffered anguish of soul of +which he was unaware, and death, had it come in gentler form would +perhaps not have been unwelcome. That showed in her face. There was +dignity, composure, surcease of care, repose—the rest that shall be +forever!</p> + +<p>The man had done all that he could for her. Stop, there was one thing +more; he knelt down by her side, he was not what we commonly call a +religious man, the habit that he had learned at his mother's knee he had +largely neglected in maturer years, but he had not altogether forgotten, +and even the atheist—and he was far from that—might have prayed then.</p> + +<p>"God, accept her," he murmured. "Christ receive her,"—that was all but +it was enough.</p> + +<p>He remained by her side some time looking at her; he would fain have +knelt there forever; he would have been happy at that moment if he +could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> have lain down by her and had someone do for them both the last +kindly office he was trying to do for her. But that was not to be, and +the growing darkness warned him to make haste. The wolf barks were +sharper and nearer, he stooped over her, bent low and laid his face +against hers. Oh that cold awful touch of long farewell. He tore himself +away from her, lifted from her neck a little object that had gleamed so +prettily amid the red blood. It was a locket. He had never seen it +before and had no knowledge of what it might contain. He kissed it, +slipped it into the pocket of his shirt and rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>The plateau was strewn with rock; working rapidly and skillfully he +built a burial mound of stone over her body. The depression in which she +lay was deep enough to permit no rock to touch her person. The cairn, if +such it may be called, was soon completed. No beast of the earth or bird +of the air could disturb what was left of his wife. It seemed so piteous +to him to think of her so young, and so sweet and so fair, so soft and +so tender, so brave and so true, lying alone in the vast of the caņon, +weighted down by the great rocks that love's hands had heaped above her. +But there was no help for it.</p> + +<p>Gathering up the revolver and canteen he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> turned and fell rather than +climbed to the level of the river. It was quite dark in the depths of +the caņon, but he pressed rapidly on over the uneven and broken rocks +until he reached the giant stairway. Up them he toiled painfully until +he attained again the trail.</p> + +<p>It was dark when he reached the wooded recess where they had slept the +night before. There were grass and trees, a bubbling spring, an oasis +amid the desert of rocks; he found the ashes of their fire and gathering +wood heaped it upon the still living embers until the blaze rose and +roared. He realized at last that he was weary beyond measure, he had +gone through the unendurable since the morning. He threw himself down +alone where they had lain together the night before and sought in vain +for sleep. In his ears he heard that sharp, sudden, breaking cry once +more, and her voice begging him to kill her. He heard again the rasp of +her agonized breathing, the crashing detonation of the weapon. He +writhed with the anguish of it all. Dry-eyed he arose at last and +stretched out his hands to that heaven that had done so little for him +he thought.</p> + +<p>Long after midnight he fell into a sort of uneasy, restless stupor. The +morning sun of the new and desolate day recalled him to action. He arose +to his feet and started mechanically down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> the trail alone—always and +forever alone. Yet God was with him though he knew it not.</p> + +<p>Four days later a little party of men winding through the foothills came +upon a wavering, ghastly, terrifying figure. Into the mining town two +days before had wandered a solitary mule, scraps of harness dangling +from it. They had recognized it as one of a pair the man had purchased +for a proposed journey far into the unsurveyed and inaccessible +mountains—to hunt for the treasures hidden within their granite +breasts. It told too plainly a story of disaster. A relief party had +been hurriedly organized to search for the two, one of whom was much +beloved in the rude frontier camp.</p> + +<p>The man they met on the way was the man they had come to seek. His boots +were cut to pieces, his feet were raw and bleeding for he had taken no +care to order his going or to choose his way. His clothes were in rags, +through rents and tatters his emaciated body showed its discolored +bruises. His hands were swollen and soiled with wounds and the stains of +the way. The front of his shirt was sadly and strangely discolored. He +was hatless, his hair was gray, his face was as white as the snow on the +crest of the peak, his lips were bloodless yet his eyes blazed with +fever.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>For four days without food and with but little water this man had +plodded down the mountain toward the camp. All his energies were merged +in one desire, to come in touch with humanity and tell his awful story; +the keeping of it to himself, which he must do perforce because he was +alone in the world, added to the difficulty of endurance. The sun had +beaten down upon him piteously during the day. The cold dew had drenched +him in the night. Apparitions had met his vision alike in the darkness +and in the light. Voices had whispered to him as he plodded on. But +something had sustained him in spite of the awful drain, physical and +mental, which had wasted him away. Something had sustained him until he +came in touch with men, thereafter the duty would devolve upon his +brethren not upon himself.</p> + +<p>They caught him as he staggered into the group of them, these Good +Samaritans of the frontier; they undressed him and washed him, they +bound up his wounds and ministered to him, they laid him gently down +upon the ground, they bent over him tenderly and listened to him while +he told in broken, disjointed words the awful story, of her plunge into +the caņon, of his search for her, of her last appeal to him. And then he +stopped.</p> + +<p>"What then?" asked one of the men bending over him as he hesitated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>"God forgive me—I shot her—through the heart."</p> + +<p>There was appalling stillness in the little group of rough men, while he +told them where she lay and begged them to go and bring back what was +left of her.</p> + +<p>"You must bring her—back," he urged pitifully.</p> + +<p>None of the men had ever been up the caņon, but they knew of its +existence and the twin peaks of which he had told them could be seen +from afar. He had given them sufficient information to identify the +place and to enable them to go and bring back the body for Christian +burial. Now these rude men of the mining camp had loved that woman as +men love a bright and cheery personality which dwelt among them.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the spokesman, "but what about you?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be—a dead man," was the murmured answer, "and I don't care—I +shall be glad—"</p> + +<p>He had no more speech and no more consciousness after that. It was a +sardonic comment on the situation that the last words that fell from his +lips then should be those words of joy.</p> + +<p>"Glad, glad!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> +<h2>BOOK II</h2> + +<h3>THE EAST AND THE WEST</h3> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE YOUNG LADY FROM PHILADELPHIA</h3> + + +<p>Miss Enid Maitland was a highly specialized product of the far east. I +say far, viewing Colorado as a point of departure not as identifying her +with the orient. The classic shades of Bryn Mawr had been the "Groves of +Academus where with old Plato she had walked." Incidentally during her +completion of the exhaustive curriculum of that justly famous +institution she had acquired at least a bowing acquaintance with other +masters of the mind.</p> + +<p>Nor had the physical in her education been sacrificed to the mental. In +her at least the <i>mens sana</i> and the <i>corpore sano</i> were alike in +evidence. She had ridden to hounds many times on the anise-scented trail +of the West Chester Hunt! Exciting tennis and leisurely golf had engaged +her attention on the courts and greens of the Merion Cricket Club. She +had buffeted "Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste" on the beach at +Cape May and at Atlantic City.</p> + +<p>Spiritually she was a devoted member of the Episcopal Church, of the +variety that abhors the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> word "Protestant" in connection therewith. +Altogether she reflected great credit upon her pastors and masters, +spiritual and temporal, and her up-bringing in the three departments of +life left little to be desired.</p> + +<p>Upon her graduation she had been at once received and acclaimed by the +"Assembly Set," of Philadelphia, to which indeed she belonged +unquestioned by right of birth and position—and there was no other +power under heaven by which she could have effected entrance therein; at +least that is what the "outs" thought of that most exclusive circle. The +old home of the Maitlands overlooking Rittenhouse Square had been the +scene of her début. In all the refined and decorous gayeties of +Philadelphia's ultra-fastidious society she had participated. She had +even looked upon money standardized New York in its delirium of +extravagance, at least in so far as a sedate and well-born Philadelphia +family could countenance such golden madness. During the year she had +ranged like a conqueror—pardon the masculine appellation—between Palm +Beach in the South and Bar Harbor in the North. Philadelphia was proud +of her, and she was not unknown in those unfortunate parts of the United +States which lay without.</p> + +<p>In all this she had remained a frank, free,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> unspoiled young woman. Life +was full of zest for her, and she enjoyed it with the most +un-Pennsylvanian enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>The second summer after her coming out found her in Colorado. Robert +Maitland was one of the big men of the west. He had departed from +Philadelphia at an early age and had settled in Colorado while it was +still in the formative period. There he had grown up with the state. The +Philadelphia Maitlands could never understand it or explain it. Bob +Maitland must have been, they argued, a reversion to an ancient type, a +throwback to some robber baron long antecedent to William Penn. And the +speculation was true. The blood of some lawless adventurer of the past, +discreetly forgot by the conservative section of the family, bubbled in +his veins unchecked by the repressive atmosphere of his home and his +early environment.</p> + +<p>He had thoroughly identified himself with his new surroundings and had +plunged into all the activities of the west. During one period in his +life he had actually served as sheriff of one of the border counties, +and it was a rapid "bad man" indeed, who enjoyed any advantage over him +when it came to drawing his "gun." His skill and daring had been +unquestioned. He had made a name for himself which still abides,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +especially in the mountains where things yet remained almost as +primitive as they had been from the beginning.</p> + +<p>His fame had been accompanied by fortune, too; the cattle upon a +thousand hills were his, the treasures of mines of fabulous richness +were at his command. He lived in Denver in one of the greatest of the +bonanza palaces on the hills of that city, confronting the snow-capped +mountain range. For the rest he held stock in all sorts of corporations, +was a director in numerous concerns and so on—the reader can supply the +usual catalogue, they are all alike. He had married late in life and was +the father of two little girls and a boy, the oldest sixteen and the +youngest ten.</p> + +<p>Going east, which he did not love, on an infrequent business trip he had +renewed his acquaintance with his brother and the one ewe lamb of his +brother's flock, to wit, the aforementioned Enid. He had been struck, as +everybody was, by the splendid personality of the girl and had striven +earnestly to disabuse her mind of the prevalent idea that there was +nothing much worth while on the continent beyond the Alleghanies except +scenery.</p> + +<p>"What you need, Enid, is a ride across the plains, a sight of real +mountains, beside which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> these little foothills in Pennsylvania that +people back here make so much of wouldn't be noticed. You want to get +some of the spirited glorious freedom of the west into your conservative +straight-laced little body!"</p> + +<p>"In my day, Robert," reprovingly remarked his brother, Enid's father, +"freedom was the last thing a young lady gently born and delicately +nurtured would have coveted."</p> + +<p>"Your day is past, Steve," returned the younger Maitland with shocking +carelessness. "Freedom is what every woman desires now, especially when +she is married. You are not in love with anybody are you, Enid?"</p> + +<p>"With not a soul," frankly replied the girl, greatly amused at the +colloquy between the two men, who though both mothered by the same woman +were as dissimilar as—what shall I say, the east is from the west? Let +it go at that.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said her uncle, relieved apparently. "I will take +you out west and introduce you to some real men and—"</p> + +<p>"If I thought it possible," interposed Mr. Stephen Maitland in his most +austere and dignified manner, "that my daughter," with a perceptible +emphasis on the "my," as if he and not the daughter were the principal +being under consideration, "should ever so far forget what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> belongs to +her station in life and her family as to allow her affections to become +engaged by anyone who, from his birth and up-bringing in the +er—ah—unlicensed atmosphere of the western country would be <i>persona +non grata</i> to the dignified society of this ancient city and—"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," interrupted the younger brother bluntly. "You have lived +here wrapped up in yourselves and your dinky little town so long that +mental asphyxiation is threatening you all."</p> + +<p>"I will thank you, Robert," said his brother with something approaching +the manner in which he would have repelled a blasphemy, "not to refer to +Philadelphia as—er—What was your most extraordinary word?"</p> + +<p>"'Dinky,' if my recollection serves."</p> + +<p>"Ah, precisely. I am not sure as to the meaning of the term but I +conceive it to be something opprobrious. You can say what you like about +me and mine, but Philadelphia, no."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the town's right enough," returned his brother, not at all +impressed. "I'm talking about people now. There are just as fine men and +women in the west as in New York or Philadelphia."</p> + +<p>"I am sure you don't mean to be offensive, Robert, but really the +association of ideas in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> your mention of us with that common and vulgar +New York is er—unpleasant," fairly shuddered the elder Maitland.</p> + +<p>"I'm only urging you to recognize the quality of the western people. I +dare say they are of a finer type than the average here."</p> + +<p>"From your standpoint, no doubt," continued his brother severely and +somewhat wearily as if the matter were not worth all this argument. "All +that I want of them is that they stay in the west where they belong and +not strive to mingle with the east; there is a barrier between us and +them which it is not well to cross. To permit any intermixtures of +er—race or—"</p> + +<p>"The people out there are white, Steve," interrupted his brother +sardonically. "I wasn't contemplating introducing Enid here to Chinese, +or Negroes, or Indians, or—"</p> + +<p>"Don't you see," said Mr. Stephen Maitland, stubbornly waving aside this +sarcastic and irrelevant comment, "from your very conversation the vast +gulf that there is between you and me? Although you had every advantage +in life that birth can give you, we are—I mean you have changed so +greatly," he had quickly added, loath to offend.</p> + +<p>But he mistook the light in his brother's eyes, it was a twinkle not a +flash. Robert Maitland<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> laughed, laughed with what his brother conceived +to be indecorous boisterousness.</p> + +<p>"How little you know of the bone and sinew of this country, Steve," he +exclaimed presently. Robert Maitland could not comprehend how it +irritated his stately brother to be called "Steve." Nobody ever spoke of +him but as Stephen Maitland—"But Lord, I don't blame you," continued +the Westerner. "Any man whose vision is barred by a foothill couldn't be +expected to know much of the main range and what's beyond."</p> + +<p>"There isn't any danger of my falling in love with anybody," said Enid +at last, with all the confidence of two triumphant social seasons. "I +think I must be immune even to dukes," she said gayly.</p> + +<p>"I referred to worthy young Americans of—" began her father who, to do +him justice, was so satisfied with his own position that no foreign +title 'dazzled' him in the least degree.</p> + +<p>"Rittenhouse Square," cut in Robert Maitland with amused sarcasm. "Well, +Enid, you seem to have run the gamut of the east pretty thoroughly, come +out and spend the summer with me in Colorado. My Denver house is open to +you, we have a ranch amid the foothills, or if you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> game we can +break away from civilization entirely and find some unexplored, unknown +caņon in the heart of the mountains and camp there. We'll get back to +nature, which seems to be impossible in Philadelphia, and you will see +things and learn things that you will never see or learn anywhere else. +It'll do you good, too; from what I hear, you have been going the pace +and those cheeks of yours are a little too pale for so splendid a girl, +you look too tired under the eyes for youth and beauty."</p> + +<p>"I believe I am not very fit," said the girl, "and if father will +permit—"</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course," said Stephen Maitland. "You are your own +mistress anyway, and having no mother"—Enid's mother had died in her +infancy—"I suppose that I could not interfere or object if I wished to, +but no marrying or giving in marriage: Remember that."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, father," answered the young woman lightly. "I am not anxious +to assume the bonds of wedlock."</p> + +<p>"Well, that settles it," said Robert Maitland. "We'll give you a royal +good time. I must run up to New York and Boston for a few days, but I +shall be back in a week and I can pick you up then."</p> + +<p>"What is the house in Denver, is it er—may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> I ask, provided with all +modern conveniences and—" began the elder Maitland nervously.</p> + +<p>Robert Maitland laughed.</p> + +<p>"What do you take us for, Steve? Do you ever read the western +newspapers?"</p> + +<p>"I confess that I have not given much thought to the west since I +studied geography and—<i>The Philadelphia Ledger</i> has been thought +sufficient for the family since—"</p> + +<p>"Gracious!" exclaimed Maitland. "The house cost half a million dollars +if you must know it, and if there is anything that modern science can +contribute to comfort and luxury that isn't in it, I don't know what it +is. Shall it be the house in Denver, or the ranch, or a real camp in the +wilds, Enid?"</p> + +<p>"First the house in Denver," said Enid, "and then the ranch and then the +mountains."</p> + +<p>"Right O! That shall be the program."</p> + +<p>"Will my daughter's life be perfectly safe from the Cowboys, Indians and +Desperadoes?"</p> + +<p>"Quite safe," answered Robert, with deep gravity. "The cowboys no longer +shoot up the city and it has been years since the Indians have held up +even a trolley car. The only real desperado in my acquaintance is the +mildest, gentlest old stage driver in the west."</p> + +<p>"Do you keep up an acquaintance with men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> of that class, still?" asked +his brother in great surprise.</p> + +<p>"You know I was Sheriff in a border county for a number of years and—"</p> + +<p>"But you must surely have withdrawn from all such society now."</p> + +<p>"Out west," said Robert Maitland, "when we know a man and like him, when +we have slept by him on the plains, ridden with him through the +mountains, fought with him against some border terror, some bad man +thirsting to kill, we don't forget him, we don't cut his acquaintance, +and it doesn't make any difference whether the one or the other of us is +rich or poor. I have friends who can't frame a grammatical sentence, who +habitually eat with their knives, yet who are absolutely devoted to me +and I to them. The man is the thing out there." He smiled and turned to +Enid. "Always excepting the supremacy of woman," he added.</p> + +<p>"How fascinating!" exclaimed the girl. "I want to go there right away."</p> + +<p>And this was the train of events which brought about the change. Behold +the young lady astride of a horse for the first time in her life in a +divided skirt, that fashion prevalent elsewhere not having been accepted +by the best equestriennes of Philadelphia. She was riding ahead of a +lumbering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> mountain wagon, surrounded by other riders, which was loaded +with baggage, drawn by four sturdy broncos and followed by a number of +obstinate little burros at present unencumbered with packs which would +be used when they got further from civilization and the way was no +longer practicable for anything on wheels.</p> + +<p>Miss Enid Maitland was clad in a way that would have caused her father a +stroke of apoplexy if he could have been suddenly made aware of her +dress, if she had burst into the drawing-room without announcement for +instance. Her skirt was distinctly short, she wore heavy hobnailed shoes +that laced up to her knees, she had on a bright blue sweater, a kind of +a cap known as a tam-o-shanter was pinned above her glorious hair, which +was closely braided and wound around her head. She wore a silk +handkerchief loosely tied around her neck, a knife and revolver hung at +her belt, a little watch was strapped to one wrist, a handsomely braided +quirt dangled from the other, a pair of spurs adorned her heels and, +most discomposing fact of all, by her side rode a handsome and dashing +cavalier.</p> + +<p>How Mr. James Armstrong might have appeared in the conventional black +and white of evening clothes was not quite clear to her, for she had as +yet never beheld him in that obliterating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> raiment, but in the habit of +the west, riding trousers, heavy boots that laced to the knees, blue +shirt, his head covered by a noble "Stetson," mounted on the fiery +restive bronco which he rode to perfection, he was ideal. Alas for the +vanity of human proposition! Mr. James Armstrong, friend and protégé +these many years of Mr. Robert Maitland, mine owner and cattle man on a +much smaller scale than his older friend, was desperately in love with +Enid Maitland, and Enid, swept off her feet by a wooing which began with +precipitant ardor so soon as he laid eyes on her, was more profoundly +moved by his suit, or pursuit, than she could have imagined.</p> + +<p><i>Omne ignotum pro magnifico!</i></p> + +<p>She had been wooed in the conventional fashion many times and oft, on +the sands of Palm Beach, along the cliffs of Newport, in the romantic +glens of Mount Desert, in the old fashioned drawing-room overlooking +Rittenhouse Square. She had been proposed to in motor cars, on the decks +of yachts and once even while riding to hounds, but there had been a +touch of sameness about it all. Never had she been made love to with the +headlong gallantry, with the dashing precipitation of the west. It had +swept her from her moorings. She found almost before she was aware of it +that her past experience now stood her in little stead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> She awoke to a +sudden realization of the fact that she was practically pledged to James +Armstrong after an acquaintance of three weeks in Denver and on the +ranch.</p> + +<p>Business of the most important and critical nature required Armstrong's +presence east at this juncture, and willy-nilly there was no way he +could put off his departure longer. He had to leave the girl with an +uneasy conscience that though he had her half-way promise, he had her +but half-way won. He had snatched the ultimate day from his business +demands to ride with her on the first stage of her journey to the +mountains.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE GAME PLAYED IN THE USUAL WAY</h3> + + +<p>The road on which they advanced into the mountains was well made and +well kept up. The caņon through the foothills was not very deep—for +Colorado—and the ascent was gentle. Naturally it wound in every +direction following the devious course of the river which it frequently +crossed from one side to the other on rude log bridges. A brisk gallop +of a half mile or so on a convenient stretch of comparatively level +going put the two in the lead far ahead of the lumbering wagon and out +of sight of those others of the party who had elected to go a horseback. +There was perhaps a tacit agreement among the latter not to break in +upon this growing friendship or, more frankly, not to interfere in a +developing love affair.</p> + +<p>The caņon broadened here and there at long intervals and ranch houses +were found in every clearing, but these were few and far between and for +the most part Armstrong and Enid Maitland rode practically alone save +for the passing of an occasional lumber wagon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You can't think," began the man, as they drew rein after a splendid +gallop and the somewhat tired horses readily subsided into a walk, "how +I hate to go back and leave you."</p> + +<p>"And you can't think how loath I am to have you return," the girl +flashed out at him with a sidelong glance from her bright blue eyes and +a witching smile from her scarlet lips.</p> + +<p>"Enid Maitland," said the man, "you know I just worship you. I'd like to +sweep you out of your saddle, lift you to the bow of mine and ride away +with you. I can't keep my hands off you, I—"</p> + +<p>Before she realized what he would be about he swerved his horse toward +her, his arm went around her suddenly. Taken completely off her guard +she could make no resistance, indeed she scarcely knew what to expect +until he crushed her to him and kissed her, almost roughly, full on the +lips.</p> + +<p>"How dare you!" cried the girl, her face aflame, freeing herself at +last, and swinging her own horse almost to the edge of the road which +here ran on an excavation some fifty feet above the river.</p> + +<p>"How dare I?" laughed the audacious man, apparently no whit abashed by +her indignation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> "When I think of my opportunity I am amazed at my +moderation."</p> + +<p>"Your opportunity, your moderation?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; when I had you helpless I took but one kiss, I might have held you +longer and taken a hundred."</p> + +<p>"And by what right did you take that one?" haughtily demanded the +outraged young woman, looking at him beneath level brows while the color +slowly receded from her face. She had never been kissed by a man other +than a blood relation in her life—remember, suspicious reader, that she +was from Philadelphia—and she resented this sudden and unauthorized +caress with every atom and instinct of her still somewhat conventional +being.</p> + +<p>"But aren't you half-way engaged to me?" he pleaded in justification, +seeing the unwonted seriousness with which she had received his impudent +advance. "Didn't you agree to give me a chance?"</p> + +<p>"I did say that I liked you very much," she admitted, "no man better, +and that I thought you might—"</p> + +<p>"Well, then—" he began.</p> + +<p>But she would not be interrupted.</p> + +<p>"I did not mean that you should enjoy all the privileges of a conquest +before you had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> won me. I will thank you not to do that again, sir."</p> + +<p>"It seems to have had a very different effect upon you than it did upon +me," replied the man fervently. "I loved you before, but now, since I +have kissed you, I worship you."</p> + +<p>"It hasn't affected me that way," retorted the girl promptly, her face +still frowning and indignant. "Not at all, and—"</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, Enid," pleaded the other. "I just couldn't help it. You +were so beautiful I had to. I took the chance. You are not accustomed to +our ways."</p> + +<p>"Is this your habit in your love affairs?" asked the girl swiftly and +not without a spice of feminine malice.</p> + +<p>"I never had any love affairs before," he replied with a ready masculine +mendacity, "at least none worth mentioning. But you see this is the +west, we have gained what we have by demanding every inch that nature +offers, and then claiming the all. That's the way we play the game out +here and that's the way we win."</p> + +<p>"But I have not yet learned to play the 'game,' as you call it, by any +such rules," returned the young woman determinedly, "and it is not the +way to win me if I am the stake."</p> + +<p>"What is the way?" asked the man anxiously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> "Show me and I'll take it +no matter what its difficulty."</p> + +<p>"Ah, for me to point out the way would be to play traitor to myself," +she answered, relenting and relaxing a little before his devoted wooing. +"You must find it without assistance. I can only tell you one thing."</p> + +<p>"And what is that?"</p> + +<p>"You do not advance toward the goal by such actions as those of a moment +since."</p> + +<p>"Look here," said the other suddenly. "I am not ashamed of what I did, +and I'm not going to pretend that I am, either."</p> + +<p>"You ought to be," severely.</p> + +<p>"Well, maybe so, but I'm not. I couldn't help it any more than I could +help loving you the minute I saw you. Put yourself in my place."</p> + +<p>"But I am not in your place, and I can't put myself there. I do not wish +to. If it be true, as you say, that you have grown to—care so much for +me and so quickly—"</p> + +<p>"If it be true?" came the sharp interruption as the man bent toward her +fairly devouring her with his bold, ardent gaze.</p> + +<p>"Well, since it is true," she admitted under the compulsion of his +protest, "that fact is the only possible excuse for your action."</p> + +<p>"You find some justification for me, then!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, only a possibility, but whether it be true or not, I do not feel +that way—yet."</p> + +<p>There was a saving grace in that last word, which gave him a little +heart. He would have spoken, but she suffered no interruption, saying:</p> + +<p>"I have been wooed before, but—"</p> + +<p>"True, unless the human race has become suddenly blind," he said softly +under his breath.</p> + +<p>"But never in such ungentle ways."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you have never run up against a real red-blooded man like me +before."</p> + +<p>"If red-blooded be evidenced mainly by lack of self-control, perhaps I +have not. Yet there are men whom I have met who would not need to +apologize for their qualities even to you, Mr. James Armstrong."</p> + +<p>"Don't say that. Evidently I make but poor progress in my wooing. Never +have I met with a woman quite like you."—And in that indeed lay some of +her charm, and she might have replied in exactly the same language and +with exactly the same meaning to him.—"I am no longer a boy. I must be +fifteen years older than you are, for I am thirty-five."</p> + +<p>The difference between their years was not quite so great as he +declared, but woman-like the girl let the statement pass unchallenged.</p> + +<p>"And I wouldn't insult your intelligence by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> saying you are the only +woman that I have ever made love to, but there is a vast difference +between making love to a woman and loving one. I have just found that +out for the first time. I marvel at the past, and I am ashamed of it, +but I thank God that I have been saved for this opportunity. I want to +win you, and I am going to do it, too. In many things I don't match up +with the people with whom you train. I was born out here, and I've made +myself. There are things that have happened in the making that I am not +especially proud of, and I am not at all satisfied with the results, +especially since I have met you. The better I know you the less pleased +I am with Jim Armstrong, but there are possibilities in me, I rather +believe, and with you for inspiration, Heavens!"—the man flung out his +hand with a fine gesture of determination. "They say that the east and +west don't naturally mingle, but it's a lie, you and I can beat the +world."</p> + +<p>The woman thrilled to his gallant wooing. Any woman would have done so, +some of them would have lost their heads, but Enid Maitland was an +exceedingly cool young person, for she was not quite swept off her feet, +and did not quite lose her balance.</p> + +<p>"I like to hear you say things like that," she answered. "Nobody quite +like you has ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> made love to me, and certainly not in your way, and +that's the reason I have given you a half-way promise to think about it. +I was sorry that you could not be with us on this adventure, but now I +am rather glad, especially if the even temper of my way is to be +interrupted by anything like the outburst of a few moments since."</p> + +<p>"I am glad, too," admitted the man. "For I declare I couldn't help it. +If I have to be with you either you have got to be mine, or else you +would have to decide that it could never be, and then I'd go off and +fight it out."</p> + +<p>"Leave me to myself," said the girl earnestly, "for a little while; it's +best so. I would not take the finest, noblest man on earth—"</p> + +<p>"And I am not that."</p> + +<p>"Unless I loved him. There is something very attractive about your +personality. I don't know in my heart whether it is that or—"</p> + +<p>"Good," said the man, as she hesitated. "That's enough," he gathered up +the reins and whirled his horse suddenly in the road, "I am going back. +I'll wait for your return to Denver, and then—"</p> + +<p>"That's best," answered the girl.</p> + +<p>She stretched out her hand to him, leaning backward. If he had been a +different kind of a man he would have kissed it, as it was he took it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +in his own hand and almost crushed it with a fierce grip.</p> + +<p>"We'll shake on that, little girl," he said, and then without a backward +glance he put spurs to his horse and galloped furiously down the road.</p> + +<p>No, she decided then and there, she did not love him, not yet. Whether +she ever would she could not tell. And yet she was half bound to him. +The recollection of his kiss was not altogether a pleasant memory; he +had not done himself any good by that bold assault upon her modesty, +that reckless attempt to rifle the treasure of her lips. No man had ever +really touched her heart, although many had engaged her interest. Her +experiences therefore were not definitive or conclusive. If she had +truly loved James Armstrong, in spite of all that she might have said, +she would have thrilled to the remembrance of that wild caress. The +chances, therefore, were somewhat heavily against him that morning as he +rode hopefully down the trail alone.</p> + +<p>His experiences in love affairs were much greater than hers. She was by +no means the first woman he had kissed—remember suspicious reader that +he was <i>not</i> from Philadelphia!—hers were not the first ears into which +he had poured passionate protestations. He was neither better nor worse +than most men, perhaps he fairly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> enough represented the average, but +surely fate had something better in store for such a superb woman—a +girl of such attainments and such infinite possibilities, she must mate +higher than with the average man. Perhaps there was a sub-consciousness +of this in her mind as she silently waited to be overtaken by the rest +of the party.</p> + +<p>There were curious glances and strange speculations in that little +company as they saw her sitting her horse alone. A few moments before +James Armstrong had passed them at a gallop, he had waved his hand as he +dashed by and had smiled at them, hope giving him a certain assurance, +although his confidence was scarcely warranted by the facts.</p> + +<p>His demeanor was not in consonance with Enid's somewhat grave and +somewhat troubled present aspect. She threw off her preoccupation +instantly and easily, however, and joined readily enough in the merry +conversation of the way.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert Maitland, as Armstrong had said, had known him from a boy. +There were things in his career of which Maitland did not and could not +approve, but they were of the past, he reflected, and Armstrong was +after all a pretty good sort. Mr. Maitland's standards were not at all +those of his Philadelphia brother, but they were very high. His +experiences of men had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> different; he thought that Armstrong, +having certainly by this time reached years of discretion, could be +safely entrusted with the precious treasure of the young girl who had +been committed to his care, and for whom his affection grew as his +knowledge of and acquaintanceship with her increased.</p> + +<p>As for Mrs. Maitland and the two girls and the youngster, they were +Armstrong's devoted friends. They knew nothing about his past, indeed +there were things in it of which Maitland himself was ignorant, and +which had they been known to him might have caused him to withhold even +his tentative acquiescence in the possibilities.</p> + +<p>Most of these things were known to old Kirkby who with masterly skill, +amusing nonchalance and amazing profanity, albeit most of it under his +breath lest he shock the ladies, tooled along the four nervous excited +broncos who drew the big supply wagon. Kirkby was Maitland's oldest and +most valued friend. He had been the latter's deputy sheriff, he had been +a cowboy and a lumberman, a mighty hunter and a successful miner, and +now although he had acquired a reasonable competence, and had a nice +little wife and a pleasant home in the mountain village at the entrance +to the caņon, he drove stage for pleasure rather than for profit. He had +given over his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> daily twenty-five mile jaunt from Morrison to Troutdale +to other hands for a short space that he might spend a little time with +his old friend and the family, who were all greatly attached to him, on +this outing.</p> + +<p>Enid Maitland, a girl of a kind that Kirkby had never seen before, had +won the old man's heart during the weeks spent on the Maitland ranch. He +had grown fond of her, and he did not think that Mr. James Armstrong +merited that which he evidently so overwhelmingly desired. Kirkby was +well along in years, but he was quite capable of playing a man's game +for all that, and he intended to play it in this instance.</p> + +<p>Nobody scanned Enid Maitland's face more closely than he, sitting humped +up on the front seat of the wagon, one foot on the high brake, his head +sunk almost to the level of his knee, his long whip in his hand, his +keen and somewhat fierce brown eyes taking in every detail of what was +going on about him. Indeed there was but little that came before him +that old Kirkby did not see.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE STORY AND THE LETTERS</h3> + + +<p>Imagine, if you please, the forest primeval; yes, the murmuring pines +and the hemlocks of the poem as well, by the side of a rapidly rushing +mountain torrent fed by the eternal snows of the lofty peaks of the +great range. A level stretch of grassy land where a mountain brook +joined the creek was dotted with clumps of pines and great boulders +rolled down from the everlasting hills—half an acre of open clearing. +On the opposite side of the brook the caņon wall rose almost sheer for +perhaps five hundred feet, ending in jagged, needle-edged pinnacles of +rock, sharp, picturesque and beautiful. A thousand feet above ran the +timber line, and four thousand feet above that the crest of the greatest +peak in the main range.</p> + +<p>The white tents of the little encampment which had gleamed so brightly +in the clear air and radiant sunshine of Colorado, now stood dim and +ghost-like in the red reflection of a huge camp fire. It was the evening +of the first day in the wilderness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>For two days since leaving the wagon, the Maitland party with its long +train of burros heavily packed, its horsemen and the steady plodders on +foot, had advanced into unexplored and almost inaccessible retreats of +the mountains—into the primitive indeed! In this delightful spot they +had pitched their tents and the permanent camp had been made. Wood was +abundant, the water at hand was as cold as ice, as clear as crystal and +as soft as milk. There was pasturage for the horses and burros on the +other side of the mountain brook. The whole place was a little +amphitheater which humanity occupied perhaps the first time since +creation.</p> + +<p>Unpacking the burros, setting up the tents, making the camp, building +the fire had used up the late remainder of the day which was theirs when +they had arrived. Opportunity would come to-morrow to explore the +country, to climb the range, to try the stream that tumbled down a +succession of waterfalls to the right of the camp and roared and rushed +merrily around its feet until, swelled by the volume of the brook, it +lost itself in tree-clad depths far beneath. To-night rest after labor, +to-morrow play after rest.</p> + +<p>The evening meal was over. Enid could not help thinking with what scorn +and contempt her father would have regarded the menu, how his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> gorge +would have risen—hers too for that matter!—had it been placed before +him on the old colonial mahogany of the dining-room in Philadelphia. But +up there in the wilds she had eaten the coarse homely fare with the zest +and relish of the most seasoned ranger of the hills. Anxious to be of +service, she had burned her hands and smoked her hair and scorched her +face by usurping the functions of the young ranchman who had been +brought along as cook, and had actually fried the bacon herself! Imagine +a goddess with a frying pan! The black thick coffee and the condensed +milk, drunk from the graniteware cup, had a more delicious aroma and a +more delightful taste than the finest Mocha and Java in the daintiest +porcelain of France. <i>Optimum condimentum.</i> The girl was frankly, +ravenously hungry, the air, the altitude, the exertion, the excitement +made her able to eat anything and enjoy it.</p> + +<p>She was gloriously beautiful, too; even her brief experience in the west +had brought back the missing roses to her cheek, and had banished the +bister circles from beneath her eyes. Robert Maitland, lazily reclining +propped up against a boulder, his feet to the fire, smoking an old pipe +that would have given his brother the horrors, looked with approving +complacency upon her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> confident and satisfied that his prescription was +working well. Nor was he the only one who looked at her that way. Marion +and Emma, his two daughters, worshiped their handsome Philadelphia +cousin and they sat one on either side of her on the great log lying +between the tents and the fire. Even Bob junior condescended to give her +approving glances. The whole camp was at her feet. Mrs. Maitland had +been greatly taken by her young niece. Kirkby made no secret of his +devotion; Arthur Bradshaw and Henry Phillips, each a "tenderfoot" of the +extremest character, friends of business connections in the east, who +were spending their vacation with Maitland, shared in the general +devotion; to say nothing of George the cook, and Pete, the packer and +"horse wrangler."</p> + +<p>Phillips, who was an old acquaintance of Enid's, had tried his luck with +her back east and had sense enough to accept as final his failure. +Bradshaw was a solemn young man without that keen sense of humor which +was characteristic of the west. The others were suitably dressed for +adventure, but Bradshaw's idea of an appropriate costume was +distinguished chiefly by long green felt puttees which swathed his huge +calves and excited curious inquiry and ribald comment from the surprised +denizens of each mountain hamlet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> through which they had passed, to all +of which Bradshaw remained serenely oblivious. The young man, who does +not enter especially into this tale, was a vestryman of the church in +his home in the suburbs of Philadelphia. His piety had been put to a +severe strain in the mountains.</p> + +<p>That day everybody had to work on the trail—everybody wanted to for +that matter. The hardest labor consisted in the driving of the burros. +Unfortunately there was no good and trained leader among them through an +unavoidable mischance, and the campers had great difficulty in keeping +the burros on the trail. To Arthur Bradshaw had been allotted the most +obstinate, cross-grained and determined of the unruly band, and old +Kirkby and George paid particular attention to instructing him in the +gentle art of manipulating him over the rocky mountain trail.</p> + +<p>"Wall," said Kirkby with his somewhat languid, drawling, nasal voice, +"that there burro's like a ship w'ich I often seed 'em w'n I was a kid +down east afore I come out to God's country. Nature has pervided 'em +with a kind of a hellum. I remember if you wanted the boat to go to the +right you shoved the hellum over to the left. Sta'boad an' port was the +terms as I recollects 'em. It's jest the same with burros, you takes 'em +by the hellum, that's by the tail, git a good tight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> twist on it an' ef +you want him to head to the right, slew his stern sheets around to the +left, an' you got to be keerful you don't git no kick back w'ich if it +lands on you is worse 'n the ree-coil of a mule."</p> + +<p>Arthur faithfully followed directions, narrowly escaping the outraged +brute's small but sharp pointed heels on occasion. His efforts not being +productive of much success, finally in his despair he resorted to brute +strength; he would pick the little animal up bodily, pack and all—he +was a man of powerful physique—and swing him around until his head +pointed in the right direction; then with a prayer that the burro would +keep it there for a few rods anyway, he would set him down and start him +all over again. The process, oft repeated, became monotonous after a +while. Arthur was a slow thinking man, deliberate in action, he stood it +as long as he possibly could. Kirkby who rode one horse and led two +others, and therefore was exempt from burro driving, observed him with +great interest. He and Bradshaw had strayed way behind the rest of the +party.</p> + +<p>At last Arthur's resistance, patience and piety, strained to the +breaking point, gave way suddenly. Primitive instincts rose to the +surface and overwhelmed him like a flood. He deliberately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> sat down on a +fallen tree by the side of a trail, the burro halting obediently, turned +and faced him with hanging head apparently conscious that he merited the +disapprobation that was being heaped upon him, for from the desperate +tenderfoot there burst forth so amazing, so fluent, so comprehensive a +torrent of assorted profanity, that even the old past master in +objurgation was astonished and bewildered. Where did Bradshaw, mild and +inoffensive, get it? His proficiency would have appalled his Rector and +amazed his fellow vestrymen. Not the Jackdaw of Rheims himself was so +cursed as that little burro. Kirkby sat on his horse in fits of silent +laughter until the tears ran 'down his cheeks, the only outward and +visible expression of his mirth.</p> + +<p>Arthur only stopped when he had thoroughly emptied himself, possibly of +an accumulation of years of repression.</p> + +<p>"Wall," said Kirkby, "you sure do overmatch anyone I ever heard w'en it +comes to cursin'. W'y you could gimme cards an' spades an' beat me, an' +I was thought to have some gift that-a-way in the old days."</p> + +<p>"I didn't begin to exhaust myself," answered Bradshaw, shortly, "and +what I did say didn't equal the situation. I'm going home."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't do that," urged the old man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> "Here, you take the hosses an' +I'll tackle the burro."</p> + +<p>"Gladly," said Arthur. "I would rather ride an elephant and drive a herd +of them than waste another minute on this infernal little mule."</p> + +<p>The story was too good to keep, and around the camp fire that night +Kirkby drawled it forth. There was a freedom and easiness of intercourse +in the camp, which was natural enough. Cook, teamster, driver, host, +guest, men, women, children, and I had almost said burros, stood on the +same level. They all ate and lived together. The higher up the mountain +range you go, the deeper into the wilderness you plunge, the further +away from the conventional you draw, the more homogeneous becomes +society and the less obvious are the irrational and unscientific +distinctions of the lowlands. The guinea stamp fades and the man and the +woman are pure gold or base metal inherently and not by any artificial +standard.</p> + +<p>George, the cattle man who cooked, and Peter, the horse wrangler, who +assisted Kirkby in looking after the stock, enjoyed the episode +uproariously, and would fain have had the exact language repeated to +them, but here Robert Maitland demurred, much to Arthur's relief, for he +was thoroughly humiliated by the whole performance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was very pleasant lounging around the camp fire, and one good story +easily led to another.</p> + +<p>"It was in these very mountains," said Robert Maitland, at last, when +his turn came, "that there happened one of the strangest and most +terrible adventures that I ever heard of. I have pretty much forgotten +the lay of the land, but I think it wasn't very far from here that there +is one of the most stupendous caņons through the range. Nobody ever goes +there—I don't suppose anybody has ever been there since. It must have +been at least five years ago that it all happened."</p> + +<p>"It was four years an' nine months, exactly, Bob," drawled old Kirkby, +who well knew what was coming.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I dare say you are right. I was up at Evergreen at the time, +looking after timber interests, when a mule came wandering into the +camp, saddle and pack still on his back."</p> + +<p>"I knowed that there mule," said Kirkby. "I'd sold it to a feller named +Newbold, that had come out yere an' married Louise Rosser, old man +Rosser's daughter, an' him dead, an' she bein' an orphan, an' this +feller bein' a fine young man from the east, not a bit of a tenderfoot +nuther, a minin' engineer he called hisself."</p> + +<p>"Well, I happened to be there too, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> remember," continued Maitland, +"and they made up a party to go and hunt up the man, thinking something +might have happened."</p> + +<p>"You see," explained Kirkby, "we was all mighty fond of Louise Rosser. +The hull camp was actin' like a father to her at the time, so long's she +hadn't nobody else. We was all at the weddin', too, some six months +afore. The gal married him on her own hook, of course, nobody makin' +her, but somehow she didn't seem none too happy, although Newbold, who +was a perfect gent, treated her white as far as we knowed."</p> + +<p>The old man stopped again and resumed his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Kirkby, you tell the story," said Maitland.</p> + +<p>"Not me," said Kirkby. "I have seen men shot afore for takin' words +out'n other men's mouths an' I ain't never done that yit."</p> + +<p>"You always were one of the most silent men I ever saw," laughed George. +"Why, that day Pete yere got shot accidental an' had his whole breast +tore out w'en we was lumbering over on Black Mountain, all you said was, +'Wash him off, put some axle grease on him an' tie him up.'"</p> + +<p>"That's so," answered Pete, "an' there must have been somethin' powerful +soothin' in that axle grease, for here I am, safe an' sound, to this +day."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It takes an old man," assented Kirkby, "to know when to keep his mouth +shet. I learned it at the muzzle of a gun."</p> + +<p>"I never knew before," laughed Maitland, "how still a man you can be. +Well, to resume the story, having nothing to do, I went out with the +posse the sheriff gathered up—"</p> + +<p>"Him not thinkin' there had been any foul play," ejaculated the old man.</p> + +<p>"No, certainly not."</p> + +<p>"Well, what happened, Uncle Bob," inquired Enid.</p> + +<p>"Just you wait," said young Bob, who had heard the story. "This is an +awful good story, Cousin Enid."</p> + +<p>"I can't wait much longer," returned the girl. "Please go on."</p> + +<p>"Two days after we left the camp, we came across an awful figure, +ragged, blood stained, wasted to a skeleton, starved—"</p> + +<p>"I have seen men in extreme cases afore," interposed Kirkby, "but never +none like him."</p> + +<p>"Nor I," continued Maitland.</p> + +<p>"Was it Newbold?" asked Enid.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And what had happened to him?"</p> + +<p>"He and his wife had been prospecting in these very mountains, she had +fallen over a cliff and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> broken herself so terribly that Newbold had to +shoot her."</p> + +<p>"What!" exclaimed Bradshaw. "You don't mean that he actually killed +her?"</p> + +<p>"That's what he done," answered old Kirkby.</p> + +<p>"Poor man," murmured Enid.</p> + +<p>"But why?" asked Phillips.</p> + +<p>"They were five days away from a settlement, there wasn't a human being +within a hundred and fifty miles of them, not even an Indian," continued +Maitland. "She was so frightfully broken and mangled that he couldn't +carry her away."</p> + +<p>"But why couldn't he leave her and go for help?" asked Bradshaw.</p> + +<p>"The wolves, the bears, or the vultures would have got her. These woods +and mountains were full of them then and there are some of them, left +now, I guess."</p> + +<p>The two little girls crept closer to their grown up cousin, each casting +anxious glances beyond the fire light.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're all right, little gals," said Kirkby, reassuringly, "they +wouldn't come nigh us while this fire is burnin' an' they're pretty well +hunted out I guess; 'sides, there's men yere who'd like nothin' better'n +drawin' a bead on a big b'ar."</p> + +<p>"And so," continued Maitland, "when she begged him to shoot her, to put +her out of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> misery, he did so and then he started back to the +settlement to tell his story and stumbled on us looking after him."</p> + +<p>"What happened then?"</p> + +<p>"I went back to the camp," said Maitland. "We loaded Newbold on a mule +and took him with us. He was so crazy he didn't know what was happening, +he went over the shooting again and again in his delirium. It was +awful."</p> + +<p>"Did he die?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so," was the answer, "but really I know nothing further +about him. There were some good women in that camp, and we put him in +their hands, and I left shortly afterwards."</p> + +<p>"I kin tell the rest," said old Kirkby. "Knowin' more about the +mountains than most people hereabouts I led the men that didn't go back +with Bob an' Newbold to the place w'ere he said his woman fell, an' +there we found her, her body, leastways."</p> + +<p>"But the wolves?" queried the girl.</p> + +<p>"He'd drug her into a kind of a holler and piled rocks over her. He'd +gone down into the caņon, w'ich was somethin' frightful, an' then +climbed up to w'ere she'd lodged. We had plenty of rope, havin' brought +it along a purpose, an' we let ourselves down to the shelf where she was +a lyin'. We wrapped her body up in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> blankets an' roped it an' finally +drug her up on the old Injun trail, leastways I suppose it was made +afore there was any Injuns, an' brought her back to Evergreen camp, +w'ich the only thing about it that was green was the swing doors on the +saloon. We got a parson out from Denver an' give her a Christian +burial."</p> + +<p>"It that all?" asked Enid as the old man paused again.</p> + +<p>"Nope."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the man?" exclaimed the woman with quick intuition.</p> + +<p>"He recovered his senses so they told us, an' w'en we got back he'd +gone."</p> + +<p>"Where?" was the instant question.</p> + +<p>Old Kirkby stretched out his hands.</p> + +<p>"Don't ax me," he said. "He'd jest gone. I ain't never seed or heerd of +him sence. Poor little Louise Rosser, she did have a hard time."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Enid, "but I think the man had a harder time than she. He +loved her?"</p> + +<p>"It looked like it," answered Kirkby.</p> + +<p>"If you had seen him, his remorse, his anguish, his horror," said +Maitland, "you wouldn't have had any doubt about it. But it is getting +late. In the mountains everybody gets up at daybreak. Your sleeping bags +are in the tents, ladies, time to go to bed."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + +<p>As the party broke up, old Kirkby rose slowly to his feet. He looked +meaningly toward the young woman, upon whom the spell of the tragedy +still lingered, he nodded toward the brook, and then repeated his +speaking glance at her. His meaning was patent, although no one else had +seen the covert invitation.</p> + +<p>"Come, Kirkby," said the girl in quick response, "you shall be my +escort. I want a drink before I turn in. No, never mind," she said, as +Bradshaw and Phillips both volunteered, "not this time."</p> + +<p>The old frontiersman and the young girl strolled off together. They +stopped by the brink of the rushing torrent a few yards away. The noise +that it made drowned the low tones of their voices and kept the others, +busy preparing to retire, from hearing what they said.</p> + +<p>"That ain't quite all the story, Miss Enid," said the old trapper +meaningly. "There was another man."</p> + +<p>"What!" exclaimed the girl.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there wasn't nothin' wrong with Louise Rosser, w'ich she was Louise +Newbold, but there was another man. I suspected it afore, that's why she +was sad. W'en we found her body I knowed it."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>"These'll explain," said Kirkby. He drew out from his rough hunting coat +a package of soiled letters; they were carefully enclosed in an oil skin +and tied with a faded ribbon. "You see," he continued, holding them in +his hand, yet carefully concealing them from the people at the fire. +"W'en she fell off the cliff—somehow the mule lost his footin', nobody +never knowed how, leastways the mule was dead an' couldn't tell—she +struck on a spur or shelf about a hundred feet below the brink. +Evidently she was carryin' the letters in her dress. Her bosom was +frightfully tore open an' the letters was lying there. Newbold didn't +see 'em, because he went down into the caņon an' came up to the shelf, +or butte head, w'ere the body was lyin', but we dropped down. I was the +first man down an' I got 'em. Nobody else seein' me, an' there ain't no +human eyes, not even my wife's, that's ever looked on them letters, +except mine and now yourn."</p> + +<p>"You are going to give them to me?"</p> + +<p>"I am," said Kirkby.</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>"I want you to know the hull story."</p> + +<p>"But why, again?"</p> + +<p>"I rather guess them letters'll tell," answered the old man evasively, +"an' I like you, and I don't want to see you throwed away."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus2" id="illus2"></a> +<img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Read the letters," he said. "They'll tell the story. +Good night."</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked the girl, curiously, thrilling to the +solemnity of the moment, the seriousness, the kind affection of the old +frontiersman, the weird scene, the fire light, the tents gleaming +ghost-like, the black wall of the caņon and the tops of the mountain +range broadening out beneath the stars in the clear sky where they +twinkled above her head. The strange and terrible story, and now the +letters in her hand which somehow seemed to be imbued with human +feeling, greatly affected her! Kirkby patted her on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Read the letters," he said. "They'll tell the story. Good-night."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE POOL AND THE WATER SPRITE</h3> + + +<p>Long after the others in the camp had sunk into the profound slumber of +weary bodies and good consciences, a solitary candle in the small tent +occupied by Enid Maitland alone, gave evidence that she was busy over +the letters which Kirkby had handed to her.</p> + +<p>It was a very thoughtful girl indeed who confronted the old frontiersman +the next morning. At the first convenient opportunity when they were +alone together she handed him the packet of letters.</p> + +<p>"Have you read 'em?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Wall, you keep 'em," said the old man gravely. "Mebbe you'll want to +read 'em agin."</p> + +<p>"But I don't understand why you want me to have them."</p> + +<p>"Wall, I'm not quite sure myself why, but leastways I do an'—"</p> + +<p>"I shall be very glad to keep them," said the girl still more gravely, +slipping them into one of the pockets of her hunting shirt as she +spoke.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>The packet was not bulky, the letters were not many nor were they of any +great length. She could easily carry them on her person and in some +strange and inexplicable way she was rather glad to have them. She could +not, as she had said, see any personal application to herself in them, +and yet in some way she did feel that the solution of the mystery would +be hers some day. Especially did she think this on account of the +strange but quiet open emphasis of the old hunter.</p> + +<p>There was much to do about the camp in the mornings. Horses and burros +to be looked after, fire wood to be cut, plans for the day arranged, +excursions planned, mountain climbs projected. Later on unwonted hands +must be taught to cast the fly for the mountain trout which filled the +brook and pool, and all the varied duties, details and fascinating +possibilities of camp life must be explained to the new-comers.</p> + +<p>The first few days were days of learning and preparation, days of mishap +and misadventure, of joyous laughter over blunders in getting settled, +or learning the mysteries of rod and line, of becoming hardened and +acclimated. The weather proved perfect; it was late October and the +nights were very cold, but there was no rain and the bright sunny days +were invigorating and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> exhilarating to the last degree. They had huge +fires and plenty of blankets and the colder it was in the night the +better they slept.</p> + +<p>It was an intensely new experience for the girl from Philadelphia, but +she showed a marked interest and adaptability, and entered with the +keenest zest into all the opportunities of the charming days. She was a +good sportswoman and she soon learned to throw a fly with the best of +them. Old Kirkby took her under his especial protection, and as he was +one of the best rods in the mountains, she enjoyed every advantage.</p> + +<p>She had always lived in the midst of life. Except in the privacy of her +own chamber she had rarely ever been alone before—not twenty feet from +a man: she thought whimsically; but here the charm of solitude attracted +her, she liked to take her rod and wander off alone. She actually +enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>The main stream that flowed down the caņon was fed by many affluents +from the mountain sides, and in each of them voracious trout appeared. +She explored them as she had opportunity. Sometimes with the others but +more often by herself. She discovered charming and exquisite nooks, +little stretches of grass, the size perhaps of a small room, flower +decked, ferny bordered, overshadowed by tall gaunt pine trees,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> the +sunlight filtering through their thin foliage, checkering the verdant +carpet beneath. Huge moss covered boulders, wet with the everdashing +spray of the roaring brooks, lay in mid-stream and with other natural +stepping stones hard-by invited her to cross to either shore. Waterfalls +laughed musically in her ears, deep still pools tempted her skill and +address.</p> + +<p>Sometimes leaving rod and basket by the waterside, she climbed some +particularly steep acclivity of the caņon wall and stood poised, wind +blown, a nymph of the woods, upon some pinnacle of rock rising needle +like at the caņon's edge above the sea of verdure which the wind waved +to and fro beneath her feet. There in the bright light, with the breeze +blowing her golden hair, she looked like some Norse goddess, blue eyed, +exhilarated, triumphant.</p> + +<p>She was a perfectly formed woman on the ancient noble lines of Milo +rather than the degenerate softness of Medici. She grew stronger of limb +and fuller of breath, quicker and steadier of eye and hand, cooler of +nerve, in these demanding, compelling adventures among the rocks in this +mountain air. She was not a tall woman, indeed slightly under rather +than over the medium size, but she was so ideally proportioned, she +carried herself with the fearlessness of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> young chamois, that she +looked taller than she was. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh +upon her, yet she had the grace of Hebe, the strength of Pallas Athene, +and the swiftness of motion of Atalanta. Had she but carried bow and +spear, had she worn tunic and sandals, she might have stood for Diana +and she would have had no cause to blush by comparison with the finest +model of Praxiteles' chisel or the most splendid and glowing example of +Appelles' brush.</p> + +<p>Uncle Robert was delighted with her. His contribution to her western +outfit was a small Winchester. She displayed astonishing aptitude under +his instructions and soon became wonderfully proficient with that deadly +weapon and with a revolver also. There was little danger to be +apprehended in the daytime among the mountains the more experienced men +thought, still it was wise for the girl always to have a weapon in +readiness, so in her journeyings, either the Winchester was slung from +her shoulder or carried in her hand, or else the Colt dangled at her +hip. At first she took both, but finally it was with reluctance that she +could be persuaded to take either. Nothing had ever happened. Save for a +few birds now and then she had seemed the only tenant of the +wildernesses of her choice.</p> + +<p>One night after a camping experience of nearly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> two weeks in the +mountains, and just before the time for breaking up and going back to +civilization, she announced that early the next morning she was going +down the caņon for a day's fishing excursion.</p> + +<p>None of the party had ever followed the little river very far, but it +was known that some ten miles below the stream merged in a lovely +gem-like lake in a sort of crater in the mountains. From thence by a +series of waterfalls it descended through the foothills to the distant +plains beyond. The others had arranged to climb one especially dangerous +and ambition provoking peak which towered above them and which had never +before been surmounted so far as they knew. Enid enjoyed mountain +climbing. She liked the uplift in feeling that came from going higher +and higher till some crest was gained, but on this occasion they urged +her to accompany them in vain.</p> + +<p>When the fixity of her decision was established she had a number of +offers to accompany her, but declined them all, bidding the others go +their way. Mrs. Maitland, who was not feeling very well, old Kirkby, who +had climbed too many mountains to feel much interest in that game, and +Pete, the horse wrangler, who had to look after the stock, remained in +camp; the others, with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> exception of Enid, started at daybreak for +their long ascent. She waited until the sun was about an hour high and +then bade good-by to the three and began the descent of the caņon. +Traveling light for she was going far—farther indeed than she knew—she +left her Winchester at home, but carried the revolver with the fishing +tackle and substantial luncheon.</p> + +<p>Now the river—a river by courtesy only—and the caņon turned sharply +back on themselves just beyond the little meadow where the camp was +pitched. Past the tents that had been their home for this joyous period +the river ran due east for a few hundred feet, after which it curved +sharply, doubled back and flowed westward for several miles before it +gradually swung around to the east on its proper course again.</p> + +<p>It had been Enid's purpose to cut across the hills and strike the river +where it turned eastward once more, avoiding the long detour back. In +fact she had declared her intention of doing that to Kirkby and he had +given her careful directions so that she should not get lost in the +mountains.</p> + +<p>But she had plenty of time and no excuse or reason for saving it; she +never tired of the charm of the caņon; therefore, instead of plunging +directly over the spur of the range, she followed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> the familiar trail +and after she had passed westward far beyond the limits of the camp to +the turning, she decided, in accordance with that utterly irresponsible +thing, a woman's will, that she would not go down the caņon that day +after all, but that she would cross back over the range and strike the +river a few miles above the camp and go up the caņon instead.</p> + +<p>She had been up in that direction a few times, but only for a short +distance, as the ascent above the camp was very sharp; in fact for a +little more than a mile the brook was only a succession of waterfalls; +the best fishing was below the camp and the finest woods were deeper in +the caņon. She suddenly concluded that she would like to see what was up +in that unexplored section of the country and so, with scarcely a +momentary hesitation, she abandoned her former plan and began the ascent +of the range.</p> + +<p>Upon decisions so lightly taken what momentous consequences depend? +Whether she should go up the stream or down the stream, whether she +should follow the rivulet to its source or descend it to its mouth, was +apparently a matter of little moment, yet her whole life turned +absolutely upon that decision. The idle and unconsidered choice of the +hour was fraught with gravest possibilities. Had that election been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +made with any suspicion, with any foreknowledge, had it come as the +result of careful reasoning or far-seeing of probabilities, it might +have been understandable, but an impulse, a whim, the vagrant idea of an +idle hour, the careless chance of a moment, and behold! a life is +changed. On one side were youth and innocence, freedom and contentment, +a happy day, a good rest by the cheerful fire at night; on the other, +peril of life, struggle, love, jealousy, self-sacrifice, devotion, +suffering, knowledge—scarcely Eve herself when she stood apple in hand +with ignorance and pleasure around her and enlightenment and sorrow +before her, had greater choice to make.</p> + +<p>How fortunate we are that the future is veiled, that the psalmist's +prayer that he might know his end and be certified how long he had to +live is one that will not and cannot be granted; that it has been given +to but One to foresee His own future, for no power apparently could +enable us to stand up against what might be, because we are only human +beings not sufficiently alight with the spark divine. We wait for the +end because we must, but thank God we know it not until it comes.</p> + +<p>Nothing of this appeared to the girl that bright sunny morning. Fate hid +in those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> mountains under the guise of fancy. Lighthearted, carefree, +fitted with buoyant joy over every fact of life, she left the flowing +water and scaled the cliff beyond which in the wilderness she was to +find, after all, the world.</p> + +<p>The ascent was longer and more difficult and dangerous than she had +imagined when she first confronted it, perhaps it was typical and +foretold her progress. More than once she had to stop and carefully +examine the face of the caņon wall for a practicable trail; more than +once she had to exercise extremest care in her climb, but she was a bold +and fearless mountaineer by this time and at last surmounting every +difficulty she stood panting slightly, a little tired but triumphant, +upon the summit.</p> + +<p>The ground was rocky and broken, the timber line was close above her and +she judged that she must be several miles from the camp. The caņon was +very crooked, she could see only a few hundred yards of it in any +direction. She scanned her circumscribed limited horizon eagerly for the +smoke from the great fire that they always kept burning in the camp, but +not a sign of it was visible. She was evidently a thousand feet above +the river whence she had come. Her standing ground was a rocky ridge +which fell away more gently on the other side for perhaps two hundred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +feet toward the same brook. She could see through vistas in the trees +the up-tossed peaks of the main range, bare, chaotic, snow covered, +lonely, majestic, terrible.</p> + +<p>The awe of the everlasting hills is greater than that of the heaving +sea. Save in the infrequent periods of calm, the latter always moves, +the mountains are the same for all time. The ocean is quick, noisy, +living; the mountains are calm, still—dead.</p> + +<p>The girl stood as it were on the roof of the world, a solitary human +being, so far as she knew, in the eye of God above her. Ah, but the Eyes +Divine look long and see far; things beyond the human ken are all +revealed. None of the party had ever come this far from the camp in this +direction she knew. And she was glad to be the first, as she fatuously +thought, to observe that majestic solitude.</p> + +<p>Surveying the great range she wondered where the peak climbers might be. +Keen sighted though she was she could not discover them. The crest that +they were attempting lay in another direction hidden by a nearer spur. +She was in the very heart of the mountains; peaks and ridges rose all +about her, so much so that the general direction of the great range was +lost. She was at the center of a far flung concavity of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> crest and +range. She marked one towering point to the right of her that rose +massively grand above all the others. To-morrow she would climb to that +high point and from its lofty elevation look upon the heavens above and +the earth beneath, aye and the waters under the earth far below. +To-morrow!—it is generally known that we do not usually attempt the +high points in life's range at once, content are we with lower altitudes +to-day.</p> + +<p>There was no sound above her, the rushing water over the rocks upon the +nearer side she could hear faintly beneath her, there was no wind about +her, to stir the long needles of the pines. It was very still, the kind +of a stillness of body which is the outward and visible complement of +that stillness of the soul in which men know God. There had been no +earthquake, no storm, the mountains had not heaved beneath her feet, the +great and strong wind had not passed by, the rocks had not been rent and +broken, yet Enid caught herself listening as if for a Voice. The thrall +of majesty, silence, loneliness was upon her. She stood—one stands when +there is a chance of meeting God on the way, one does not kneel until He +comes—with her raised hands clasped, her head uplifted in exultation +unspeakable, God-conquered with her face to heaven upturned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will lift up mine eyes to the hills whence cometh my salvation," her +heart sang voicelessly. "We praise Thee, O God, we magnify Thy Holy Name +forever," floated through her brain, in great appreciation of the +marvelous works of the Almighty Shaping Master Hand. Caught up as it +were into the heavens, her soul leaped to meet its maker. Thinking to +find God she waited there on the heaven-kissing hill.</p> + +<p>How long she stayed she did not realize; she took no note of time, it +did not occur to her even to look at the watch on her wrist; she had +swept the skyline cut off as it were by the peaks when first she came, +and when at last she turned away—even divinest moments must have an +end—she looked not backward. She saw not a little cloud hid on the +horizon behind the rampart of ages, as it were, no bigger than a man's +hand, a cloud full of portent and which would alarm greatly the veteran +Kirkby in the camp and Maitland on the mountain top. Both of them +unfortunately were unable to see it, one being on the other side of the +range, and the other deep in the caņon, and for both of them as for the +girl the sun still shone brightly.</p> + +<p>The declivity to the river on the upper side was comparatively easy and +Enid Maitland went slowly and thoughtfully down to it until she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> reached +the young torrent. She got her tackle ready, but did no casting as she +made her way slowly up the ever narrowing, ever rising caņon. She was +charmed and thrilled by the wild beauty of the way, the spell of the +mountains was deep upon her. Thoughtfully she wandered on until, +presently she came to another little amphitheater like that where the +camp was pitched, only smaller. Strange to say the brook, or river, here +broadened into a little pool perhaps twenty feet across; a turn had +thrown a full force of water against the huge boulder wall and in ages +of effort a giant cup had been hollowed out of the native rock. The pool +was perhaps four or five feet deep, the rocky bottom worn smooth, the +clearing was upon the opposite side and the banks were heavily wooded +beyond the spur of the rock which formed the back of the pool. She could +see the trout in it. She made ready to try her fortune, but before she +did so an idea came to her—daring, unconventional, extraordinary, begot +of innocence and inexperience.</p> + +<p>The water of course was very cold, but she had been accustomed all her +life to taking a bath at the natural temperature of the water at +whatever season. She knew that the only people in that wilderness were +the members of her own party; three of them were at the camp below, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +others were ascending a mountain miles away. The caņon was deep sunk, +and she satisfied herself by careful observation that the pool was not +overlooked by any elevations far or near.</p> + +<p>Her ablutions in common with those of the rest of the campers had been +by piecemeal of necessity. Here was an opportunity for a plunge in a +natural bath tub. She was as certain that she would be under no +observation as if she were in the privacy of her own chamber. Here again +impulse determined the end. In spite of her assurance there was some +little apprehension in the glance that she cast about her, but it soon +vanished. There was no one. She was absolutely alone. The pool and the +chance of the plunge had brought her down to earth again; the thought of +the enlivening exhilaration of the pure cold water dashing against her +own sweet warm young body changed the current of her thoughts—the +anticipation of it rather.</p> + +<p>Impulsively she dropped her rod upon the grass, unpinned her cap, threw +the fishing basket from her shoulder. She was wearing a stout sweater; +that too joined the rest. Nervous hands manipulated buttons and the +fastenings. In a few moments the sweet figure of youth, of beauty, of +purity and of innocence brightened the sod and shed a white luster upon +the green of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> grass and moss and pines, reflecting light to the gray +brown rocks of the range. So Eve may have looked on some bright Eden +morning. A few steps forward and this nymph of the woods, this naiad of +the mountains, plunged into the clear, cold waters of the pool—a water +sprite and her fountain!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE BEAR, THE MAN AND THE FLOOD</h3> + + +<p>The water was deep enough to receive her dive and the pool was long +enough to enable her to swim a few strokes. The first chill of the icy +water was soon lost in the vigorous motions in which she indulged, but +no mere human form however hardened and inured could long endure that +frigid bath. Reluctantly, yet with the knowledge that she must go, after +one more sweeping dive and a few magnificent strokes, she raised her +head from the water lapping her white shoulders, and shaking her face +clear from the drops of crystal, faced the shore. It was no longer +untenanted, she was no longer alone.</p> + +<p>What she saw startled and alarmed her beyond measure. Planted on her +clothes, looking straight at her, having come upon her in absolute +silence, nothing having given her the least warning of his approach, and +now gazing at her with red, hungry, evil, vicious eyes, the eyes of the +covetous filled with the cruel lust of desire and carnal possession, and +yet with a glint of surprise in them, too, as if he did not know quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +what to make of the white loveliness of this unwonted apparition +flashing so suddenly at him out of the water, this strange invader of +the domain of which he fancied he was sole master and lord paramount, +stood a great, monstrous frightful looking Grizzly Bear. <i>Ursus +Horribilis</i>, indeed.</p> + +<p>He was an aged monarch of the mountains, reddish brown in color +originally, but now a hoary dirty gray. His body was massive and burly, +his legs short, dark colored and immensely powerful. His broad square +head moved restlessly. His fanged mouth opened and a low hoarse growl +came from the red cavern of his throat. He was an old and terrible +monster who had tasted the blood of man and who would not hesitate to +attack even without provocation especially anything at once so harmless +and so whitely inviting as the girl in the pool.</p> + +<p>The girl forgot the chill of the water in the horror of that moment. +Alone, naked, defenseless, lost in the mountains, with the most +powerful, sanguinary and ferocious beast of the continent in front of +her, she could neither fight nor fly, she could only wait his pleasure. +He snuffed at her clothing a moment and stood with one fore foot +advanced for a second or two growling deeply, evidently, she thought +with almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> superhuman keenness of perception, preparing to leap into +the pool and seize upon her.</p> + +<p>The rush of the current as it swirled about her caused her to sway +gently, otherwise she stood motionless and apprehensive, terribly +expectant. She had made no sound, and save for that low growl the great +beast had been equally silent. There was an awful fixity in the gaze she +turned upon him and he wavered under it. It annoyed him. It bespoke a +little of the dominance of the human. But she was too surprised, too +unnerved, too desperately frightened to put forth the full power of mind +over matter. There was piteous appeal in her gaze. The bear realized +this and mastered her sufficiently.</p> + +<p>She did not know whether she was in the water or in the air, there were +but two points upon which her consciousness was focussed in the vast +ellipse of her imagination. Another moment or two and all coherency of +thought would be gone. The grizzly, still unsettled and uneasy before +her awful glance, but not deterred by it, turned its great head sideways +a little to escape the direct immobile stare, brought his sharp clawed +foot down heavily and lurched forward.</p> + +<p>Scarcely had a minute elapsed in which all this happened. That huge +threatening heave of the great body toward her relieved the tension. +She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> found voice at last. Although it was absolutely futile she realized +as she cried, her released lips framed the loud appeal.</p> + +<p>"Help! for God's sake."</p> + +<p>Although she knew she cried but to the bleak walls of the caņon, the +drooping pines, the rushing river, the distant heaven, the appeal went +forth accompanied by the mightiest conjuration known to man.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Help!"</p> + +<p>How dare poor humanity so plead, the doubter cries. What is it to God if +one suffers, another bleeds, another dies. What answer could come out of +that silent sky?</p> + +<p>Sometimes the Lord speaks with the loud voice of men's fashioning, +instead of in that still whisper which is His own and the sound of which +we fail to catch because of our own ignoble babble!</p> + +<p>The answer to her prayer came with a roar in her nervous frightened ear +like a clap of thunder. Ere the first echo of it died away, it was +succeeded by another and another and another, echoing, rolling, +reverberating among the rocks in ever diminishing but long drawn out +peals.</p> + +<p>On the instant the bear rose to his feet, swayed slightly and struck as +at an imaginary enemy with his weighty paws. A hoarse, frightful +guttering roar burst from his red slavering jaws, then he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> lurched +sideways and fell forward, fighting the air madly for a moment, and lay +still.</p> + +<p>With staring eyes that missed no detail, she saw that the brute had been +shot in the head and shoulder three times, and that he was apparently +dead. The revulsion that came over her was bewildering; she swayed +again, this time not from the thrust of the water but with sick +faintness. The tension suddenly taken off, unstrung, the loose bow of +her spirit quivered helplessly; the arrow of her life almost fell into +the stream.</p> + +<p>And then a new and more appalling terror swept over her. Some man had +fired that shot. Actæon had spied upon Diana. With this sudden +revelation of her shame, the red blood beat to the white surface in +spite of the chill water. The anguish of that moment was greater than +before. She could be killed, torn to pieces, devoured, that was a small +thing, but that she should be so outraged in her modesty was +unendurable. She wished the hunter had not come. She sunk lower in the +water for a moment fain to hide in its crystal clarity and realized as +she did how frightfully cold she was. Yet, although she froze where she +was and perished with cold she could not go out on the bank to dress, +and it would avail her little she saw swiftly, since the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> huge monster +had fallen a dead heap on her clothes.</p> + +<p>Now all this, although it takes minutes to tell, had happened in but a +few seconds. Seconds sometimes include hours, even a life time, in their +brief composition. She thought it would be just as well for her to sink +down and die in the water, when a sudden splashing below her caused her +to look down the stream.</p> + +<p>She was so agitated that she could make out little except that there was +a man crossing below her and making directly toward the body of the +bear. He was a tall black bearded man, she saw he carried a rifle, he +looked neither to the right nor to the left, he did not bestow a glance +upon her. She could have cried aloud in thanksgiving for his apparent +obliviousness to her as she crouched now neck deep in the benumbing +cold. The man stepped on the bank, shook himself like a great dog might +have done and marched over to the bear. He up-rooted a small near-by +pine, with the ease of a Hercules—and she had time to mark and marvel +at it in spite of everything—and then with that as a lever he +unconcernedly and easily heaved the body of the monster from off her +clothing. She was to learn later what a feat of strength it was to move<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +that inert carcass weighing much more than half a ton.</p> + +<p>Thereafter he dropped the pine tree by the side of the dead grizzly and +without a backward look tramped swiftly and steadily up the caņon +through the trees, turning at the point of it, and was instantly lost to +sight. His gentle and generous purpose was obvious even to the +frightened, agitated, excited girl.</p> + +<p>The woman watched him until he disappeared, a few seconds longer, and +then she hurled herself through the water and stepped out upon the +shore. Her sweater, which the bear had dragged forward in its advance, +lay on top of the rest of her clothes covered with blood. She threw it +aside and with nervous, frantic energy, wet, cold, though she was, she +jerked on in some fashion enough clothes to cover her nakedness and then +with more leisurely order and with necessary care she got the rest of +her apparel in its accustomed place upon her body, and then when it was +all over she sank down prone and prostrate upon the grass by the carcass +of the now harmless monster which had so nearly caused her undoing, and +shivered, cried and sobbed as if her heart would break.</p> + +<p>She was chilled to the bone by her motionless sojourn, albeit it had +been for scarcely more than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> a minute, in that icy water, and yet the +blood rushed to her brow and face, to every hidden part of her in waves +as she thought of it. It was a good thing that she cried, she was not a +weeping woman, her tears came slowly as a rule and then came hard. She +rather prided herself upon her stoicism, but in this instance the great +deeps of her nature had been undermined and the fountains thereof were +fain to break forth.</p> + +<p>How long she lay there, warmth coming gradually to her under the direct +rays of the sun, she did not know, and it was a strange thing that +caused her to arise. It grew suddenly dark over her head. She looked up +and a rim of frightful, black, dense clouds had suddenly blotted out the +sun. The clouds were lined with gold and silver and the long rays shot +from behind the somber blind over the yet uncovered portions of the +heaven, but the clouds moved with the irresistible swiftness and +steadiness of a great deluge. The wall of them lowered above her head +while they extended steadily and rapidly across the sky toward the other +side of the caņon and the mountain wall.</p> + +<p>A storm was brewing such as she had never seen, such as she had no +experience to enable her to realize its malign possibilities. Nay, it +was now at hand. She had no clew, however, of what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> was toward, how +terrible a danger overshadowed her. Frightened but unconscious of all +the menace of the hour her thoughts flew down the caņon to the camp. She +must hasten there. She looked for her watch which she had picked from +the grass and which she had not yet put on; the grizzly had stepped upon +it, it was irretrievably ruined. She judged from her last glimpse of the +sun that it must now be early afternoon. She rose to her feet and +staggered with weakness, she had eaten nothing since morning, and the +nervous shock and strain through which she had gone had reduced her to a +pitiable condition.</p> + +<p>Her luncheon had fortunately escaped unharmed. In a big pocket of her +short skirt there was a small flask of whiskey, which her Uncle Robert +had required her to take with her. She felt sick and faint, but she knew +that she must eat if she was to make the journey, difficult as it might +prove, back to the camp. She forced herself to take the first mouthful +of bread and meat she had brought with her, but when she had tasted she +needed no further incentive, she ate to the last crumb; she thought this +was the time she needed stimulants too, and mingling the cold water from +the brook with a little of the ardent spirit from the flask she drank. +Some of the chill had worn off, some of the fatigue had gone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>She rose to her feet and started down the caņon; her bloody sweater +still lay on the ground with other things of which she was heedless. It +had grown colder but she realized that the climb down the caņon would +put her stagnant blood in circulation and all would be well.</p> + +<p>Before she began the descent of the pass, she cast one long glance +backward whither the man had gone. Whence came he, who was he, what had +he seen, where was he now? She thanked God for his interference in one +breath and hated him for his presence in the other.</p> + +<p>The whole sky was now black with drifting clouds, lightning flashed +above her head, muttered peals of thunder, terrifically ominous, rocked +through the silent hills. The noise was low and subdued but almost +continuous. With a singular and uneasy feeling that she was being +observed, she started down the caņon, plunging desperately through the +trees, leaping the brook from side to side where it narrowed, seeking +ever the easiest way. She struggled on, panting with sudden inexplicable +terror almost as bad as that which had overwhelmed her an hour +before—and growing more intense every moment, to such a tragic pass had +the day and its happenings brought her.</p> + +<p>Poor girl, awful experience really was to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> hers that day. The Fates +sported with her—bodily fear, outraged modesty, mental anguish and now +the terror of the storm.</p> + +<p>The clouds seemed to sink lower, until they almost closed about her. +Long gray ghostly arms reached out toward her. It grew darker and darker +in the depths of the caņon. She screamed aloud—in vain.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the rolling thunder peals concentrated, balls of fire leaped +out of the heavens and struck the mountains where she could actually see +them. There are not words to describe the tremendous crashings which +seemed to splinter the hills, to be succeeded by brief periods of +silence, to be followed by louder and more terrific detonations.</p> + +<p>In one of those appalling alternations from sound to silence she heard a +human cry—an answering cry to her own! It came from the hills behind +her. It must proceed, she thought, from the man. She could not meet that +man; although she craved human companionship as never before, she did +not want his. She could not bear it. Better the wrath of God, the fury +of the tempest.</p> + +<p>Heedless of the sharp note of warning, of appeal, in the voice ere it +was drowned by another roll of thunder, she plunged on in the darkness. +The caņon narrowed here, she made her way down the ledges, leaping +recklessly from rock to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> rock, slipping, falling, grazing now one side, +now the other, hurling herself forward with white face and bruised body +and torn hands and throbbing heart that would fain burst its bonds. +There was once an ancient legend of a human creature, menaced by all the +furies, pitilessly pursued by every malefic spirit of earth and air; +like him this sweet young girl, innocent, lovely, erstwhile happy, fled +before the storm.</p> + +<p>And then the heavens opened, the fountains of the great deeps were +broken down, and with absolute literalness the floods descended. The +bursting clouds, torn asunder by the wild winds, riven by the pent up +lightning within their black and turgid breasts, disburdened themselves. +The water came down, as it did of old when God washed the face of the +world, in a flood. The narrow of the caņon was filled ten, twenty, +thirty feet in a moment by the cloud burst. The black water rolled and +foamed, surging like the rapids at Niagara.</p> + +<p>The body of the girl, utterly unprepared, was caught up in a moment and +flung like a bolt from a catapult down the seething sea filled with the +trunks of the trees and the débris of the mountains, tossing almost +humanly in the wild confusion. She struck out strongly, swimming more +because of the instinct of life than for any other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> reason. A helpless +atom in the boiling flood. Growing every minute greater and greater as +the angry skies disgorged themselves of their pent up torrents upon her +devoted head.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>DEATH, LIFE AND THE RESURRECTION</h3> + + +<p>The man was coming back from one of his rare visits to the settlements. +Ahead of him he drove a train of burros who, well broken to their work, +followed with docility the wise old leader in the advance. The burros +were laden with his supplies for the approaching winter. The season was +late, the mountains would soon be impassable on account of the snow, +indeed he chose the late season always for his buying in order that he +might not be followed and it was his habit to buy in different places in +different years that his repeated and expected presence at one spot +might not arouse suspicion.</p> + +<p>Intercourse with his fellow men was limited to this yearly visit to a +settlement and even that was of the briefest nature, confined always to +the business in hand. Even when busy in the town he pitched a small tent +in the open on the outskirts and dwelt apart. No men there in those days +pried into the business of other men too closely. Curiosity was neither +safe nor necessary. If he aroused transient interest or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> speculation it +soon died away. He vanished into the mountains and as he came no more to +that place, he was soon forgotten.</p> + +<p>Withdrawing from his fellow men and avoiding their society, this man was +never so satisfied as when alone in the silent hills. His heart and +spirit rose with every step he made away from the main traveled roads or +the more difficult mountain trails.</p> + +<p>For several days he journeyed through the mountains, choosing the +wildest and most inaccessible parts for his going. Amid the caņons and +peaks he threaded his way with unerring accuracy, ascending higher and +higher until at last he reached the mountain aerie, the lonely +hermitage, where he made his home. There he reveled in his isolation. +What had been punishment, expiation, had at last become pleasure.</p> + +<p>Civilization was bursting through the hills in every direction, railways +were being pushed hither and thither, the precious metals were being +discovered at various places and after them came hoards of men and with +them—God save the mark—women; but his section of the country had +hitherto been unvisited even by hunters, explorers, miners or pleasure +seekers. He was glad, he had grown to love the spot where he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> made +his home, and he had no wish to be forced, like little Joe, to move on.</p> + +<p>Once a man who loved the strife, noble or ignoble, of the madding crowd, +he had grown accustomed to silence, habituated to solitude. Winter and +summer alike he roamed the mountains, delving into every forest, +exploring every hidden caņon, surmounting every inaccessible peak; no +storm, no snow, no condition of wind or weather daunted him or stopped +him. He had no human companionship by which to try his mettle, but +nevertheless over the world of the material which lay about him he was a +master as he was a man.</p> + +<p>He found some occupation, too, in the following of old Adam's +inheritance, during the pleasant months of summer he made such garden as +he could. His profession of mining engineer gave him other employment. +Round about him lay treasures inestimable, precious metals abounded in +the hills. He had located them, tested, analyzed, estimated the wealth +that was his for the taking—it was as valueless to him as the doubloons +and golden guineas were to Selkirk on his island. Yet the knowledge that +it was there gave him an energizing sense of potential power, +unconsciously enormously flattering to his self esteem.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sometimes he wandered to the extreme verge of the range and on clear +days saw far beneath him the smoke of great cities of the plains. He +could be a master among men as he was a master among mountains, if he +chose. On such occasions he laughed cynically, scornfully, yet rarely +did he ever give way to such emotion.</p> + +<p>A great and terrible sorrow was upon him; cherishing a great passion he +had withdrawn himself from the common lot to dwell upon it. From a +perverted sense of expiation, in a madness of grief, horror and despair, +he had made himself a prisoner to his ideas in the desert of the +mountains. Back to his cabin he would hasten, and there surrounded by +his living memories—deathless yet of the dead!—he would recreate the +past until dejection drove him abroad on the hills to meet God if not +man—or woman. Night-day, sunshine-shadow, heat-cold, storm-calm; these +were his life.</p> + +<p>Having disburdened his faithful animals of their packs and having seen +them safely bestowed for the winter in the corral he had built near the +base of the cliff upon which his rude home was situated, he took his +rifle one morning for one of those lonely walks across the mountains +from which he drew such comfort because he fancied the absence of man +conduced to the nearness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> God. It was a delusion as old nearly as the +Christian religion. Many had made themselves hermits in the past in +remorse for sin and for love toward God; this man had buried himself in +the wilderness in part for the first of these causes, in other part for +the love of woman. In these days of swift and sudden change he had been +constant to a remembrance and abiding in his determination for five +swift moving years. The world for him had stopped its progress in one +brief moment five years back—the rest was silence. What had happened +since then out yonder where people were mated he did not know and he did +not greatly care.</p> + +<p>In his visits to the settlements he asked no questions, he bought no +papers, he manifested no interest in the world; something in him had +died in one fell moment, and there had been, as yet, no resurrection. +Yet life, and hope, and ambition do not die, they are indeed eternal. +<i>Resurgam!</i></p> + +<p>Life with its tremendous activities, its awful anxieties, its wearing +strains, its rare triumphs, its opportunities for achievement, for +service; hope with its illuminations, its encouragements, its +expectations; ambition with its stimulus, its force, its power; and +greatest of all love, itself alone—all three were latent in him. In +touch with a woman these had gone. Something as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> powerful and as human +must bring them back.</p> + +<p>It was against nature that a man dowered as he should so live to himself +alone. Some voice should cry to his soul in its cerements of futile +remorse, vain expiations and benumbing recollection; some day he should +burst these grave clothes self-wound about him and be once more a man +and a master among men, rather than the hermit and the recluse of the +solitudes.</p> + +<p>He did not allow these thoughts to come into his life, indeed it is +quite likely that he scarcely realized them at all yet; such +possibilities did not present themselves to him; perhaps the man was a +little mad that morning, maybe he trembled on the verge of a +break—upward, downward I know not so it be away—unconsciously as he +strode along the range.</p> + +<p>He had been walking for some hours, and as he grew thirsty it occurred +to him to descend to the level of the brook which he heard below him and +of which he sometimes caught a flashing glimpse through the trees. He +scrambled down the rocks and found himself in a thick grove of pine. +Making his way slowly and with great difficulty through the tangle of +fallen timber which lay in every direction, the sound of a human voice, +the last thing on earth to be expected in that wilderness, smote upon +the fearful hollow of his ear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>Any voice or any word then and there would have surprised him, but there +was a note of awful terror in this voice, a sound of frightened appeal. +The desperation in the cry left him no moment for thought, the demand +was for action. The cry was not addressed to him, apparently, but to +God, yet it was he who answered—sent doubtless by that Over-looking +Power who works in such mysterious ways His wonders to perform!</p> + +<p>He leaped over the intervening trees to the edge of the forest where the +rapid waters ran. To the right of him rose a huge rock, or cliff, in +front of him the caņon bent sharply to the north, and beneath him a few +rods away a speck of white gleamed above the water of a deep and still +pool that he knew.</p> + +<p><i>There was a woman there!</i></p> + +<p>He had time for but the swiftest glance, he had surmised that the voice +was not that of a man's voice instantly he heard it, and now he was +sure. She stood white breast deep in the water staring ahead of her. The +next instant he saw what had alarmed her—a Grizzly Bear, the largest, +fiercest, most forbidding specimen he had ever seen. There were a few of +those monsters still left in the range, he himself had killed several.</p> + +<p>The woman had not seen him. He was a silent man by long habit; +accustomed to saying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> nothing, he said nothing now. But instantly aiming +from the hip with a wondrous skill and a perfect mastery of the weapon, +and indeed it was a short range for so huge a target, he pumped bullet +after bullet from his heavy Winchester into the evil monarch of the +mountains. The first shot did for him, but making assurance doubly and +trebly sure, he fired again and again. Satisfied at last that the bear +was dead, and observing that he had fallen upon the clothes of the +bather, he turned, descended the stream for a few yards until he came to +a place where it was easily fordable, stepped through it without a +glance toward the woman shivering in the water, whose sensation, so far +as a mere man could, he thoroughly understood and appreciated, and whose +modesty he fain would spare, having not forgotten to be a gentleman in +five years of his own society—high test of quality, that.</p> + +<p>He climbed out upon the bank, up-rooted a small tree, rolled the bear +clear of the heap of woman's clothing and marched straight ahead of him +up the caņon and around the bend.</p> + +<p>Thereafter, being a man, he did not faint or fall, but completely +unnerved he leaned against the caņon wall, dropped his gun at his feet +and stood there trembling mightily, sweat bedewing his forehead, and the +sweat had not come from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> his exertions. In one moment the whole even +tenor of his life was changed. The one glimpse he had got of those white +shoulders, that pallid face, that golden head raised from the water had +swept him back five years. He had seen once more in the solitude a +woman.</p> + +<p>Other women he had seen at a distance and avoided in his yearly visits +to the settlements of course; these had passed him by remotely, but here +he was brought in touch intimately with humanity. He who had taken life +had saved it. A woman had sent him forth, was a woman to call him back?</p> + +<p>He cursed himself for his weakness. He shut his eyes and summoned other +memories. How long he stood there he could not have told; he was +fighting a battle and it seemed to him at last that he triumphed. +Presently the consciousness came to him that perhaps he had no right to +stand there idle, it might be that the woman needed him, perhaps she had +fainted in the water, perhaps—He turned toward the bend which concealed +him from her and then he stopped. Had he any right to intrude upon her +privacy? He must of necessity be an unwelcome visitor to her, he had +surprised her at a frightful disadvantage; he knew instinctively, +although the fault was none of his, although he had saved her life +thereby,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> that she would hold him and him alone responsible for the +outrage to her modesty, and although he had seen little at first glance +and had resolutely kept his eyes away, the mere consciousness of her +absolute helplessness appealed to him—to what was best and noblest in +him, too. He must go to her. Stay, she might not yet be clothed, in +which event—But no, she must be dressed, or dead, by this time and in +either case he would have a duty to discharge.</p> + +<p>It devolved upon him to make sure of her safety, he was in a certain +sense responsible for it, until she got back to her friends wherever +they might be; but he persuaded himself that otherwise he did not want +to see her again, that he did not wish to know anything about her +future; that he did not care whether it was well or ill with her; and it +was only stern obligation which drove him toward her—oh fond and +foolish man!</p> + +<p>He compromised with himself at last by climbing the ridge that had shut +off a view of the pool, and looking down at the place so memorable to +him. He was prepared to withdraw instantly should circumstances warrant, +and he was careful so to conceal himself as to give no possible +opportunity for her to discover his scrutiny.</p> + +<p>With a beating heart and eager eyes he searched the spot. There lay the +bear and a little distance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> away prone on the grass, clothed but whether +in her right mind or not he could not tell, lay the woman. For a moment, +as he bent a concentrated eager gaze upon her, he thought she might have +fainted or that she might have died. In any event he reflected that she +had strength and nerve and will to have dressed herself before either of +these things had happened. She lay motionless under his gaze for so long +that he finally made up his mind that common humanity required him to go +to her assistance.</p> + +<p>He rose to his feet on the instant and saw the woman also lift herself +from the grass as if moved by a similar impulse. In his intense +preoccupation he had failed to observe the signs of the times. A sense +of the overcast sky came to him suddenly, as it did to her, but with a +difference. He knew what was about to happen, his experience told him +much more as to the awful potentialities of the tempest than she could +possibly imagine. She must be warned at once, she must leave the caņon +and get up on the higher ground without delay. His duty was plain and +yet he did it not. He could not. The pressure upon him was not yet +strong enough.</p> + +<p>A half dozen times as he watched her deliberately sitting there eating, +he opened his mouth to cry to her, yet he could not bring himself to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +it. A strange timidity oppressed him, halted him, held him back. A man +cannot stay away five years from men and woman and be himself with them +in the twinkling of an eye. And when to that instinctive and acquired +reluctance against which he struggled in vain, he added the assurance +that whatever his message he would be unwelcome on account of what had +gone before, he could not force himself to go to her or even to call to +her, not yet. He would keep her under surveillance, however, and if the +worst came he could intervene in time to rescue her. He counted without +his cost, his usual judgment bewildered. So he followed her through the +trees and down the bank.</p> + +<p>Now he was so engrossed in her and so agitated that his caution slept, +his experience was forgotten. The storm in his own breast was so great +that it overshadowed the storm brewing above. Her way was easier than +his and he had fallen some distance behind when suddenly there rushed +upon him the fact that a frightful and unlooked for cloudburst was about +to occur above their heads. A lightning flash and a thunder clap at last +arrested his attention. Then, but not until then, he flung everything to +the winds and amid the sudden and almost continuous peals of thunder he +sent cry after cry toward her which were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> lost in the tremendous +diapason of sound that echoed and re-echoed through the rifts of the +mountains.</p> + +<p>"Wait," he cried again and again. "Come up higher. Get out of the caņon. +You'll be drowned."</p> + +<p>But he had waited too long, the storm had developed too rapidly, she was +too far ahead of and beneath him. She heard nothing but the sound of a +voice, shrill, menacing, fraught with terror for her, not a word +distinguishable; scarcely to her disturbed soul even a human voice, it +seemed like the weird cry of some wild spirit of the storm. It sounded +to her overwrought nerves so utterly inhuman that she only ran the +faster.</p> + +<p>The caņon swerved and then doubled back, but he knew its direction; +losing sight of her for the moment he plunged straight ahead through the +trees, cutting off the bend, leaping with superhuman agility and +strength over rocks and logs until he reached a point where the rift +narrowed between two walls and ran deeply. There and then the heavens +opened and the floods came and beat into that open maw of that vast +crevasse and filled it full in an instant.</p> + +<p>As the deluge came roaring down, bearing onward the sweepings and +scourings of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> mountains, he caught a glimpse of her white desperate +face rising, falling, now disappearing, now coming into view again, in +the foamy midst of the torrent. He ran to the cliff bank and throwing +aside his gun he scrambled down the wall to a certain shelf of the rock +over which the rising water broke thinly. Ordinarily it was twenty feet +above the creek bed. Bracing himself against a jagged projection he +waited, praying. The caņon was here so narrow that he could have leaped +to the other side and yet it was too wide for him to reach her if the +water did not sweep her toward his feet. It was all done in a +second—fortunately a projection on the other side threw the force of +the torrent toward him and with it came the woman.</p> + +<p>She was almost spent; she had been struck by a log upheaved by some +mighty wave, her hands were moving feebly, her eyes were closed, she was +drowning, dying, but indomitably battling on. He stooped down and as a +surge lifted her he threw his arm around her waist and then braced +himself against the rock to sustain the full thrust of the mighty flood. +As he seized her she gave way suddenly, as if after having done all that +she could there was now nothing left but to trust herself to his hand +and God's. She hung a dead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> weight on his arm in the ravening water +which dragged and tore at her madly.</p> + +<p>He was a man of giant strength, but the struggle bade fair to be too +much even for him. It seemed as if the mountain behind him was giving +way. He set his teeth, he tried desperately to hold on, he thrust out +his right hand, holding her with the other one, and clawed at the +dripping rock in vain. In a moment the torrent mastered him and when it +did so it seized him with fury and threw him like a stone from a sling +into the seething vortex of the mid-stream. But in all this he did not, +he would not, release her.</p> + +<p>Such was the swiftness of the motion with which they were swept downward +that he had little need to swim; his only effort was to keep his head +above water and to keep from being dashed against the logs that tumbled +end over end, or whirled sideways, or were jammed into clusters only to +burst out on every hand. He struggled furiously to keep himself from +being overwhelmed in the seething madness, and what was harder, to keep +the lifeless woman in his arms from being stricken or wrenched away. He +knew that below the narrows where the caņon widened the water would +subside, the awful fury of the rain would presently cease. If he could +steer clear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> of the rocks in the broad he might win to land with her.</p> + +<p>The chances against him were thousands to nothing. But what are chances +in the eyes of God. The man in his solitude had not forgotten to pray, +his habits stood him in good stead now. He petitioned shortly, brokenly, +in brief unspoken words, as he battled through the long dragging +seconds.</p> + +<p>Fighting, clinging, struggling, praying, he was swept on. Heavier and +heavier the woman dragged in an unconscious heap. It would have been +easier for him if he had let her go; she would never know and he could +then escape. The idea never once occurred to him. He had indeed +withdrawn from his kind, but when one depended upon him all the old +appeal of weak humanity awoke quick response in the bosom of the strong. +He would die with the stranger rather than yield her to the torrent or +admit himself beaten and give up the fight. So the conscious and the +unconscious struggled through the narrow of the caņon.</p> + +<p>Presently with the rush and hurl of a bullet from the mouth of a gun, +they found themselves in a shallow lake through which the waters still +rushed mightily, breaking over rocks, digging away shallow rooted trees, +leaping, biting,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> snarling, tearing at the big walls spread away on +either side. He had husbanded some of his strength for this final +effort, this last chance of escape. Below them at the other end of this +open the walls came together again; there the descent was sharper than +before and the water ran to the opening with racing speed. Once again in +the torrent and they would be swept to death in spite of all.</p> + +<p>Shifting his grasp to the woman's hair, now unbound, he held her with +one hand and swam hard with the other. The current still ran swiftly, +but with no gigantic upheaving waves as before. It was more easy to +avoid floating timber and débris, and on one side where the ground +sloped somewhat gently the quick water flowed more slowly. He struck out +desperately for it, forcing himself away from the main stream into the +shallows and ever dragging the woman. Was it hours or minutes or seconds +after that he gained the battle and neared the shore at the lowest edge?</p> + +<p>He caught with his forearm, as the torrent swerved him around, a stout +young pine so deeply rooted as yet to have withstood the flood. +Summoning that last reserve of strength that is bestowed upon us in our +hour of need, and comes unless from God we know not whence, he drew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +himself in front of the pine, got his back against it, and although the +water thundered against him still—only by comparison could it be called +quieter—and his foothold was most precarious, he reached down carefully +and grasped the woman under the shoulders. His position was a cramped +one, but by the power of his arms alone he lifted her up until he got +his left arm about her waist again. It was a mighty feat of strength +indeed.</p> + +<p>The pine stood in the midst of the water, for even on the farther side +the earth was overflowed but the water was stiller; he did not know what +might be there, but he had to chance it. Lifting her up he stepped out, +fortunately meeting firm ground; a few paces and he reached solid rock +above the flood. He raised her above his head and laid her upon the +shore, then with the very last atom of all his force, physical, mental +and spiritual, he drew himself up and fell panting and utterly exhausted +but triumphant by her side.</p> + +<p>The cloud burst was over, but the rain still beat down upon them, the +thunder still roared above them, the lightning still flashed about them, +but they were safe, alive if the woman had not died in his arms. He had +done a thing superhuman—no man knowing conditions would have believed +it. He himself would have declared a thousand times its patent +impossibility.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + +<p>For a few seconds he strove to recover himself; then he thought of the +flask he always carried in his pocket. It was gone; his clothes were +ragged and torn, they had been ruined by his battle with the waves. The +girl lay where he had placed her on her back. In the pocket of her +hunting skirt he noticed a little protuberance; the pocket was provided +with a flap and tightly buttoned. Without hesitation he unbuttoned it. +There was a flask there, a little silver mounted affair; by some miracle +it had not been broken. It was half full. With nervous hands he opened +it and poured some of its contents down her throat; then he bent over +her his soul in his glance, scarcely knowing what to do next. Presently +she opened her eyes.</p> + +<p>And there, in the rain, by that raging torrent whence he had drawn her +as it were from the jaws of death by the power of his arm, in the +presence of the God above them, this man and this woman looked at each +other and life for both of them was no longer the same.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> +<h2>BOOK III</h2> + +<h3>FORGETTING AND FORGOT</h3> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>A WILD DASH FOR THE HILLS</h3> + + +<p>Old Kirkby, who had been lazily mending a saddle the greater part of the +morning, had eaten his dinner, smoked his pipe and was now stretched out +on the grass in the warm sun taking a nap. Mrs. Maitland was drowsing +over a book in the shadow of one of the big pines, when Pete, the horse +wrangler, who had been wandering rather far down the caņon rounding up +the ever straying stock, suddenly came bursting into the camp.</p> + +<p>"Heavens!" he cried, actually kicking the prostrate frontiersman as he +almost stumbled over him. "Wake up, old man, an'—"</p> + +<p>"What the—" began Kirkby fiercely, thus rudely aroused from slumber and +resentful of the daring and most unusual affront to his dignity and +station, since all men, and especially the younger ones, held him in +great honor.</p> + +<p>"Look there!" yelled Pete in growing excitement and entirely oblivious +to his <i>lčse-majesté</i>, pointing at a black cloud rolling over the top of +the range. "It'll be a cloud burst sure, we'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> have to git out o' here +an' in a hurry too. Oh, Mrs. Maitland."</p> + +<p>By this time Kirkby was on his feet. The storm had stolen upon him +sleeping and unaware, the configuration of the caņon having completely +hid its approach. At best the three in the camp could not have +discovered it until it was high in the heavens. Now the clouds were +already approaching the noonday sun. Kirkby was alive to the situation +at once; he had the rare ability of men of action, of awakening with all +his faculties at instant command; he did not have to rub his eyes and +wonder where he was, and speculate as to what was to be done. The moment +that his eyes, following Pete's outstretched arm, discovered the black +mass of clouds, he ran toward Mrs. Maitland, and standing on no ceremony +he shook her vigorously by the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"We'll have to run for our lives, ma'm," he said briefly. "Pete, drive +the stock up on the hills, fur as you kin, the hosses pertikler, they'll +be more to us an' them burros must take keer of themselves."</p> + +<p>Pete needed no urging, he was off like a shot in the direction of the +improvised corral. He loosed the horses from their pickets and started +them up the steep trail that led down from the hogback to the camp by +the water's edge. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> also tried to start the burros he had just rounded +up in the same direction. Some of them would go and some of them would +not. He had his hands full in an instant. Meanwhile Kirkby did not +linger by the side of Mrs. Maitland; with incredible agility for so old +a man he ran over to the tent where the stores were kept and began +picking out such articles of provision as he could easiest carry.</p> + +<p>"Come over here, Mrs. Maitland," he cried. "We'll have to carry up on +the hill somethin' to keep us from starvin' till we git back to town. We +hadn't orter camped in this yere pocket noways, but who'd ever expected +anything like this now."</p> + +<p>"What do you fear?" asked the woman, joining him as she spoke and +waiting for his directions.</p> + +<p>"Looks to me like a cloud bust," was the answer. "Creek's pretty full +now, an' if she does break everything below yere'll go to hell on a +run."</p> + +<p>It was evidence of his perturbation and anxiety that he used such +language which, however, in the emergency did not seem unwarranted even +to the refined ear of Mrs. Maitland.</p> + +<p>"Is it possible?" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Taint only possible, it's sartin. Now ma'm,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> he hastily bundled up a +lot of miscellaneous provisions in a small piece of canvas, tied it up +and handed it to her, "that'll be for you." Immediately after he made up +a much larger bundle in another tent fly, adding, "an' this is mine."</p> + +<p>"Oh, let us hurry," cried Mrs. Maitland, as a peal of thunder, low, +muttered, menacing, burst from the flying clouds now obscuring the sun, +and rolled over the camp.</p> + +<p>"We've got time enough yit," answered Kirkby coolly calculating their +chances. "Best git your slicker on, you'll need it in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Maitland ran to her own tent and soon came out with sou'wester and +yellow oil skins completely covering her. Kirkby meantime had donned his +own old battered soiled rain clothes and had grabbed up Pete's.</p> + +<p>"I brought the children's coats along," said Mrs. Maitland, extending +three others.</p> + +<p>"Good," said Kirkby, "now we'll take our packs an'—"</p> + +<p>"Do you think there is any danger to Robert?"</p> + +<p>"He'll git nothin' worse'n a wettin'," returned the old man confidently. +"If we'd pitched the tents up on the hogback, that's all we'd a been in +for."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I have to leave the tents and all the things," said Mrs. Maitland.</p> + +<p>"You can stay with them," answered Kirkby, dryly, "but if what I think's +goin' to happen comes off, you won't have no need of nothin' no +more—Here she comes."</p> + +<p>As he spoke there was a sudden swift downpour of rain, not in drops, but +in a torrent. Catching up his own pack and motioning the woman to do +likewise with her load, Kirkby caught her by the hand, and half led, +half dragged her up the steep trail from the brook to the ridge which +bordered the side of the caņon. The caņon was much wider here than +further up and there was much more room and much more space for the +water to spread. Yet, they had to hurry for their lives as it was. They +had gone up scarcely a hundred feet when the disgorgement of the heavens +took place. The water fell with such force, directness and +continuousness that it almost beat them down. It ran over the trail down +the side of the mountain in sheets like waterfalls. It required all the +old man's skill and address to keep himself and his companion from +losing their footing and falling down into the seething tumult below.</p> + +<p>The tents went down in an instant. Where there had been a pleasant bit +of meadow land was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> now a muddy tossing lake of black water. Some of the +horses and most of the burros which Pete had been unable to do anything +with were engulfed in a moment. The two on the mountain side could see +them swimming for dear life as they swept down the caņon. Pete himself, +with a few of the animals, was already scrambling up to safety.</p> + +<p>Speech was impossible between the noise of the falling rain and the +incessant peals of thunder, but by persistent gesture old Kirkby urged +the terrified trembling woman up the trail until they finally reached +the top of the hogback, where under the poor shelter of the stunted +pines they joined Pete with such of the horses as he had been able to +drive up. Kirkby taking a thought for the morrow, noted that there were +four of them, enough to pull the wagon if they could get back to it.</p> + +<p>After the first awful deluge of the cloud burst it moderated slightly, +but the hard rain came down steadily, the wind rose as well and in spite +of their oil skins they were soon wet and cold. It was impossible to +make a fire, there was no place for them to go, nothing to be done, they +could only remain where they were and wait. After a half hour of +exposure to the merciless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> fury of the storm, a thought came suddenly to +Mrs. Maitland; she leaned over and caught the frontiersman by his wet +sleeve. Seeing that she wished to speak to him he bent his head toward +her lips.</p> + +<p>"Enid," she cried, pointing down the caņon; she had not thought before +of the position of the girl.</p> + +<p>Kirkby, who had not forgotten her, but who had instantly realized that +he could do nothing for her, shook his head, lifted his eyes and +solemnly pointed his finger up to the gray skies. He had said nothing to +Mrs. Maitland before, what was the use of troubling her.</p> + +<p>"God only kin help her," he cried; "she's beyond the help of man."</p> + +<p>Ah, indeed, old trapper, whence came the confident assurance of that +dogmatic statement? For as it chanced at that very moment the woman for +whose peril your heart was wrung was being lifted out of the torrent by +a man's hand! And, yet, who shall say that the old hunter was not right, +and that the man himself, as men of old have been, was sent from God?</p> + +<p>"It can't be," began Mrs. Maitland in great anguish for the girl she had +grown to love.</p> + +<p>"Ef she seed the storm an' realized what it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> was, an' had sense enough +to climb up the caņon wall," answered the other, "she won't be no worse +off 'n we are; ef not—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Maitland had only to look down into the seething caldron to +understand the possibility of that "if."</p> + +<p>"Oh," she cried, "let us pray for her that she sought the hills."</p> + +<p>"I've been a doin' it," said the old man gruffly.</p> + +<p>He had a deep vein of piety in him, but like other rich ores it had to +be mined for in the depths before it was apparent.</p> + +<p>By slow degrees the water subsided, and after a long while the rain +ceased, a heavy mist lay on the mountains and the night approached +without any further appearance of the veiled sun. Toward evening Robert +Maitland with the three men and the three children joined the wretched +trio above the camp. Maitland, wild with excitement and apprehension, +had pressed on ahead of the rest. It was a glad faced man indeed who ran +the last few steps of the rough way and clasped his wife in his arms, +but as he did so he noticed that one was missing.</p> + +<p>"Where is Enid?" he cried, releasing his wife.</p> + +<p>"She went down the caņon early this mornin' intendin' to stay all day," +slowly and reluctantly answered old Kirkby, "an'—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>He paused there, it wasn't necessary for him to say anything more.</p> + +<p>Maitland walked to the edge of the trail and looked down into the +valley. It had been swept clean of the camp. Rocks had been rolled over +upon the meadow land, trunks of trees torn up by the roots had lodged +against them, it was a scene of desolate and miserable confusion and +disaster.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Robert, don't you think she may be safe?" asked Mrs. Maitland.</p> + +<p>"There's jest a chance, I think, that she may have suspicioned the storm +an' got out of the caņon," suggested the old frontiersman.</p> + +<p>"A slim chance," answered Maitland gloomily. "I wouldn't have had this +happen for anything on earth."</p> + +<p>"Nor me; I'd a heap ruther it had got me than her," said Kirkby simply.</p> + +<p>"I didn't see it coming," continued Maitland nodding as if Kirkby's +statement were to be accepted as a matter of course, as indeed it was. +"We were on the other slope of the mountain, until it was almost over +head."</p> + +<p>"Nuther did I. To tell the truth I was lyin' down nappin' w'en Pete, +yere, who'd been down the caņon rounding up some of the critters, came +bustin' in on us."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I ain't saved but four hosses," said Pete mournfully, "and there's only +one burro on the hogback."</p> + +<p>"We came back as fast as we could," said Maitland. "I pushed on ahead. +George, Bradshaw and Phillips are bringing Bob and the girls. We must +search the caņon."</p> + +<p>"It can't be done to-night, old man," said Kirkby.</p> + +<p>"I tell you we can't wait, Jack!"</p> + +<p>"We've got to. I'm as willin' to lay down my life for that young gal as +anybody on earth, but in this yere mist an' as black a night as it's +goin' to be, we couldn't go ten rod without killin' ourselves an' we +couldn't see nothin' noways."</p> + +<p>"But she may be in the caņon."</p> + +<p>"If she's in the caņon 'twon't make no difference to her w'ether we +finds her to-morrer or next day or next year, Bob."</p> + +<p>Maitland groaned in anguish.</p> + +<p>"I can't stay here inactive," he persisted stubbornly.</p> + +<p>"It's a hard thing, but we got to wait till mornin'. Ef she got out of +the caņon and climbed up on the hogback she'll be all right; she'll soon +find out she can't make no progress in this mist and darkness. No, old +friend, we're up agin it hard; we jest got to stay the night w'ere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> we +are an' as long as we got to wait we might as well make ourselves as +comfortable as possible. For the wimmen an' children anyway. I fetched +up some ham and some canned goods and other eatin's in these yere canvas +sacks, we might kindle a fire—"</p> + +<p>"It's hardly possible," said Maitland, "we shall have to eat it cold."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Robert," pleaded his wife, "isn't it possible that she may have +escaped?"</p> + +<p>"Possible, yes, but—"</p> + +<p>"We won't give up hope, ma'am," said Kirkby, "until to-morrer w'en we've +had a look at the caņon."</p> + +<p>By this time the others joined the party. Phillips and Bradshaw showed +the stuff that was in them; they immediately volunteered to go down the +caņon at once, knowing little or nothing of its dangers and indifferent +to what they did know, but as Kirkby had pointed out the attempt was +clearly impossible. Maitland bitterly reproached himself for having +allowed the girl to go alone, and in those self reproaches old Kirkby +joined.</p> + +<p>They were too wet and cold to sleep, there was no shelter and it was not +until early in the morning they succeeded in kindling a fire. Meanwhile +the men talked the situation over very carefully. They were two days' +journey from the wagons.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> It was necessary that the woman and children +should be taken back at once. Kirkby hadn't been able to save much more +than enough to eat to get them back to a ranch or settlement, and on +very short rations at best. It was finally decided that George and Pete +with Mrs. Maitland, the two girls and the youngster should go back to +the wagon, drive to the nearest settlement, leave the women and then +return on horseback with all speed to meet Maitland and Kirkby who would +meanwhile search the caņon.</p> + +<p>The two men from the east had to go back with the others although they +pleaded gallantly to be allowed to remain with the two who were to take +up the hunt for Enid. Maitland might have kept them with him, but that +meant retaining a larger portion of the scanty supplies that had been +saved, and he was compelled against his will to refuse their requests. +Leaving barely enough to subsist Maitland and Kirkby for three or four +days, or until the return of the relief party, the groups separated at +daybreak.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Robert," pleaded his wife, as he kissed her good-by, "take care of +yourself, but find Enid."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered her husband, "I shall, never fear, but I must find the +dear girl or discover what has become of her."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was not time for further leave taking. A few hand clasps from man +to man and then Robert Maitland standing in the midst of the group bowed +his head in the sunny morning, for the sky again was clear, and poured +out a brief prayer that God would prosper them, that they would find the +child and that they would all be together again in health and happiness. +And without another word, he and Kirkby plunged down the side of the +caņon, the others taking up their weary march homeward with sad hearts +and in great dismay.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>A TELEGRAM AND A CALLER</h3> + + +<p>"You say," asked Maitland, as they surveyed the caņon, "that she went +down the stream?"</p> + +<p>"She said she was goin' down. I showed her how to cut across the +mountains an' avoid the big bend, I've got no reason to suspicion that +she didn't go w'ere she said."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless," said Maitland, "it is barely possible that she may have +changed her mind and gone up the caņon."</p> + +<p>"Yep, the female mind does often change unexpected like," returned the +other, "but w'ether she went up or down, the only place for us to look, +I take it, is down, for if she's alive, if she got out of the caņon and +is above us, nacherly she'd follow it down yere an' we'd a seed her by +this time. If she didn't git out of the caņon, why, all that's left of +her is bound to be down stream."</p> + +<p>Maitland nodded, he understood.</p> + +<p>"We'd better go down then," continued Kirkby, whose reasoning was +flawless except that it made no allowance for the human-divine +interposition that had been Enid Maitland's salvation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> "An' if we don't +find no traces of her down stream, we kin come back here an' go up."</p> + +<p>It was a hard desperate journey the two men took. One of them followed +the stream at its level, the other tramped along in the mountains high +above the high water mark of the day before. If they had needed any +evidence of the power of that cloud burst and storm, they found it in +the caņon. In some places where it was narrow and rocky, the pass had +been fearfully scoured; at other places the whole aspect of it was +changed. The place was a welter of up-rooted trees, logs jammed together +in fantastic shapes; it was as if some wanton besom of destruction had +swept the narrow rift.</p> + +<p>Ever as they went they called and called. The broken obstructions of the +way made their progress slow; what they would have passed over +ordinarily in half a day, they had not traversed by nightfall and they +had seen nothing. They camped that night far down the caņon and in the +morning with hearts growing heavier every hour they resumed their +search.</p> + +<p>About noon of the second day they came to an immense log jam where the +stream now broadened and made a sudden turn before it plunged over a +fall of perhaps two hundred feet into the lake. It was the end of their +quest. If they did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> not find her there, they would never find her +anywhere, they thought. With still hearts and bated breath they climbed +out over the log jam and scrutinized it. A brownish gray patch concealed +beneath the great pines caught their eyes. They made their way to it.</p> + +<p>"It's a b'ar, a big grizzly," exclaimed Kirkby.</p> + +<p>The huge brute was battered out of all semblance of life, but that it +was a grizzly bear was clearly evident. Further on the two men caught +sight suddenly of a dash of blue. Kirkby stepped over to it, lifted it +in his hand and silently extended it to Maitland. It was a sweater, a +woman's sweater. They recognized it at once. The old man shook his head. +Maitland groaned aloud.</p> + +<p>"See yere," said Kirkby, pointing to the ragged and torn garment where +evidences of discoloration still remained, "looks like there'd bin blood +on it."</p> + +<p>"Heavens!" cried Maitland, "not that bear, I'd rather anything than +that."</p> + +<p>"W'atever it is, she's gone," said the old man with solemn finality.</p> + +<p>"Her body may be in these logs here—"</p> + +<p>"Or in the lake," answered Kirkby gloomily; "but w'erever she is we +can't git to her now."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We must come back with dynamite to break up this jam and—"</p> + +<p>"Yep," nodded the old man, "we'll do all that, of course, but now, arter +we search this jam o' logs I guess there's nothin' to do but go back, +an' the quicker we git back to the settlement, the quicker we can git +back here. I think we kin strike acrost the mountains an' save a day an' +a half. There's no need of us goin' back up the caņon now, I take it."</p> + +<p>"No," answered the other. "The quicker the better, as you say, and we +can head off George and the others that way."</p> + +<p>They searched the pile eagerly, prying under it, peering into it, +upsetting it, so far as they could with their naked hands, but with +little result, for they found nothing else. They had to camp another day +and next morning they hurried straight over the mountains, reaching the +settlement almost as soon as the others. Maitland with furious energy at +once organized a relief party. They hurried back to the logs, tore the +jam to pieces, searched it carefully and found nothing. To drag the lake +was impossible; it was hundreds of feet deep and while they worked it +froze. The weather had changed some days before, heavy snows had already +fallen, they had to get out of the mountains without further delay or +else<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> be frozen up to die. Then and not till then did Maitland give up +hope. He had refrained from wiring to Philadelphia, but when he reached +a telegraph line some ten days after the cloud burst, he sent a long +message east, breaking to his brother the awful tidings.</p> + +<p>And in all that they did he and Kirkby, two of the shrewdest and most +experienced of men, showed with singular exactitude how easy it is for +the wisest and most capable of men to make mistakes, to leave the plain +trail, to fail to deduce the truth from the facts presented. Yet it is +difficult to point to a fault in their reasoning, or to find anything +left undone in the search.</p> + +<p>Enid had started down the caņon, near the end of it they had discovered +one of her garments which they could not conceive any reason for her +taking off. It was near the battered body of one of the biggest +grizzlies that either man had ever seen, it held evidence of blood +stains upon it still, they had found no body, but they were as +profoundly sure that the mangled remains of the poor girl lay within the +depths of that mountain lake as if they had actually seen her there. The +logic was all flawless.</p> + +<p>It so happened that on that November morning, when the telegram was +approaching him, Mr. Stephen Maitland had a caller. He came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> at an +unusually early hour. Mr. Stephen Maitland, who was no longer an early +riser, had indeed just finished his breakfast when the card of Mr. James +Armstrong of Colorado was handed to him.</p> + +<p>"This, I suppose," he thought testily, "is one of the results of Enid's +wanderings into that God-forsaken land. Did you ask the man his +business, James?" he said aloud to the footman.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; he said he wanted to see you on important business, and when +I made bold to ask him what business, he said it was none of mine, and +for me to take the message to you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Impudent," growled Mr. Maitland.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; but he is the kind of a gentleman you don't talk back to, +sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, you go back and tell him that you have given me his card, and I +should like to know what he wishes to see me about, that I am very busy +this morning and unless it is a matter of importance—you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"I suppose now I shall have the whole west unloaded upon me; every +vagabond friend of Robert's and people who meet Enid," he thought, but +his reveries were shortly interrupted by the return of the man.</p> + +<p>"If you please, sir," began James hesitatingly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> as he re-entered the +room, "he says his business is about the young lady, sir."</p> + +<p>"Confound his impudence!" exclaimed Mr. Maitland, more and more annoyed +at what he was pleased to characterize mentally as western assurance. +"Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"In the hall, sir."</p> + +<p>"Show him into the library and say I shall be down in a moment."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir."</p> + +<p>It was a decidedly wrathful individual who confronted Stephen Maitland a +few moments afterwards in the library, for Armstrong was not accustomed +to such cavalier treatment, and had Maitland been other than Enid's +father he would have given more outward expression of his indignation +over the discourtesy in his reception.</p> + +<p>"Mr. James Armstrong, I believe," began Mr. Maitland, looking at the +card in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Er—from Colorado?"</p> + +<p>"And proud of it."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I dare say. I believe you wished to see me about—"</p> + +<p>"Your daughter, sir."</p> + +<p>"And in what way are you concerned about her, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I wish to make her my wife."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What!" exclaimed the older man in a voice equally divided between +horror and astonishment. "How dare you, sir? You amaze, me beyond +measure with your infernal impudence."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Mr. Maitland," interposed Armstrong quickly and with great +spirit and determination, "but where I come from we don't allow anybody +to talk to us in this way. You are Enid's father and a much older man +than I, but I can't permit you to—"</p> + +<p>"Sir," said the astounded Maitland, drawing himself up at this bold +flouting, "you may be a very worthy young man, I have no doubt of it, +but it is out of the question. My daughter—"</p> + +<p>Again a less excited hearer might have noticed the emphasis on the +pronoun.</p> + +<p>"Why, she is half way engaged to me now," interrupted the younger man +with a certain contemptuous amusement in his voice. "Look here, Mr. +Maitland, I've knocked around the world a good deal, I know what's what, +I know all about you Eastern people, and I don't fancy you any more than +you fancy me. Miss Enid is quite unspoiled yet and that is why I want +her. I'm well able to take care of her too; I don't know what you've got +or how you got it, but I can come near laying down dollar for dollar +with you and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> mine's all clean money, mines, cattle, lumber, and it's +all good money. I made it myself. I left her in the mountains three +weeks ago with her promise that she would think very seriously of my +suit. After I came back to Denver—I was called east—I made up my mind +that I'd come here when I'd finished my business and have it out with +you. Now you can treat me like a dog if you want to, but if you expect +to keep peace in the family you'd better not, for I tell you plainly +whether you give your consent or not I mean to win her. All I want is +her consent, and I've pretty nearly got that."</p> + +<p>Mr. Stephen Maitland was black with wrath at this clear, unequivocal, +determined statement of the case from Armstrong's point of view.</p> + +<p>"I would rather see her dead," he exclaimed with angry stubbornness, +"than married to a man like you. How dare you force yourself into my +house and insult me in this way? Were I not so old a man I would show +you, I would give you a taste of your own manner."</p> + +<p>The old man's white mustache fairly quivered with what he believed to be +righteous indignation. He stepped over to the other and looked hard at +him, his eyes blazing, his ruddy cheeks redder than ever. The two men +confronted each other unblenchingly for a moment, then Mr. Maitland<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +touched a bell button in the wall by his side. Instantly the footman +made his appearance.</p> + +<p>"James," said the old man, his voice shaking and his knees trembling +with passion, which he did not quite succeed in controlling despite a +desperate effort, "show this—er—gentleman the door. Good morning, sir, +our first and last interview is over."</p> + +<p>He bowed with ceremonious politeness as he spoke, becoming more and more +composed as he felt himself mastering the situation. And Armstrong, to +do him justice, knew a gentleman when he saw him, and secretly admired +the older man and began to feel a touch of shame at his own rude way of +putting things.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir," said the footman, breaking the awkward silence, "but +here is a telegram that has just come, sir."</p> + +<p>There was nothing for Armstrong to do or say. Indeed, having expressed +himself so unrestrainedly to his rapidly increasing regret, as the old +man took the telegram he turned away in considerable discomfiture, James +bowing before him at the door opening into the hall and following him as +he slowly passed out. Mr. Stephen Maitland mechanically and with great +deliberation and with no premonition of evil tidings, tore open the +yellow envelope and glanced at the dispatch.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> Neither the visitor nor +the footman had got out of sight or hearing when they heard the old man +groan and fall back helplessly into a chair. Both men turned and ran +back to the door, for there was that in the exclamation which gave rise +to instant apprehension. Stephen Maitland now as white as death sat +collapsed in the chair gasping for breath, his hand on his heart. The +telegram lay open on the floor. Armstrong recognized the seriousness of +the situation, and in three steps was by the other's side.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked eagerly, his hatred and resentment vanished at +the sight of the old man's ghastly, stricken countenance.</p> + +<p>"Enid!" gasped her father. "I said I would rather see her—dead, but—it +is not true—I—"</p> + +<p>James Armstrong was a man of prompt decision. Without a moment's +hesitation he picked up the telegram; it was full and explicit, thus it +read:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"We were encamped last week in the mountains. Enid went down the +caņon for a day's fishing alone. A sudden cloud burst filled the +caņon, washed away the camp. Enid undoubtedly got caught in the +torrent and was drowned. We have found some of her clothing but not +her body. Have searched every foot of the caņon. Think body has got +into the lake now frozen. Snow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> falling, mountains impassable, will +search for her in the spring when the winter breaks. I am following +this telegram in person by first train. Would rather have died a +thousand deaths than had this happen. God help us."</p> + +<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Robert Maitland.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>Armstrong read it, stared at it a moment frowning heavily, passed it +over to the footman and turned to the stricken father.</p> + +<p>"Old man, I loved her," he said simply. "I love her still, I believe +that she loves me. They haven't found her body, clothes mean nothing, +I'll find her, I'll search the mountains until I do. Don't give way, +something tells me that she's alive, and I'll find her."</p> + +<p>"If you do," said the broken old man, crushed by the swift and awful +response to his thoughtless exclamation, "and she loves you, you shall +have her for your wife."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't need that to make me find her," answered Armstrong grimly. +"She is a woman, lost in the mountains in the winter, alone. They +shouldn't have given up the search; I'll find her as there is a God +above me whether she's for me or not."</p> + +<p>A good deal of a man this James Armstrong of Colorado, in spite of many +things in his past of which he thought so little that he lacked the +grace to be ashamed of them. Stephen Maitland<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> looked at him with a +certain respect and a growing hope, as he stood there in the library +stern, resolute, strong.</p> + +<p>Perhaps—</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY"</h3> + + +<p>Recognition—or some other more potent instantaneous force—brought the +woman to a sitting position. The man drew back to give her freedom of +action, as she lifted herself on her hands. It was moments before +complete consciousness of her situation came to her; the surprise was +yet too great. She saw things dimly through a whirl of driving rain, of +a rushing mighty wind, of a seething sea of water, but presently it was +all plain to her again. She had caught no fair view of the man who had +shot the bear as he splashed through the creek and tramped, across the +rocks and trees down the caņon, at least she had not seen his front +face, but she recognized him immediately. The thought tinged with color +for a moment, her pallid cheek.</p> + +<p>"I fell into the torrent," she said feebly, putting her hand to her head +and striving by speech to put aside that awful remembrance.</p> + +<p>"You didn't fall in," was the answer. "It was a cloud burst, you were +caught in it."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course not, how should you."</p> + +<p>"And how came I here?"</p> + +<p>"I was lucky enough to pull you out."</p> + +<p>"Did you jump into the flood for me?"</p> + +<p>The man nodded.</p> + +<p>"That's twice you have saved my life this day," said the girl, forcing +herself woman-like to the topic that she hated.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing," deprecated the other.</p> + +<p>"It may be nothing to you, but it is a great deal to me," was the +answer. "And now what is to be done?"</p> + +<p>"We must get out of here at once," said the man. "You need shelter, +food, a fire. Can you walk?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Let me help you." He rose to his feet, reached down to her, took her +hands in the strong grasp of his own and raised her lightly to her feet +in an effortless way which showed his great strength. She did not more +than put the weight of her body slightly on her left foot when a spasm +of pain shot through her, she swerved and would have fallen had he not +caught her. He sat her gently on the rock.</p> + +<p>"My foot," she said piteously. "I don't know what's the matter with it."</p> + +<p>Her high boots were tightly laced of course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> but he could see that her +left foot had been badly mauled or sprained, already the slender ankle +was swelling visibly. He examined it swiftly a moment. It might be a +sprain, it might be the result of some violent thrust against the rocks, +some whirling tree trunks might have caught and crushed her foot, but +there was no good in speculating as to causes; the present patent fact +was that she could not walk, all the rest was at that moment +unimportant. This unfortunate accident made him the more anxious to get +her to a place of shelter without delay. It would be necessary to take +off her boot and give the wounded member proper treatment. For the +present the tight shoe acted as a bandage, which was well.</p> + +<p>When the man had withdrawn himself from the world, he had inwardly +resolved that no human being should ever invade his domain or share his +solitude, and during his long sojourn in the wilderness his +determination had not weakened. Now his consuming desire was to get this +woman, whom fortune—good or ill!—had thrown upon his hands, to his +house without delay. There was nothing he could do for her out there in +the rain. Every drop of whiskey was gone; they were just two +half-drowned, sodden bits of humanity cast up on that rocky shore, and +one was a helpless woman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you know where your camp is?" he asked at last.</p> + +<p>He did not wish to take her to her own camp, he had a strange instinct +of possession in her. In some way he felt he had obtained a right to +deal with her as he would; he had saved her life twice, once by chance, +the other as the result of deliberate and heroic endeavor, and yet his +honor and his manhood obliged him to offer to take her to her own people +if he could. Hence the question, the answer to which he waited so +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"It's down the caņon. I am one of Mr. Robert Maitland's party."</p> + +<p>The man nodded. He didn't know Robert Maitland from Adam, and he cared +nothing about him.</p> + +<p>"How far down?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know; how far is it from here to where you—where—where we—"</p> + +<p>"About a mile," he replied quickly, fully understanding her reason for +faltering.</p> + +<p>"Then I think I must have come at least five miles from the camp this +morning."</p> + +<p>"It will be four miles away then," said the man.</p> + +<p>The girl nodded.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't carry you that far," he murmured half to himself. "I +question if there is any camp<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> left there anyway. Where was it, down by +the water's edge?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Every vestige will have been swept away by that, look at it," he +pointed over to the lake.</p> + +<p>"What must we do?" she asked instantly, depending upon his greater +strength, his larger experience, his masculine force.</p> + +<p>"I shall have to take you to my camp."</p> + +<p>"Is it far?"</p> + +<p>"About a mile or a mile and a half from here."</p> + +<p>"I can't walk that far."</p> + +<p>"No, I suppose not. You wouldn't be willing to stay here while I went +down and hunted for your camp?"</p> + +<p>The girl clutched at him.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't be left here for a moment alone," she said in sudden fever +of alarm. "I never was afraid before, but now—"</p> + +<p>"All right," he said, gently patting her as he would a child, "we'll go +up to my camp and then I will try to find your people and—"</p> + +<p>"But I tell you I can't walk!"</p> + +<p>"You don't have to walk," said the man.</p> + +<p>He did not make any apology for his next action, he just stooped down +and disregarding her faint protests and objections, picked her up in +his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> arms. She was by no means a light burden, and he did not run away +with her as the heroes of romances do. But he was a man far beyond the +average in strength, and with a stout heart and a resolute courage that +had always carried him successfully through whatever he attempted, and +he had need of all his qualities, physical and mental, before he +finished that awful journey.</p> + +<p>The woman struggled a little at first, then finally resigned herself to +the situation; indeed, she thought swiftly, there was nothing else to +do; she had no choice, she could not have been left alone there in the +rocks in that rain, she could not walk. He was doing the only thing +possible. The compulsion of the inevitable was upon them both.</p> + +<p>They went slowly. The man often stopped for rest, at which times he +would seat her carefully upon some prostrate tree, or some rounded +boulder, until he was ready to resume his task. He did not bother her +with explanation, discussion or other conversation, for which she was +most thankful. Once or twice during the slow progress she tried to walk, +but the slightest pressure on her wounded foot nearly caused her to +faint. He made no complaint about his burden and she found it after all +pleasant to be upheld by such powerful arms; she was so sick, so tired, +so worn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> out, and there was such assurance of strength and safety in his +firm hold of her.</p> + +<p>By and by, in the last stage of their journey, her head dropped on his +shoulder and she actually fell into an uneasy troubled sleep. He did not +know whether she slumbered or whether she had fainted again. He did not +dare to stop to find out, his strength was almost spent; in this last +effort the strain upon his muscles was almost as great as it had been in +the whirlpool. For the second time that day the sweat stood out on his +forehead, his legs trembled under him. How he made the last five hundred +feet up the steep wall to a certain broad shelf perhaps an acre in +extent where he had built his hut among the mountains, he never knew; +but the last remnant of his force was spent when he finally opened the +unlatched door with his foot, carried her into the log hut and laid her +upon the bed or bunk built against one wall of the cabin.</p> + +<p>Yet the way he put her down was characteristic of the man. That last +vestige of strength had served him well. He did not drop her as a less +thoughtful and less determined man might have done; he laid her there as +gently and as tenderly as if she weighed nothing, and as if he had +carried her nowhere. So quiet and easy was his handling of her that she +did not wake up at once.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>So soon as she was out of his arms, he stood up and stared at her in +great alarm which soon gave way to reassurance. She had not fainted; +there was a little tinge of color in her cheek that had rubbed up +against his rough wet shoulder; she was asleep, her regular breathing +told him that. Sleep was of course the very best medicine for her and +yet she should not be allowed to sleep until she had got rid of her wet +clothing and until something had been done for her wounded foot. It was +indeed an embarrassing situation.</p> + +<p>He surveyed her for a few moments wondering how best to begin. Then +realizing the necessity for immediate action, he bent over and woke her +up. Again she stared at him in bewilderment until he spoke.</p> + +<p>"This is my house," he said, "we are home."</p> + +<p>"Home!" sobbed the girl.</p> + +<p>"Under shelter, then," said the man. "You are very tired and very +sleepy, but there is something to be done. You must take off those wet +clothes at once, you must have something to eat, and I must have a look +at that foot, and then you can have your sleep out."</p> + +<p>The girl stared at him; his program, if a radical one under the +circumstances, was nevertheless a rational one, indeed the only one. How +was it to be carried out? The man easily divined her thoughts.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus3" id="illus3"></a> +<img src="images/illus3.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Wait! I am a woman, absolutely alone, entirely at your +mercy"</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There is another room in this house, a store room, I cook in there," he +said. "I am going in there now to get you something to eat, meanwhile +you must undress yourself and go to bed."</p> + +<p>He went to a rude set of box-like shelves draped with a curtain, +apparently his own handiwork, against the wall, and brought from it a +long and somewhat shapeless woolen gown.</p> + +<p>"You can wear this to sleep in," he continued. "First of all, though, I +am going to have a look at that foot."</p> + +<p>He bent down to where her wounded foot lay extended on the bed.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" said the girl, lifting herself on her arm and as she did so he +lifted his head and answered her direct gaze with his own. "I am a +woman, absolutely alone, entirely at your mercy, you are stronger than +I, I have no choice but to do what you bid me. And in addition to the +natural weakness of my sex I am the more helpless from this foot. What +do you intend to do with me? How do you mean to treat me?"</p> + +<p>It was a bold, a splendid question and it evoked the answer it merited.</p> + +<p>"As God is my judge," said the man quietly, "just as you ought to be +treated, as I would want<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> another to treat my mother, or my sister, or +my wife—" she noticed how curiously his lips suddenly tightened at that +word—"if I had one. I never harmed a woman in my life," he continued +more earnestly, "only one, that is," he corrected himself, and once +again she marked that peculiar contraction of the lips. "And I could not +help that," he added.</p> + +<p>"I trust you," said the girl at last after gazing at him long and hard +as if to search out the secrets of his very soul. "You have saved my +life and things dearer will be safe with you. I have to trust you."</p> + +<p>"I hope," came the quick comment, "that it is not only for that. I don't +want to be trusted upon compulsion."</p> + +<p>"You must have fought terribly for my life in the flood," was the +answer. "I can remember what it was now, and you carried me over the +rocks and the mountains without faltering. Only a man could do what you +have done. I trust you anyway."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the man briefly as he bent over the injured foot +again.</p> + +<p>The boot laced up the front, the short skirt left all plainly visible. +With deft fingers he undid the sodden knot and unlaced it, then stood +hesitatingly for a moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't like to cut your only pair of shoes," he said as he made a +slight motion to draw it off, and then observing the spasm of pain, he +stopped. "Needs must," he continued, taking out his knife and slitting +the leather.</p> + +<p>He did it very carefully so as not to ruin the boot beyond repair, and +finally succeeded in getting it off without giving her too much pain. +And she was not so tired or so miserable as to be unaware of his +gentleness. His manner, matter-of-fact, business-like, if he had been a +doctor one would have called it professional, distinctly pleased her in +this trying and unusual position. Her stocking was stained with blood. +The man rose to his feet, took from a rude home-made chair a light +Mexican blanket and laid it considerately across the girl.</p> + +<p>"Now if you can manage to get off your stocking, yourself, I will see +what can be done," he said turning away.</p> + +<p>It was the work of a few seconds for her to comply with his request. +Hanging the wet stocking carefully over a chair back, he drew back the +blanket a little and carefully inspected the poor little foot. He saw at +once that it was not an ordinary sprained ankle, but it seemed to him +that her foot had been caught between two tossing logs, and had been +badly bruised. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> very painful, but would not take so long to heal +as a sprain. The little foot, normally so white, was now black and blue +and the skin had been roughly torn and broken. He brought a basin of +cold water and a towel and washed off the blood, the girl fighting down +the pain and successfully stifling any outcry.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said, "you must put on this gown and get into bed. By the time +you are ready for it I will have some broth for you and then we will +bandage that foot. I shall not come in here for some time, you will be +quite alone and safe."</p> + +<p>He turned and left the room, shutting the door after him as he went out. +For a second time that day Enid Maitland undressed herself and this time +nervously and in great haste. She was almost too excited and +apprehensive to recall the painful circumstances attendant upon her +first disrobing. She said she trusted the man absolutely, yet she would +not have been human if she had not looked most anxiously toward that +closed door. He made plenty of noise in the other room, bustling about +as if to reassure her.</p> + +<p>She could not rest the weight of her body on her left foot and getting +rid of her wet clothes was a somewhat slow process in spite of her +hurry, made more so by her extreme nervousness. The gown he gave her was +far too big for her, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> soft and warm and exquisitely clean. It draped +her slight figure completely. Leaving her sodden garments where they had +fallen, for she was not equal to anything else, she wrapped herself in +the folds of the big gown and managed to get into bed. For all its rude +appearance it was a very comfortable sleeping place, there were springs +and a good mattress. The unbleached sheets were clean; although they had +been rough dried, there was a delicious sense of comfort and rest in her +position. She had scarcely composed herself when he knocked loudly upon +her door.</p> + +<p>"May I come in?" he asked.</p> + +<p>When she bade him enter she saw he had in his hand a saucepan full of +some steaming broth. She wondered how he had made it in such a hurry, +but after he poured it into a granite ware cup and offered it to her, +she took it without question. It was thick, warming and nourishing. He +stood by her and insisted that she take more and more. Finally she +rebelled.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps that will do for to-night," he said, "now let's have a +look at your foot."</p> + +<p>She observed that he had laid on the table a long roll of white cloth; +she could not know that he had torn up one of his sheets to make +bandages, but so it was. He took the little foot tenderly in his hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am going to hurt you," he said, "I am going to find out if there is +anything more than a bruise, any bones broken."</p> + +<p>There was no denying that he did pain her exquisitely.</p> + +<p>"I can't help it," he said as she cried aloud. "I have got to see what's +the matter, I am almost through now."</p> + +<p>"Go on, I can bear it," she said faintly. "I feel so much better anyway +now that I am dry and warm."</p> + +<p>"So far as I can determine," said the man at last, "it is only a bad +ugly bruise; the skin is torn, it has been battered, but it is neither +sprained nor broken and I don't think it is going to be very serious. +Now I am going to bathe it in the hottest water you can bear, and then I +will bandage it and let you go to sleep."</p> + +<p>He went out and came back with a kettle of boiling water, with which he +laved again and again, the poor, torn, battered little member. Never in +her life had anything been so grateful as these repeated applications of +hot water. After awhile he applied a healing lotion of some kind, then +he took his long roll of bandage and wound it dexterously around her +foot, not drawing it too close to prevent circulation, but just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> tight +enough for support, then as he finished she drew it back beneath the +cover.</p> + +<p>"Now," said he, "there is nothing more I can do for you to-night, is +there?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"I want you to go to sleep now, you will be perfectly safe here. I am +going down the caņon to search—"</p> + +<p>"No," said the girl apprehensively. "I dare not be left alone here; +besides I know how dangerous it would be for you to try to descend the +caņon in this rain. You have risked enough for me, you must wait until +the morning. I shall feel better then."</p> + +<p>"But think of the anxiety of your friends."</p> + +<p>"I can't help it," was the nervous reply. "I am afraid to be left alone +here at night."</p> + +<p>Her voice trembled, he was fearful she would have a nervous breakdown.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said soothingly, "I will not leave you till the +morning."</p> + +<p>"Where will you stay?"</p> + +<p>"I'll make a shakedown for myself in the store room," he answered. "I +shall be right within call at any time."</p> + +<p>It had grown dark outside by this time and the two in the log hut could +barely see each other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think I shall light the fire," continued the man; "it will be sort of +company for you and it gets cold up here of nights at this season. I +shouldn't wonder if this rain turned into snow. Besides, it will dry +your clothes for you."</p> + +<p>Then he went over to the fireplace, struck a match, touched it to the +kindling under the huge logs already prepared, and in a moment a +cheerful blaze was roaring up through the chimney. Then he picked up +from the floor where she had cast them in a heap, her bedraggled +garments. He straightened them out as best he could, hung them over the +backs of chairs and the table which he drew as near to the fire as was +safe. Having completed this unwonted task he turned to the woman who had +watched him curiously and nervously the while.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything more that I can do for you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing; you have been as kind and as gentle as you were strong and +brave."</p> + +<p>He threw his hand out with a deprecating gesture.</p> + +<p>"Are you quite comfortable?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And your foot?"</p> + +<p>"Seems very much better."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good night then, I will call you in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Good night," said the girl gratefully, "and God bless you for a true +and noble man."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>ON THE TWO SIDES OF THE DOOR</h3> + + +<p>The cabin contained a large and a small room. In the wall between them +there was a doorway closed by an ordinary batten door with a wooden +latch and no lock. Closed it served to hide the occupant of one room +from the view of the other, otherwise it was but a feeble barrier. Even +had it possessed a lock, a vigorous man could have burst it through in a +moment.</p> + +<p>These thoughts did not come very clearly to Enid Maitland. Few thoughts +of any kind came to her. Where she lay she could see plainly the dancing +light of the glorious fire. She was warm; the deftly wrapped bandage, +the healing lotion upon her foot, had greatly relieved the pain in that +wounded member. The bed was hard but comfortable, much more so than the +sleeping bags to which of late she had been accustomed.</p> + +<p>Few women had gone through such experiences mental and physical as had +befallen her within the last few hours and lived to tell the story. Had +it not been for the exhaustive strains of body and spirit to which she +had been subjected,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> her mental faculties would have been on the alert +and the strangeness of her unique position would have made her so +nervous that she could not have slept.</p> + +<p>For the time being, however, the physical demands upon her entity were +paramount. She was dry, she was warm, she was fed, she was free from +anxiety and she was absolutely unutterably weary. Her thoughts were +vague, inchoate, unconcentrated. The fire wavered before her eyes, she +closed them in a few moments and did not open them.</p> + +<p>Without a thought, without a care, she fell asleep. Her repose was +complete, not a dream even disturbed the profound slumber into which she +sank. Pretty picture she made; her head thrown backward, her golden hair +roughly dried and quickly plaited in long braids, one of which fell +along the pillow while the other curled lovingly around her neck. Her +face in the natural light would have looked pallid from what she had +gone through, but the fire cast red glows upon it; the fitful light +flickered across her countenance and sometimes the color wavered, it +came and went as if in consciousness; and sometimes deep shadows +unrelieved accentuated the paleness born of her sufferings.</p> + +<p>There is no light that plays so many tricks with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> the imagination, or +that so stimulates the fancy as the light of an open fire. In its sudden +outbursts it sometimes seems to add life touches to the sleeping and the +dead. Had there been any eye to see this girl, she would have made a +delightful picture in the warm glow from the stone hearth. There were no +eyes to look, however, save those which belonged to the man on the other +side of the door.</p> + +<p>On the hither side of that door in the room where the fire burned on the +hearth, there was rest in the heart of the woman, on the farther side +where the fire only burned in the heart of the man, there was tumult. +Not outward and visible, but inward and spiritual, and yet there was no +lack of apparent manifestation of the turmoil in the man's soul.</p> + +<p>Albeit the room was smaller than the other, it was still of a good size. +He walked nervously up and down from one end to the other as ceaselessly +as a wild animal impatient of captivity stalks the narrow limits of his +contracted cage. The even tenor of his life had suddenly been diverted. +The ordinary sequence of his days had been abruptly changed. The privacy +of five years, which he had hoped and dreamed might exist as long as he, +had been rudely broken in upon. Humanity, which he had avoided, from +which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> had fled, which he had cast away forever, had found him. +<i>Abiit, excessit, evasit, erupit!</i> And, lo, his departures were all in +vain! The world, with all its grandeur and its insignificance, with all +its powers and its weaknesses, with all its opportunities and its +obligations, with all its joys and its sorrows, had knocked at his door; +and that the knocking hand was that of a woman, but added to his +perplexity and to his dismay.</p> + +<p>He had cherished a dream that he could live to himself alone with but a +memory to bear him company, and from that dream he had been thunderously +awakened. Everything was changed. What had once been easy had now become +impossible. He might send her away, but though he swore her to secrecy +she would have to tell her story and something of his; the world would +learn some of it and seek him out with insatiable curiosity to know the +rest.</p> + +<p>Eyes as keen as his would presently search and scrutinize the mountains +where he had roamed alone. They would see what he had seen, find what he +had found. Mankind, gold-lusting, would swarm and hive upon the hills +and fight and love and breed and die.</p> + +<p>He would of course move on, but where? And went he whithersoever he +might, he would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> now of necessity carry with him another memory which +would not dwell within his mind in harmony with the memory which until +that day had been paramount there alone.</p> + +<p>Slowly, laboriously, painfully, he had built his house upon the sand, +and the winds had blown and the floods had come, not only in a literal +but in a spiritual significance, and in one day that house had fallen. +He stood amid the wrecked remains of it trying to recreate it, to endow +once more with the fitted precision of the past the shapeless broken +units of the fabric of his fond imagination.</p> + +<p>Whiles he resented with fierce, savage, passionate intensity the +interruption of this woman into his life. Whiles he throbbed with equal +intensity and almost as much passion at the thought of her.</p> + +<p>Have you ever climbed a mountain early in the morning while it was yet +dark and having gained some dominant crest stood staring at the far +horizon, the empurpled east, while the "dawn came up like thunder?" Or, +better still, have you ever stood within the cold dark recesses of some +deep valley of river or pass and watched the clear light spread its bars +athwart the heavens, like nebulous mighty pinions, along the light +touched crest of a towering range until all of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> sudden, with a leap +almost of joy, the great sun blazed in the high horizon?</p> + +<p>You might be born a child of the dark, and light might sear and burn +your eyeballs accustomed to cooler, deeper shades, yet you could no more +turn away from this glory, though you might hate it, than by mere effort +of will you could cease to breathe the air. The shock that you might +feel, the sudden surprise, is only faintly suggestive of the emotions in +the breast of this man.</p> + +<p>Once long ago the gentlest and tenderest of voices called from the dark +to the light, the blind. And it is given to modern science and to modern +skill sometimes to emulate that godlike achievement. Perhaps the +surprise, the amazement, the bewilderment, of him who having been blind +doth now see, if we can imagine it, not having been in the case +ourselves, will be a better guide to the understanding of this man's +emotion when this woman came suddenly into his lonely orbit. His eyes +were opened although he would not know it. He fought down his new +consciousness and would have none of it. Yet it was there. He loved her!</p> + +<p>With what joy did Selkirk welcome the savage sharer of his solitude! +Suppose she had been a woman of his own race; had she been old, +withered, hideous, he must have loved her on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> instant, much more if +she were young and beautiful. The thing was inevitable. Such passions +are born. God forbid that we should deny it. Even in the busy haunts of +men where women are as plenty as blackberries, to use Falstaff's simile, +and where a man may sometimes choose between a hundred, or a thousand, +often such loves are born, forever.</p> + +<p>A voice in the night, a face in the street, a whispered word, the touch +of a hand, the answering throb of another heart—and behold! two walk +together where before each walked alone. Sometimes the man or the woman +who is born again of love knows it not, declines to admit it, refuses to +recognize it. Some birth pain must awake the consciousness of the new +life.</p> + +<p>If those things are true and possible under every day conditions and to +ordinary men and women, how much more to this solitary. He had seen this +woman, white breasted like the foam, rising as the ancient goddess from +the Paphian Sea. Over that recollection, as he was a gentleman and a +Christian, he would fain draw a curtain, before it erect a wall. He must +not dwell upon that fact, he would not linger over that moment. Yet he +could not forget it.</p> + +<p>Then he had seen her lying prone, yet unconsciously graceful in her +abandonment, on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> sward; he had caught a glimpse of her white face +desperately up-tossed by the rolling water; he had looked into the +unfathomable depths of her eyes at that moment when she had awakened in +his arms after such a struggle as had taxed his manhood and almost +broken his heart; he had carried her unconsciously, ghastly white with +her pain-drawn face, stumbling desperately over the rocks in the beating +rain to this his home. There he had held that poor, bruised slender +little foot in his hand, gently, skillfully treating it, when he longed +to press his lips passionately upon it. Last of all he had looked into +her face warmed with the red light of the fire, searched her weary eyes +almost like blue pools, in whose depths there yet lurked life and light, +while her golden hair tinged crimson by the blaze lay on the white +pillow—and he loved her. God pity him, fighting against fact and +admission of it, yet how could he help it?</p> + +<p>He had loved once before in his life with the fire of youth and spring, +but it was not like this; he did not recognize this new passion in any +light from the past, therefore he would not admit it, hence he did not +understand it. But he saw and admitted and understood enough to know +that the past was no longer the supreme subject in his life, that the +present rose higher, bulked larger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> and hid more and more of his far-off +horizon.</p> + +<p>He felt like a knave and a traitor, as if he had been base, disloyal, +false to his ideal, recreant to his remembrance. Was he indeed a true +man? Did he have that rugged strength, that abiding faith, that eternal +consciousness, that lasting affection beside which the rocky paths he +often trod were things transient, perishable, evanescent? Was he a +weakling that he fell at the first sight of another woman?</p> + +<p>He stopped his ceaseless pace forward and backward, and stopped near +that frail and futile door. She was there and there was none to prevent. +His hand sought the latch.</p> + +<p>What was he about to do? God forbid that a thought he could not freely +share with humanity should enter his brain then. He held all women +sacred, and so he had ever done, and this woman in her loveliness, in +her helplessness, in her weakness, trebly appealed to him. But he would +look upon her, he would fain see if she were there, if it were all not a +dream, the creation of his disordered imagination.</p> + +<p>Men had gone mad in hermitages in the mountains, they had been driven +insane in lonely oases in vast deserts; and they had peopled their +solitudes with men and women. Was this same working of a disordered +brain too much turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> upon itself and with too tremendous a pressure +upon it producing an illusion? Was there in truth any woman there? He +would raise the latch and open the door and look. Once more the hand +went stealthily to the latch.</p> + +<p>The woman slept quietly on. No thin barricade easily unlocked or easily +broken protected her. Something intangible yet stronger than the +thickest, the most rigid, bars of steel guarded her; something unseen, +indescribable, but so unmistakable when it throbs in the breast that +those who depend on it feel that their dependence is not in vain, +watched over her.</p> + +<p>Cherishing no evil thought, the man had power to gratify his desire +which might yet bear a sinister construction should his action be +observed. It was her privacy he was invading; she had trusted to him, +she had said so, to his honor and that stood her in good stead. His +honor! Not in five years had he heard the word or thought the thing, but +he had not forgotten it. She had not appealed to an unreal thing. Upon a +rock her trust was based. His hand left the latch, it fell gently, he +drew back and turned away trembling, a conqueror who mastered himself. +He was awake to the truth again.</p> + +<p>What had he been about to do? Profane, uninvited, the sanctity of her +chamber, violate the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> hospitality of his own house. Even with a proper +motive imperil his self-respect, shatter her trust, endanger that honor +which so suddenly became a part of him on demand. She would not probably +know, she could never know unless she awoke. What of that? That ancient +honor of his life and race rose like a mountain whose scarped face +cannot be scaled.</p> + +<p>He fell back with a swift turn, a feeling almost womanly—and more men +perhaps if they lived in feminine isolation, as self-centered as women +are so often by necessity, would be as feminine as their +sisters—influenced him, overcame him. His hand went to his hunting +shirt; nervously he tore it open, he grasped a bright object that hung +against his breast; as he did so, the thought came to him that not +before in five years had he been for a moment unconscious of the +pressure of that locket over his heart, but now that this other had +come, he had to seek for it to find it.</p> + +<p>The man dragged it out, held it in his hand and opened it. He held it so +tightly that it almost gave beneath the strong grasp of his strong hand. +From a near-by box he drew another object with his other hand; he took +the two to the light, the soft light of the candle upon the table, and +stared from one to the other with eyes brimming.</p> + +<p>Like crystal gazers he saw other things than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> those presented to the +casual vision, he heard other sounds than the beat of the rain upon the +roof, the roar of the wind down the caņon. A voice that he had sworn he +would never forget, but which, God forgive him, had not now the +clearness that it might have had yesterday, whispered awful words to +him.</p> + +<p>Anon he looked into another face, red too, but with no hue from the +hearth or leaping flame, but red with the blood of ghastly wounds. He +heard again that report, the roar louder and more terrible than any peal +of thunder that rived the clouds above his head and made the mountains +quake and tremble. He was conscious again of the awful stillness of +death that supervened. He dropped on his knees, buried his face in his +hands where they rested on picture and locket on the rude table.</p> + +<p>Ah, the past died hard; for a moment he was the lover of old—remorse, +passionate expiation, solitude—he and the dead together—the world and +the living forgot! He would not be false, he would be true; there was no +power in any feeble woman's tender hand to drive him off his course, to +shake his purpose, to make him a new, another man. <i>O, Vanitas, +Vanitatum!</i></p> + +<p>On the other side of the door the unconscious woman slept quietly on. +The red fire light died<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> away, the glowing coals sank into gray ash. +Within the smaller room the cold dawn stealing through the unshaded +window looked upon a field of battle—deaths, wounds, triumphs, +defeats—portrayed upon one poor human face, upturned as sometimes +victors and vanquished alike upturn stark faces from the field to the +God above who may pity but who has not intervened.</p> + +<p>So Jacob may have looked after that awful night when he wrestled until +the day broke with the angel and would not let him go until he blessed +him, walking, forever after, with halting step as memorial but with his +blessing earned. Hath, this man blessing won or not? And must he pay for +it if he hath achieved it?</p> + +<p>And all the while the woman slept quietly on upon the other side of that +door.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE LOG HUT IN THE MOUNTAINS</h3> + + +<p>What awakened the woman she did not know; in all probability it was the +bright sunlight streaming through the narrow window before her. The +cabin was so placed that the sun did not strike fairly into the room +until it was some hours high, consequently she had her long sleep out +entirely undisturbed. The man had made no effort whatever to awaken her. +Whatever tasks he had performed since daybreak had been so silently +accomplished that she had not been aware of them.</p> + +<p>So soon as he could do so, he had left the cabin and was now busily +engaged in his daily duties outside the cabin and beyond earshot. He +knew that sleep was the very best medicine for her and it was best that +she should not be disturbed until in her own good time she awoke.</p> + +<p>The clouds had emptied themselves during the night and the wind had at +last died away toward morning and now there was a great calm abroad in +the land. The sunlight was dazzling. Outside, where the untempered rays +beat full upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> the crests of the mountains, it was doubtless warm, but +within the cabin it was chilly—the fire had long since burned +completely away and he had not entered the room to replenish it. Yet +Enid Maitland had lain snug and warm under her blankets. She presently +tested her wounded foot by moving it gently and discovered agreeably +that it was much less painful than she had anticipated. The treatment of +the night before had been very successful.</p> + +<p>She did not get up immediately, but the coldness of the room struck her +so soon as she got out of bed. Upon her first awakening she was hardly +conscious of her situation; her sleep had been too long and too heavy +and her awakening too gradual for any sudden appreciation of the new +condition. It was not until she had stared around the walls of the rude +cabin for some time that she realized where she was and what had +happened. When she did so she arose at once.</p> + +<p>Her first impulse was to call. Never in her life had she felt such +death-like stillness. Even in the camp almost always there had been a +whisper of breeze through the pine trees, or the chatter of water over +the rocks. But here there were no pine trees and no sound of rushing +brook came to her. It was almost painful. She was keen to dress and go +out of the house. She stood upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> the rude puncheon floor on one foot +scarcely able yet to bear even the lightest pressure upon the other. +There were her clothes on chairs and tables before the fireplace. Such +had been the heat thrown out by that huge blaze that a brief inspection +convinced her that everything was thoroughly dry. Dry or wet she must +needs put them on since they were all she had. She noticed that there +were no locks on the doors and she realized that the only protection she +had was the sense of decency and the honor of the man. That she had been +allowed her sleep unmolested made her the more confident on that +account.</p> + +<p>She dressed hastily, although it was the work of some difficulty in view +of her wounded foot and of the stiff condition of her rough dried +apparel. Presently she was completely clothed save for that disabled +foot. With the big clumsy bandages upon it she could not draw her +stocking over it and even if she succeeded in that she could in no way +make shift to put on her boot.</p> + +<p>The situation was awkward, the predicament annoying; she was wearing +bloomers and a short skirt for her mountain climbing and she did not +know quite what to do. She thought of tearing up one of the rough +unbleached sheets and wrapping it around her leg, but she hesitated as +to that. It was very trying. Otherwise she would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> have opened the door +and stepped out into the open air, now she felt herself virtually a +prisoner.</p> + +<p>She had been thankful that no one had disturbed her, but now she wished +for the man. In her helplessness she thought of his resourcefulness with +eagerness. The man however did not appear and there was nothing for her +to do but to wait for him. Taking one of the blankets from the bed, she +sat down and drew it across her knees and took stock of the room.</p> + +<p>The cabin was built of logs, the room was large, perhaps twelve by +twenty feet, with one side completely taken up by the stone fireplace; +there were two windows, one on either side of the outer door which +opened toward the southwest. The walls were unplastered save in the +chinks between the rough hewn logs of which it was made. Over the +fireplace and around on one side ran a rude shelf covered with books. +She had no opportunity to examine them, although later she would become +familiar with every one of them.</p> + +<p>Into the walls on the other side were driven wooden pegs; from some of +them hung a pair of snow shoes, a heavy Winchester rifle, fishing tackle +and other necessary wilderness paraphernalia. On the puncheon floor wolf +and bear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> skins were spread. In one corner against the wall again were +piled several splendid pairs of horns from the mountain sheep.</p> + +<p>The furniture consisted of the single bed or berth in which she had +slept, built against the wall in one of the corners, a rude table on +which were writing materials and some books. A row of curtained shelves, +evidently made of small boxes and surmounted by a mirror, occupied +another space. There were two or three chairs, the handiwork of the +owner, comfortable enough in spite of their rude construction. On some +other pegs hung a slicker and a sou'wester, a fur overcoat, a fur cap +and other rough clothes; a pair of heavy boots stood by the fireplace. +On another shelf there were a number of scientific instruments the +nature of which she could not determine, although she could see that +they were all in a beautiful state of preservation.</p> + +<p>There was plenty of rude comfort in the room which was excessively +mannish. In fact there was nothing anywhere which in any way spoke of +the existence of woman—except a picture in a small rough wooden frame +which stood on the table before which she sat down. The picture was of a +handsome woman—naturally Enid Maitland saw that before anything else; +she would not have been a woman if that had not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> engaged her attention +more forcibly than any other fact in the room. She picked it up and +studied it long and earnestly, quite unconscious of the reason for her +interest, and yet a certain uneasy feeling might have warned her of what +was toward in her bosom.</p> + +<p>This young woman had not yet had time to get her bearings, she had not +been able to realize all the circumstances of her adventure; so soon as +she did so she would know that into her life a man had come and whatever +the course of that life might be in the future, he would never again be +out of it.</p> + +<p>It was therefore with mingled and untranslatable emotions that she +studied this picture. She marked with a certain resentment the bold +beauty quite apparent despite the dim fading outlines of a photograph +never very good. So far as she could discern the woman was dark haired +and dark eyed—her direct antithesis! The casual viewer would have found +little to find fault with in the presentment, but Enid Maitland's eyes +were sharpened by—what, pray? At any rate she decided that the woman +was of a rather coarse fiber, that in things finer and higher she would +be found wanting. She was such a woman, so the girl reasoned acutely, as +might inspire a passionate affection in a strong hearted, reckless +youth, but whose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> charms being largely physical would pall in longer and +more intimate association; a dangerous rival in a charge, but not so +formidable in a steady campaign.</p> + +<p>These thoughts were the result of long and earnest inspection and it was +with some reluctance that the girl at last put the photograph aside and +looked toward the door. She was hungry, ravenously so. She began to be a +little alarmed and had just about made up her mind to rise and stumble +out as she was, when she heard steps outside and a knock on the door.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she asked in response.</p> + +<p>"May I come in?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," was the quick answer.</p> + +<p>The man opened the door, left it ajar and entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Have you been awake long?" he began abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Not very."</p> + +<p>"I didn't disturb you because you needed sleep more than anything else. +How do you feel?"</p> + +<p>"Greatly refreshed, thank you."</p> + +<p>"And hungry, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Very."</p> + +<p>"I will soon remedy that. Your foot?"</p> + +<p>"It seems much better, but I—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> + +<p>The girl hesitated, blushing. "I can't get my shoe on and—"</p> + +<p>"Shall I have another look at it?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't believe it will be necessary. If I may have some of that +liniment, or whatever it was you put on it, and more of that bandage, I +think I can attend to it myself, but you see my stocking and my boot—"</p> + +<p>The man nodded, he seemed to understand; he went to his cracker box +chiffonier and drew from it a long coarse woolen stocking.</p> + +<p>"That is the best that I can do for you," he said, extending it toward +her somewhat diffidently.</p> + +<p>"And that will do very nicely," said the girl. "It will cover the +bandage and that is the main thing."</p> + +<p>The man laid on the table by the side of the stocking another strip of +bandage torn from the same sheet; as he did so he noticed the picture. +He caught it up quickly, a dark flush spreading over his face, and +holding it in his hand he turned abruptly away.</p> + +<p>"I will go and cook you some breakfast while you get yourself ready. If +you have not washed, you'll find a bucket of water and a basin and towel +outside the door."</p> + +<p>He went through the inner door as suddenly as he had come through the +outer one. He was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> a man of few words and whatever of social grace he +might once have possessed and in more favorable circumstances exhibited, +was not noticeable now; the tenderness with which he had cared for her +the night before had also vanished.</p> + +<p>His bearing had been cool almost harsh and forbidding and his manner was +as grim as his appearance. The conversation had been a brief one and her +opportunity for inspection of him consequently limited, yet she had +taken him in. She saw a tall splendid man, no longer very young, +perhaps, but in the prime of life and vigor. His complexion was dark and +burned browner by long exposure to sun and wind, winter and summer. In +spite of the brown there was a certain color, a hue of health in his +cheeks. His eyes were hazel, sometimes brown, sometimes gray, and +sometimes blue, she afterward learned. A short thick closely cut beard +and mustache covered the lower part of his face, disguising but not +hiding the squareness of his jaw and the firmness, of his lips.</p> + +<p>He had worn his cap when he entered and when he took it off she noticed +that his dark hair was tinged with white. He was dressed in a leather +hunting suit, somewhat the worse for wear, but fitting him in a way to +give free play to all his muscles. His movements were swift,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> energetic +and graceful; she did not wonder that he had so easily hurled the bear +to one side and had managed to carry her—no light weight, indeed!—over +what she dimly recognized must have been a horrible trail, which +burdened as he was would have been impossible to a man of less splendid +vigor than he.</p> + +<p>The cabin was low ceiled and as she had sat looking up at him he had +towered above her until he seemed to fill it. Naturally she had +scrutinized his every action, as she had hung upon his every word. His +swift and somewhat startled movement, his frowning as he had seized the +picture on which she had gazed with such interest aroused the liveliest +surprise and curiosity in her heart.</p> + +<p>Who was this woman? Why was he so quick to remove the picture from her +gaze? Thoughts rushed tumultuously through her brain, but she realized +at once that she lacked time to indulge them. She could hear him moving +about in the other room, she threw aside the blanket with which she had +draped herself, changed the bandage on her foot, drew on the heavy +woolen stocking which of course was miles too big for her, but which +easily took in her foot and ankle encumbered as they were by the rude, +heavy but effective wrapping. Thereafter she hobbled to the door and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +stood for a moment almost aghast at the splendor and magnificence before +her.</p> + +<p>He had built his cabin on a level shelf of rock perhaps fifty by a +hundred feet in area. It was backed up against an overtowering cliff, +otherwise the rock fell away in every direction. She divined that the +descent from the shelf into the pocket or valley spread before her was +sheer, except off to the right where a somewhat gentler acclivity of +huge and broken boulders gave a practicable ascent—a sort of titantic +stairs—to the place perched on the mountain side. The shelf was +absolutely bare save for the cabin and a few huge boulders. There were a +few sparse, stunted trees further up on the mountain side above; a few +hundred feet beyond them, however, came the timber line, after which +there was nothing but the naked rock.</p> + +<p>Below several hundred feet lay a clear emerald pool, whose edges were +bordered by pines where it was not dominated by high cliffs. Already the +lakelet was rimmed with ice on the shaded side. This enchanting little +body of water was fed by the melting snow from the crest and peaks, +which in the clear pure sunshine and rarefied air of the mountains +seemed to rise and confront her within a stone's throw of the place +where she stood.</p> + +<p>On one side of the lake in the valley or pocket<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> beneath there was a +little grassy clearing, and there this dweller in the wilderness had +built a rude corral for the burros. On a rough bench by the side of the +door she saw the primitive conveniences to which he had alluded. The +water was delightfully soft and as it had stood exposed to the sun's +direct rays for some time, although the air was exceedingly crisp and +cold, it was tempered sufficiently to be merely cool and agreeable. She +luxuriated in it for a few moments and while she had her face buried in +the towel, rough, coarse, but clean, she heard a step. She looked up in +time to see the man lay down upon the bench a small mirror and a clean +comb. He said nothing as he did so and she had no opportunity to thank +him before he was gone. The thoughtfulness of the act affected her +strangely and she was very glad of a chance to unbraid her hair, comb it +out and plait it again. She had not a hair pin left of course, and all +she could do with it was to replait it and let it hang upon her +shoulders; her coiffure would have looked very strange to civilization, +but out there in the mountains, it was eminently appropriate.</p> + +<p>Without noticing details the man felt the general effect as she limped +back into the room toward the table. Her breakfast was ready for her; it +was a coarse fare, bacon, a baked potato<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> hard tack crisped before the +fire, coffee black and strong, with sugar but no cream. The dishes +matched the fare, too, yet she noticed that the fork was of silver and +by her plate there was a napkin, rough dried but of fine linen. The man +had just set the brimming smoking coffee pot on the table when she +appeared.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry I have no cream," he said, and then before she could make +comment or reply, he turned and walked out of the door, his purpose +evidently being not to embarrass her by his presence while she ate.</p> + +<p>Enid Maitland had grown to relish the camp fare, bringing to it the +appetite of good health and exertion. She had never eaten anything that +tasted so good to her as that rude meal that morning, yet she would have +enjoyed it better, she thought, if he had only shared it with her, if +she had not been compelled to eat it alone. She hastened her meal on +that account, determined as soon as she had finished her breakfast to +seek the man and have some definite understanding with him.</p> + +<p>And after all she reflected that she was better alone than in his +presence, for there would come stealing into her thoughts the +distressing episode of the morning before, try as she would to put it +out of her mind. Well, she was a fairly sensible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> girl, the matter was +passed, it could not be helped now, she would forget it as much as was +possible. She would recur to it with mortification later on, but the +present was so full of grave problems that there was not any room for +the past.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>A TOUR OF INSPECTION</h3> + + +<p>The first thing necessary, she decided, when she had satisfied her +hunger and finished her meal, was to get word of her plight and her +resting place to her uncle and the men of the party; and the next thing +was to get away, where she would never see this man again and perhaps be +able to forget what had transpired—yet there was a strange pang of pain +in her heart at that thought!</p> + +<p>No man on earth had ever so stimulated her curiosity as this one. Who +was he? Why was he there? Who was the woman whose picture he had so +quickly taken from her gaze? Why had so splendid a man buried himself +alone in that wilderness? These reflections were presently interrupted +by the reappearance of the man himself.</p> + +<p>"Have you finished?" he asked unceremoniously, standing in the doorway +as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you, and it was very good indeed."</p> + +<p>Dismissing this politeness with a wave of his hand but taking no other +notice, he spoke again.</p> + +<p>"If you will tell me your name—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Maitland, Enid Maitland."</p> + +<p>"Miss Maitland?"</p> + +<p>The girl nodded.</p> + +<p>"And where you came from, I will endeavor to find your party and see +what can be done to restore you to them."</p> + +<p>"We were camped down that caņon at a place where another brook, a large +one, flows into it, several miles I should think below the place +where—"</p> + +<p>She was going to say "where you found me," but the thought of the way in +which he had found her rushed over her again; and this time with his +glance directly upon her, although it was as cold and dispassionate and +indifferent as a man's look could well be, the recollection of the +meeting to which she had been about to allude rushed over her with an +accompanying wave of color which heightened her beauty as it covered her +with shame.</p> + +<p>She could not realize that beneath his mask of indifference so +deliberately worn, the man was as agitated as she, not so much at the +remembrance of anything that had transpired, but at the sight, the +splendid picture, of the woman as she stood, there in the little cabin +then. It seemed to him as if she gathered up in her own person all the +radiance and light and beauty, all the purity and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> freshness and +splendor of the morning, to shine and dazzle in his face. As she +hesitated in confusion, perhaps comprehending its causes he helped out +her lame and halting sentence.</p> + +<p>"I know the caņon well," he said. "I think I know the place to which you +refer; is it just about where the river makes an enormous bend upon +itself?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is it. In that clearing we have been camped for ten days. My +uncle must be crazy with anxiety to know what has become of me and—"</p> + +<p>The man interposed.</p> + +<p>"I will go there directly," he said. "It is now half after ten. That +place is about seven miles or more from here across the range, fifteen +or twenty by the river; I shall be back by nightfall. The cabin is your +own."</p> + +<p>He turned away without another word.</p> + +<p>"Wait," said the woman, "I am afraid to stay here."</p> + +<p>She had been fearless enough before in these mountains but her recent +experiences had somehow unsettled her nerves.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing on earth to hurt you, I think," returned the man. +"There isn't a human being, so far as I know, in these mountains."</p> + +<p>"Except my uncle's party."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"But there might be another—bear," she added desperately, forcing +herself.</p> + +<p>"Not likely, and they wouldn't come here if there were any. That's the +first grizzly I have seen in years," he went on unconcernedly, +studiously looking away from her, not to add to her confusion at the +remembrance of that awful episode which would obtrude itself on every +occasion. "You can use a rifle or gun?"</p> + +<p>She nodded; he stepped over to the wall and took down the Winchester +which he handed her.</p> + +<p>"This one is ready for service, and you will find a revolver on the +shelf. There is only one possible way of access to this cabin, that's +down those rock stairs; one man, one woman, a child even, with these +weapons could hold it against an army."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't I go with you?"</p> + +<p>"On that foot?"</p> + +<p>Enid pressed her wounded foot upon the ground; it was not so painful +when resting, but she found she could not walk a step on it without +great suffering.</p> + +<p>"I might carry you part of the way," said the man. "I carried you last +night, but it would be impossible, all of it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Promise me that you will be back by nightfall with Uncle Bob and—"</p> + +<p>"I shall be back by nightfall, but I can't promise that I will bring +anybody with me."</p> + +<p>"You mean?"</p> + +<p>"You saw what the cloud burst nearly did for you," was the quick answer. +"If they did not get out of that pocket there is nothing left of them +now."</p> + +<p>"But they must have escaped," persisted the girl, fighting down her +alarm at this blunt statement of possible peril. "Besides, Uncle Robert +and most of the rest were climbing one of the peaks and—"</p> + +<p>"They will be all right then, but if I am to find the place and tell +them your story, I must go now."</p> + +<p>He turned and without another word or a backward glance scrambled down +the hill. The girl limped to the brink of the cliff over which he had +plunged and stared after him. She watched him as long as she could see +him until he was lost among the trees. If she had anybody else to depend +upon she would certainly have felt differently toward him. When Uncle +Robert and her Aunt and the children and old Kirkby and the rest +surrounded her again she could hate that man in spite of all he had done +for her, but now, as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> stared after him determinedly making his way +down the mountain and through the trees, it was with difficulty she +could restrain herself from calling him back.</p> + +<p>The silence was most oppressive, the loneliness was frightful; she had +been alone before in these mountains, but from choice; now the fact that +there was no escape from them made the sensation a very different one.</p> + +<p>She sat down and brooded over her situation until she felt that if she +did not do something and in some way divert her thoughts she would break +down again. He had said that the cabin and its contents were hers. She +resolved to inspect them more closely. She hobbled back into the great +room and looked about her again. There was nothing that demanded careful +scrutiny; she wasn't quite sure whether she was within the proprieties +or not, but she seized the oldest and most worn of the volumes on the +shelf. It was a text book on mining and metallurgy she observed, and +opening it at the fly leaf, across the page she saw written in a firm +vigorous masculine hand a name, "William Berkeley Newbold," and beneath +these words, "Thayer Hall, Harvard," and a date some seven years back.</p> + +<p>The owner of that book, whether the present possessor or not, had been a +college man. Say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> that he had graduated at twenty-one or twenty-two, he +would be twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old now, but if so, why that +white hair? Perhaps though the book did not belong to the man of the +cabin.</p> + +<p>She turned to other books on the shelf. Many of them were technical +books which she had sufficient general culture to realize could be only +available to a man highly educated and a special student of mines and +mining—a mining engineer, she decided, with a glance at those +instruments and appliances of a scientific character plainly, but of +whose actual use she was ignorant.</p> + +<p>A rapid inspection of the other books confirmed her in the conclusion +that the man of the mountains was indeed the owner of the collection. +There were a few well worn volumes of poetry and essays. A Bible, +Shakespeare, Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, Tennyson, Keats, a small +dictionary, a compendious encyclopedia, just the books, she thought, +smiling at her conceit, that a man of education and culture would want +to have upon a desert island where his supply of literature would be +limited.</p> + +<p>The old ones were autographed as the first book she had looked in; +others, newer editions to the little library if she could judge by their +condition, were unsigned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>Into the corner cupboard and the drawers of course she did not look. +There was nothing else in the room to attract her attention, save some +piles of manuscript neatly arranged on one of the shelves, each one +covered with a square of board and kept in place by pieces of glistening +quartz. There were four of these piles and another half the size of the +first four on the table. These of course she did not examine, further +than to note that the writing was in the same bold free hand as the +signature in the books. If she had been an expert she might have deduced +much from the writing; as it was she fancied it was strong, direct, +manly.</p> + +<p>Having completed her inspection of this room, she opened the door and +went into the other; it was smaller and less inviting. It had only one +window and a door opening outside. There was a cook stove here and +shelves with cooking utensils and granite ware, and more rude box +receptacles on the walls which were filled with a bountiful and well +selected store of canned goods and provisions of various kinds. This was +evidently the kitchen, supply room, china closet. She saw no sign of a +bed in it and wondered where and how the man had spent the night.</p> + +<p>By rights her mind should have been filled with her uncle and his party +and in their alarm she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> should have shared, but she was so extremely +comfortable, except for her foot, which did not greatly trouble her so +long as she kept it quiet, that she felt a certain degree of contentment +not to say happiness. The Adventure was so romantic and thrilling—save +for those awful moments in the pool—especially to the soul of a +conventional woman who had been brought up in the most humdrum and +stereotyped fashion of the earth's ways, and with never an opportunity +for the development of the spirit of romance which all of us exhibit +some time in our life and which thank God some of us never lose, that +she found herself reveling in it.</p> + +<p>She lost herself in pleasing imaginations of the tales of her adventures +that she could tell when she got back to her uncle and when she got +further back to staid old Philadelphia. How shocked everybody would be +with it all there! Of course she resolved that she would never mention +one episode of that terrible day, and she had somehow absolute +confidence that this man, in spite of his grim, gruff taciturnity, who +had shown himself so exceedingly considerate of her feelings would never +mention it either.</p> + +<p>She had so much food for thought, that not even in the late afternoon of +the long day, could she force her mind to the printed pages of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> book +she had taken at random from the shelf which lay open before her, where +she sat in the sun, her head covered by an old "Stetson" that she had +ventured to appropriate. She had dragged a bear skin out on the rocks in +the sun and sat curled up on it half reclining against a boulder +watching the trail, the Winchester by her side. She had eaten so late a +breakfast that she had made a rather frugal lunch out of whatever had +taken her fancy in the store room, and she was waiting most anxiously +now for the return of the man.</p> + +<p>The season was late and the sun sank behind the peaks quite early in the +afternoon, and it grew dark and chill long before the shadows fell upon +the dwellers of the lowlands.</p> + +<p>Enid drew the bear skin around her and waited with an ever growing +apprehension. If she should be compelled to spend the night alone in +that cabin, she felt that she could not endure it. She was never so glad +of anything in her life as when she saw him suddenly break out of the +woods and start up the steep trail, and for a moment her gladness was +not tempered by the fact, which she was presently to realize with great +dismay, that as he had gone, so he now returned, alone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>THE CASTAWAYS OF THE MOUNTAINS</h3> + + +<p>The man was evidently seeking her, for so soon as he caught sight of her +he broke into a run and came bounding up the steep ascent with the speed +and agility of a chamois or a mountain sheep. As he approached the girl +rose to her feet and supported herself upon the boulder against which +she had been leaning, at the same time extending her hand to greet him.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she cried, her voice rising nervously as he drew near, "I am so +glad you are back, another hour of loneliness and I believe I should +have gone crazy."</p> + +<p>Now whether that joy in his return was for him, personally or for him +abstractly, he could not tell; whether she was glad that he had come +back simply because he was a human being who would relieve her +loneliness or whether she rejoiced to see him individually, was a matter +not yet to be determined. He hoped the latter, he believed the former. +At any rate he caught and held her outstretched hand in the warm clasp +of both his own. Burning words of greeting rushed to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> lips +torrentially, what he said, however, was quite commonplace; as is so +often the case, thought and outward speech did not correspond.</p> + +<p>"It's too cold for you out here, you must go into the house at once," he +declared masterfully and she obeyed with unwonted meekness.</p> + +<p>The sun had set and the night air had grown suddenly chill. Still +holding her hand they started toward the cabin a few rods away. Her +wounded foot was of little support to her and the excitement had +unnerved her; in spite of his hand she swayed; without a thought he +caught her about the waist and half lifted, half led her to the door. It +seemed as natural as it was inevitable for him to assist her in this way +and in her weakness and bewilderment she suffered it without comment or +resistance. Indeed there was such strength and power in his arm, she was +so secure there, that she liked it. As for him his pulses were bounding +at the contact; but for that matter even to look at her quickened his +heart beat.</p> + +<p>Entering the main room he led her gently to one of the chairs near the +table and immediately thereafter lighted the fire which he had taken the +precaution to lay before his departure. It had been dark in the cabin, +but the fire soon filled it with glorious light. She watched him at his +task<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> and as he rose from the hearth questioned him.</p> + +<p>"Now tell me," she began, "you found—"</p> + +<p>"First your supper, and then the story," he answered, turning toward the +door of the other room.</p> + +<p>"No," pleaded the girl, "can't you see that nothing is of any importance +to me but the story? Did you find the camp?"</p> + +<p>"I found the place where it had been."</p> + +<p>"Where it had been!"</p> + +<p>"There wasn't a single vestige of it left. That whole pocket, I knew it +well, had been swept clean by the flood."</p> + +<p>"But Kirkby, and Mrs. Maitland and—"</p> + +<p>"They weren't there."</p> + +<p>"Did you search for them?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"But they can't have been drowned," she exclaimed piteously.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," he began reassuringly. "Kirkby is a veteran of these +mountains and—"</p> + +<p>"But do you know him?" queried the girl in great surprise.</p> + +<p>"I did once," said the man, flushing darkly at his admission. "I haven't +seen him for five years."</p> + +<p>So that was the measure of his isolation, thought the woman, keen for +the slightest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> evidence as to her companion's history, of which, by the +way, he meant to tell her nothing.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she asked, breaking the pause.</p> + +<p>"Kirkby would certainly see the cloudburst coming and he would take the +people with him in the camp up on the hogback near it. It is far above +the flood line, they would be quite safe there."</p> + +<p>"And did you look for them there?"</p> + +<p>"I did. The trail had been washed out, but I scrambled up and found +undisputed evidence that my surmise was correct. I haven't a doubt that +all who were in the camp were saved."</p> + +<p>"Thank God for that," said the girl, greatly relieved and comforted by +his reassuring words. "And my uncle, Mr. Robert Maitland, and the rest +on the mountain, what do you think of them?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure that they must have escaped too. I don't think any of them +have suffered more than a thorough drenching in the downpour and that +they are all safe and perhaps on their way to the settlements now."</p> + +<p>"But they wouldn't go back without searching for me, would they?" cried +the girl.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, I suppose they are searching for you now."</p> + +<p>"Well then—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wait," said the man. "You started down the caņon, you told everybody +that you were going that way. They naturally searched in that direction; +they hadn't the faintest idea that you were going up the river."</p> + +<p>"No," admitted Enid, "that is true. I did not tell anyone. I didn't +dream of going up the caņon when I started out in the morning; it was +the result of a sudden impulse."</p> + +<p>"God bless that—" burst out the man and then he checked himself, +flushing again, darkly.</p> + +<p>What had he been about to say? The question flashed into his own mind +and into the woman's mind at the same time when she heard, the +incompleted sentence; but she, too, checked the question that rose to +her lips.</p> + +<p>"This is the way I figure it," continued the man hurriedly to cover up +his confusion. "They fancy themselves alone in these mountains, which +save for me they are; they believe you to have gone down the caņon. +Kirkby with Mrs. Maitland and the others waited on the ridge until Mr. +Maitland and his party joined them. They couldn't have saved very much +to eat or wear from the camp, they were miles from a settlement, they +probably divided into two parties; the larger with the woman and +children started for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> home, the second went down the caņon searching for +your dead body!"</p> + +<p>"And had it not been for you," cried the girl impulsively, "they had +found it."</p> + +<p>"God permitted me to be of service to you," answered the man simply. "I +can follow their speculations exactly; up or down, they believed you to +have been in the caņon when the storm broke, therefore there was only +one place and one direction to search for you."</p> + +<p>"And that was?"</p> + +<p>"Down the caņon."</p> + +<p>"What did you do then?"</p> + +<p>"I went down the caņon myself. I think I saw evidences that someone had +preceded me, too."</p> + +<p>"Did you overtake them!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not; they traveled as rapidly as I, they must have started +early in the morning and they had several hours the advantage of me."</p> + +<p>"But they must have stopped somewhere for the night and—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the man. "If I had had only myself to consider, I should +have pressed on through the night and overtaken them when they camped."</p> + +<p>"Only yourself?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You made me promise to return here by nightfall. I don't know whether I +should have obeyed you or not. I kept on as long as I dared and still +leave myself time to get back to you by dark."</p> + +<p>She had no idea of the desperate speed he had made to reach her while it +was still daylight.</p> + +<p>"If you hadn't come when you did, I should have died," cried the girl +impetuously. "You did perfectly right. I don't think I am a coward, I +hope not, I never was afraid before, but—"</p> + +<p>"Don't apologize or explain to me, it's not necessary; I understand +everything you feel. It was only because I had given you my word to be +back by sunset that I left off following their trail. I was afraid that +you might think me dead or that something had happened and—"</p> + +<p>"I should, I did," admitted the girl. "It wasn't so bad during the day +time, but when the sun went down and you did not come I began to imagine +everything. I saw myself left alone here in these mountains, helpless, +wounded, without a human being to speak to. I could not bear it."</p> + +<p>"But I have been here alone for five years," said the man grimly.</p> + +<p>"That's different. I don't know why you have chosen solitude, but I—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are a woman," returned the other gently, "and you have suffered, +that accounts for everything."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Enid gratefully. "And I am so glad you came back to +me."</p> + +<p>"Back to you," reiterated the man and then he stopped. If he had allowed +his heart to speak he would have said, back to you from the very ends of +the world—"But I want you to believe that I honestly did not leave the +trail until the ultimate moment," he added.</p> + +<p>"I do believe it," she extended her hand to him. "You have been very +good to me, I trust you absolutely."</p> + +<p>And for the second time he took that graceful, dainty, aristocratic hand +in his own larger, stronger, firmer grasp. His face flushed again; under +other circumstances and in other days perhaps he might have kissed that +hand; as it was he only held it for a moment and then gently released +it.</p> + +<p>"And you think they are searching for me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I know it. I am sure of what I myself would do for one I love—I loved +I mean, and they—"</p> + +<p>"And they will find me?"</p> + +<p>The man shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid they will be convinced that you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> have gone down with the +flood. Didn't you have a cap or—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the woman, "and a sweater. The bear you shot covered the +sweater with blood. I could not put it on again."</p> + +<p>As she spoke she flushed a glorious crimson at the remembrance of that +meeting, but the man was looking away with studied care. She thanked him +in her heart for such generous and kindly consideration.</p> + +<p>"They will have gone down the stream with the rest, and it's just +possible that the searchers may find them, the body of the bear too. +This river ends in a deep mountain lake and I think it is going to snow, +it will be frozen hard to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"And they will think me—there?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid so."</p> + +<p>"And they won't come up here?"</p> + +<p>"It is scarcely possible."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed the woman faintly at the dire possibility that she might +not be found.</p> + +<p>"I took an empty bottle with me," said the man, breaking the silence, +"in which I had enclosed a paper saying that you were here and safe, +save for your wounded foot, and giving directions how to reach the +place. I built a cairn of rocks in a sheltered nook in the valley where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +your camp had been pitched and left the tightly corked bottle wedged on +top of it. If they return to the camp they can scarcely fail to see it."</p> + +<p>"But if they don't go back there."</p> + +<p>"Well, it was just a chance."</p> + +<p>"And if they don't find me?"</p> + +<p>"You will have to stay here for a while; until your foot gets well +enough to travel," returned the man evasively.</p> + +<p>"But winter is coming on, you said the lake would freeze to-night, and +if it snows?"</p> + +<p>"It will snow."</p> + +<p>The woman stared at him, appalled.</p> + +<p>"And in that case—"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," was the slow reply, "that you will have to stay here"—he +hesitated in the face of her white still face—"all winter," he added +desperately.</p> + +<p>"Alone!" exclaimed the girl faintly. "With you?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Maitland," said the man resolutely, "I might as well tell you the +truth. I can make my way to the settlements now or later, but it will be +a journey of perhaps a week. There will be no danger to me, but you will +have to stay here. You could not go with me. If I am any judge you +couldn't possibly use your foot for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> mountain journey for at least +three weeks, and by that time we shall be snowed in as effectually as if +we were within the Arctic Circle. But if you will let me go alone to the +settlement I can bring back your uncle, and a woman to keep you company, +before the trails are impassable. Or enough men to make it practicable +to take you through the caņons and down the trails to your home again. I +could not do that alone even if you were well, in the depth of the +winter."</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head stubbornly.</p> + +<p>"A week alone in these mountains and I should be mad," she said +decisively. "It isn't to be thought of."</p> + +<p>"It must be thought of," urged the man. "You don't understand. It is +either that or spend the winter here—with me."</p> + +<p>The woman looked at him steadily.</p> + +<p>"And what have I to fear from you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, nothing," protested the other, "but the world?"</p> + +<p>"The world," said the woman reflectively. "I don't mean to say that it +means nothing to me, but it has cause enough for what it would fain say +now." She came to her decision swiftly. "There is no help for it," she +continued; "we are marooned together." She smiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> faintly as she used +the old word of tropic island and southern sea. "You have shown me that +you are a man and a gentleman, in God and you I put my trust. When my +foot gets well, if you can teach me to walk on snow shoes and it is +possible to get through the passes, we will try to go back; if not, we +must wait."</p> + +<p>"The decision is yours," said the man, "yet I feel that I ought to point +out to you how—"</p> + +<p>"I see all that you see," she interrupted. "I know what is in your mind, +it is entirely clear to me, we can do nothing else."</p> + +<p>"So be it. You need have no apprehension as to your material comfort; I +have lived in these mountains for a long time, I am prepared for any +emergency, I pass my time in the summer getting ready for the winter. +There is a cave, or recess rather, behind the house which, as you see, +is built against the rock wall, and it is filled with wood enough to +keep us warm for two or three winters; I have an ample supply of +provisions and clothing for my own needs, but you will need something +warmer than that you wear," he continued.</p> + +<p>"Have you needle and thread and cloth?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Everything," was the prompt answer.</p> + +<p>"Then I shall not suffer."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are you that wonder of wonders," asked the man, smiling slightly, "an +educated woman who knows how to sew?"</p> + +<p>"It is a tradition of Philadelphia," answered the girl, "that her +daughters should be expert needlewomen."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are from Philadelphia."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and you?"</p> + +<p>She threw the question at him so deftly and so quickly that she caught +him unaware and off his guard a second time within the hour.</p> + +<p>"Baltimore," he answered before he thought and then bit his lip.</p> + +<p>He had determined to vouchsafe her no information regarding himself and +here she had surprised him into an admission in the first blush of their +acquaintance, and she knew that she had triumphed for she smiled in +recognition of it.</p> + +<p>She tried another tack.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Newbold," she began at a venture, and as it was five years since he +had heard that name, his surprise at her knowledge, which after all was +very simple, betrayed him a third time. "We are like stories I have +read, people who have been cast away on desert islands and—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the man, "but no castaways that I have ever read of have +been so bountifully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> provided with everything necessary to the comfort +of life as we are. I told you I lacked nothing for your material +welfare, and even your mind need not stagnate."</p> + +<p>"I have looked at your books already," said the woman, answering his +glance.</p> + +<p>This was where she had found his name he realized.</p> + +<p>"You will have this room for your own use and I will take the other for +mine," he continued.</p> + +<p>"I am loath to dispossess you."</p> + +<p>"I shall be quite comfortable there, and this shall be your room +exclusively except when you bid me enter, as when I bring you your +meals; otherwise I shall hold it inviolate."</p> + +<p>"But," said the woman, "there must be an equal division of labor, I must +do my share."</p> + +<p>"There isn't much to do in the winter, except to take care of the +burros, keep up the fire and prepare what we have to eat."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I should be unequal to outdoor work, but in the rest I must +do my part."</p> + +<p>He recognized at once that idleness would be irksome.</p> + +<p>"So you shall," he assented heartily, "when your foot is well enough to +make you an efficient member of our little society."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, and now—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is there anything else before I get supper?"</p> + +<p>"You think there is no hope of their searching for me here?"</p> + +<p>The man shook his head.</p> + +<p>"If James Armstrong had been in the party," she said reflectively, "I am +sure he would never have given up."</p> + +<p>"And who is James Armstrong, may I ask?" burst forth the other bluntly.</p> + +<p>"Why he—I—he is a friend of my uncle's and an—acquaintance of my +own."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the man shortly and gloomily, as he turned away.</p> + +<p>Enid Maitland had been very brave in his presence, but when he went out +she put her head down on her arms on the table and cried softly to +herself. Was ever a woman in such a predicament, thrown into the arms of +a man who had established every conceivable claim upon her gratitude, +forced to live with him shut up in a two-room log cabin upon a lonely +mountain range, surrounded by lofty and inaccessible peaks, pierced by +terrific gorges soon to be impassable from the snows? She had read many +stories of castaways from Charles Reade's famous "Foul Play" down to +more modern instances, but in those cases there had always been an +island comparatively large over which to range, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> privacy, +seclusion, opportunity for withdrawal; bright heavens, balmy breezes, +idyllic conditions. Here were two uplifted from the earth upon a +sky-piercing mountain; they would have had more range of action and more +liberty of motion if they had been upon a derelict in the ocean.</p> + +<p>And she realized at the same time that in all those stories the two +castaways always loved each other. Would it be so with them? Was it so! +And again the hot flame within outvied the fire on the hearth as the +blood rushed to the smooth surface of her cheek again.</p> + +<p>What would her father say if he could know her position, what would the +world say, and above all what would Armstrong say? It cannot be denied +that her thoughts were terribly and overwhelmingly dismayed, and yet +that despair was not without a certain relief. No man had ever so +interested her as this one. What was the mystery of his life, why was he +there, what had he meant when he had blessed the idle impulse that had +sent her into his arms?</p> + +<p>Her heart throbbed again. She lifted her face from her hands and dried +her tears, a warm glow stole over her and once again not altogether from +the fire. Who and what was this man? Who was that woman whose picture he +had taken from her? Well, she would have time to find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> out. And meantime +the world outside could think and do what it pleased. She sat staring +into the firelight, seeing pictures there, dreaming dreams. She was as +lovely as an angel to the man when he came back into the room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + +<h2>BOOK IV</h2> + +<h3>OH YE ICE AND SNOW, PRAISE YE THE LORD</h3> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>THE WOMAN'S HEART</h3> + + +<p>That upper earth on which they lived was covered with a thick blanket of +snow. The lakes and pools were frozen from shore to shore. The mountain +brooks, if they flowed at all, ran under thick arches of ice. The +deepest caņons were well nigh impassable from huge drifts that sometimes +almost rose level with the tops of the walls. In every sheltered spot +great banks of white were massed. The spreading branches of the tall +pine trees in the valleys drooped under heavy burdens of snow. Only here +and there sharp gaunt peaks were swept clean by the fierce winter winds +and thrust themselves upward in the icy air, naked and bare. The cold +was polar in its bitter intensity.</p> + +<p>The little shelf, or plateau, jutting out from the mountain side upon +which the lonely cabin stood was sheltered from the prevailing winds, +but the house itself was almost covered with the drifts. The constant +fire roaring up the huge stone chimney had melted some of the snow at +the top and it had run down the slanting roof and formed huge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> icicles +on what had been the eaves of the house. The man had cut away the drifts +from doors and windows for light and liberty. At first every stormy +night would fill his laborious clearings with drifting snow, but as it +became packed down and frozen solid he was able to keep his various ways +open without a great deal of difficulty. A little work every morning and +evening sufficed.</p> + +<p>Every day he had to go down the mountain stairway to the bottom of the +pocket to feed and water the burros. What was a quick and simple task in +milder, warmer seasons, sometimes took him half a day under the present +rigorous conditions. And the woman never saw him start out in the storm +without a sinking heart and grave apprehension. On his return to the +cabin half frozen, almost spent and exhausted, she ever welcomed him +with eager gratitude and satisfaction which would shine in her eyes, +throb in her heart and tremble upon her lips, control it as she might. +And he thought it was well worth all the trouble and hardships of his +task to be so greeted when he came back to her.</p> + +<p>Winter had set in unusually early and with unprecedented severity. Any +kind of winter in the mountains would have amazed the girl, but even the +man with his larger experiences declared he had never before known such +sharp and sudden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> cold, or such deep and lasting snow. His daily records +had never shown such low temperatures, nor had his observation ever +noted such wild and furious storms as raged then and there. It seemed as +if Nature were in a conspiracy to seal up the mountains and all they +contained, to make ingress and egress alike impossible.</p> + +<p>A month had elapsed and Enid's foot was now quite well. The man had +managed to sew up her boot where his knife had cut it, and although the +job was a clumsy one the result was a usable shoe. It is astonishing the +comfort she took when she first put it on and discarded for good the +shapeless woolen stocking which had covered the clumsy bandage, happily +no longer necessary. Although the torn and bruised member had healed and +she could use it with care, her foot was still very tender and capable +of sustaining no violent or long continued strain. Of necessity she had +been largely confined to the house, but whenever it had been possible he +had wrapped her in his great bear skin coat and had helped her out to +the edge of the cliff for a breath of fresh air.</p> + +<p>Sometimes he would leave her there alone, would perhaps have left her +alone there always had she not imperiously required his company.</p> + +<p>Insensibly she had acquired the habit—not a difficult one for a woman +to fall into—of taking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> the lead in the small affairs of their +circumscribed existence, and he had acquiesced in her dominance without +hesitation or remonstrance. It was she who ordered their daily walk and +conversation. Her wishes were consulted about everything; to be sure no +great range of choice was allowed them, or liberty of action, or +freedom, in the constraints with which nature bound them, but whenever +there was any selection she made it.</p> + +<p>The man yielded everything to her and yet he did it without in any way +derogating from his self respect or without surrendering his natural +independence. The woman instinctively realized that in any great crisis, +in any large matter, the determination of which would naturally affect +their present or their future, their happiness, welfare, life, he would +assert himself, and his assertion would be unquestioned and +unquestionable by her.</p> + +<p>There was a delightful satisfaction to the woman in the whole situation. +She had a woman's desire to lead in the smaller things of life and yet +craved the woman's consciousness that in the great emergencies she would +be led, in the great battles she would be fought for, in the great +dangers she would be protected, in the great perils she would be saved. +There was rest, comfort, joy and satisfaction in these thoughts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>The strength of the man she mastered was evidence of her own power and +charm. There was a sweet, voiceless, unconscious flattery in his +deference of which she could not be unaware.</p> + +<p>Having little else to do, she studied the man and she studied him with a +warm desire and an enthusiastic predisposition to find the best in him. +She would not have been a human girl if she had not been thrilled to the +very heart of her by what the man had done for her. She recognized that +whether he asserted it or not, he had established an everlasting and +indisputable claim upon her.</p> + +<p>The circumstances of their first meeting, which as the days passed did +not seem quite so horrible to her, and yet a thought of which would +bring the blood to her cheek still on the instant, had in some way +turned her over to him. His consideration of her, his gracious +tenderness toward her, his absolute abnegation, his evident overwhelming +desire to please her, to make the anomalous situation in which they +stood to each other bearable in spite of their lonely and unobserved +intimacy, by an absolute lack of presumption on his part—all those +things touched her profoundly.</p> + +<p>Although she did not recognize the fact then, perhaps, she loved him +from the moment her eyes had opened in the mist and rain after that +awful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> battle in the torrent to see him bending over her.</p> + +<p>No sight that had ever met Enid Maitland's eyes was so glorious, so awe +inspiring, so uplifting and magnificent as the view from the verge of +the cliff in the sunlight of some bright winter morning. Few women had +ever enjoyed such privileges as hers. She did not know whether she liked +the winter crowned range best that way, or whether she preferred the +snowy world, glittering cold in the moonlight; or even whether it was +more attractive when it was dark and the peaks and drifts were only +lighted by the stars which shone never so brightly as just above her +head.</p> + +<p>When he allowed her she loved to stand sometimes in the full fury of the +gale with the wind shrieking and sobbing, like lost souls in some icy +inferno, through the hills and over the pines, the snow beating upon +her, the sleet cutting her face if she dared to turn toward the storm. +Generally he left her alone in the quieter moments, but in the tempest +he stood watchful, on guard by her side, buttressing her, protecting +her, sheltering her. Indeed, his presence then was necessary; without +him she could scarce have maintained a footing. The force of the wind +might have hurled her down the mountain but for his strong arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> When +the cold grew too great he led her back carefully to the hut and the +warm fire.</p> + +<p>Ah, yes, life and the world were both beautiful to her then, in night, +in day, by sunlight, by moonlight, in calm and storm. Yet it made no +difference what was spread before the woman's eyes, what glorious +picture was exhibited to her gaze, she could not look at it more than a +moment without thinking of the man. With the most fascinating panorama +that the earth's surface could spread before human vision to engage her +attention she looked into her own heart and saw there this man!</p> + +<p>Oh, she had fought against it at first, but lately she had luxuriated in +it. She loved him, she loved him! And why not? What is it that women +love in men? Strength of body? She could remember yet how he had carried +her over the mountains in the midst of the storm, how she had been so +bravely upborne by his arms to his heart. She realized later what a task +that had been, what a feat of strength. The uprooting of that sapling, +and the overturning of that huge grizzly were child's play to the long +portage up the almost impassable caņon and mountain side which had +brought her to this dear haven.</p> + +<p>Was it strength of character she sought, resolution, determination? This +man had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> deliberately withdrawn from the world, buried himself in this +mountain; and had stayed there deaf to the alluring call of man or +woman; he had had the courage to do that.</p> + +<p>Was it strength of mind she admired? Enid Maitland was no mean judge of +the mental powers of her acquaintance. She was just as full of life and +spirit and the joy of them as any young woman should be, but she had not +been trained by and thrown with the best for nothing. <i>Noblesse oblige!</i> +That his was a mind well stored with knowledge of the most varied sort +she easily and at once perceived. Of course the popular books of the +last five years had passed him by, and of such he knew nothing, but he +could talk intelligently, interestingly, entertainingly upon the great +classics. Keats and Shakespeare were his most thumbed volumes. He had +graduated from Harvard as a Civil Engineer with the highest honors of +his class and school and the youngest man to get his sheepskin! Enid +Maitland herself was a woman of broad culture and wide reading and she +deliberately set herself to fathom this man's capabilities. Not +infrequently, much to her surprise, sometimes to her dismay, but +generally to her satisfaction, she found that she had no plummet with +which to sound his greater depths.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + +<p>Did she seek in him that fine flower of good breeding, gentleness and +consideration? Where could she find these qualities better displayed? +She was absolutely alone with this man, entirely in his power, shut off +from the world and its interference as effectually as if they had both +been abandoned on an ice floe at the North Pole or cast away on some +lonely island in the South Seas, yet she felt as safe as if she had been +in her own house, or her uncle's, with every protection that human power +could give. He had never presumed upon the situation in the least +degree, he never once referred to the circumstances of their meeting in +the remotest way, he never even discussed her rescue from the flood, he +never told her how he had borne her through the rain to the lonely +shelter of the hills, and in no way did he say anything that the most +keenly scrutinizing mind would torture into an allusion to the pool and +the bear and the woman. The fineness of his breeding was never so well +exhibited as in this reticence. More often than not it is what he does +not rather than what he does that indicates the man.</p> + +<p>It would be folly to deny that he never thought of these things. Had he +forgotten them there would be no merit in his silence; but to remember +them and to keep still—aye, that showed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> man! He would close his +eyes in that little room on the other side of the door and see again the +dark pool, her white shoulders, her graceful arms, the lovely face with +its crown of sunny hair rising above the rushing water. He had listened +to the roar of the wind through the long nights, when she thought him +asleep if she thought of him at all, and heard again the scream of the +storm that had brought her to his arms. No snow drop that touched his +cheek when he was abroad but reminded him of that night in the cold rain +when he had held her close and carried her on. He could not sit and mend +her boot without remembering that white foot before which he would fain +have prostrated himself and upon which he would have pressed passionate +kisses if he had given way to his desires. But he kept all these things +in his heart, pondered them and made no sign.</p> + +<p>Did she ask beauty in her lover? Ah, there at last he failed. According +to the canons of perfection he did not measure up to the standard. His +features were irregular, his chin a trifle too square, his mouth a +thought too firm, his brow wrinkled a little; but he was good to look +at, for he looked strong, he looked clean and he looked true. There was +about him, too, that stamp of practical efficiency that men who can do +things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> always have. You looked at him and you felt sure that what he +undertook, that he would accomplish; that decision and capability were +incarnate in him.</p> + +<p>But after all the things are said, love goes where it is sent, and I, at +least, am not the sender. This woman loved this man neither because nor +in spite of these qualities. That they were might account for her +affection, but if they had not been, it may be that that affection, that +that passion, would have sprung up in her heart still. No one can say, +no one can tell how or why those things are. She had loved him while she +raged against him and hated him. She did neither the one nor the other +of those two last things, now, and she loved him the more.</p> + +<p>Mystery is a great mover, there is nothing so attractive as a problem we +cannot solve. The very situation of the man, how he came there, what he +did there, why he remained there, questions to which she had yet no +answer, stimulated her profoundly. Because she did not know she +questioned in secret; interest was aroused and the transition to love +was easy.</p> + +<p>Propinquity, too, is responsible for many an affection. "The ivy clings +to the first met tree." Given a man and woman heart free and throw them +together and let there be decent kindness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> on both sides, and it is +almost inevitable that each shall love the other. Isolate them from the +world, let them see no other companions but the one man and the one +woman and the result becomes more inevitable.</p> + +<p>Yes, this woman loved this man. She said in her heart—and I am not one +to dispute her conclusions—that she would have loved him had he been +one among millions to stand before her, and it was true. He was the +complement of her nature. They differed in temperament as much as in +complexion, and yet in such differences as must always be to make +perfect love and perfect union, there were striking resemblances, +necessary points of contact.</p> + +<p>There was no reason whatever why Enid Maitland should not love this man. +The only possible check upon her feelings would have been her rather +anomalous relation to Armstrong, but she reflected that she had promised +him definitely nothing. When she had met him she had been heart whole, +he had made some impression upon her fancy and might have made more with +greater opportunity, but unfortunately for him, luckily for her, he had +not enjoyed that privilege. She scarcely thought of him longer.</p> + +<p>She would not have been human if her mind had not dwelt upon the world +beyond the skyline on the other side of the range. She knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> how those +who loved her must be suffering on account of her disappearance, but +knowing herself safe and realizing that within a short time, when the +spring came again, she would go back to them and that their mourning +would be turned into joy by her arrival, she could not concern herself +very greatly over their present feelings and emotions; and besides, what +would be the use of worrying over those things. There was subject more +attractive for her thoughts close at hand. And she was too blissfully +happy to entertain for more than a moment any sorrow.</p> + +<p>She pictured her return and never by any chance did she think of going +back to civilization alone. The man she loved would be by her side, the +church's blessing would make them one. To do her justice in the +simplicity and purity of her thoughts she never once thought of what the +world might say about that long winter sojourn alone with this man. She +was so conscious of her own innocence and of his delicate forbearance, +she never once thought how humanity would elevate its brows and fairly +cry upon her from the house tops. She did not realize that were she ever +so pure and so innocent she could not now or ever reach the high +position which Cæsar, who was none too reputable himself, would fain +have had his wife enjoy?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>THE MAN'S HEART</h3> + + +<p>Now love produces both happiness and unhappiness, dependent upon +conditions, but on the whole I think the happiness predominates, for +love itself if it be true and high is its own reward. Love may feel +itself unworthy and may shrink even from the unlatching of the shoe lace +of the beloved, yet it joys in its own existence nevertheless. Of course +its greatest satisfaction is in the return, but there is a sweetness +even in the despair of the truly loving.</p> + +<p>Enid Maitland, however, did not have to endure indifference, or fight +against a passion which met with no response, for this man loved her +with a love that was greater even than her own. The moon, in the trite +aphorism, looks on many brooks, the brook sees no moon but the one above +him in the heavens. In one sense his merit in winning her affection for +himself from the hundreds of men she knew was the greater; in many years +he had only seen this one woman. Naturally she should be everything to +him. She represented to him not only the woman but womankind. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> had +been a boy practically when he had buried himself in those mountains, +and in all that time he had seen nobody like Enid Maitland. Every +argument which has been exploited to show why she should love him could +be turned about to account for his passion for her. Those arguments are +not necessary, they are all supererogatory, like idle words. To him also +love had been born in an hour. It had flashed into existence as if from +the fiat of the Divine.</p> + +<p>Oh, he had fought against it. Like the eremites of old he had been +scourged into the desert by remorse and another passion, but time had +done its work. The woman he first loved had ministered not to the +spiritual side of the man, or if she had so ministered in any degree it +was because he had looked at her with a glamour of inexperience and +youth. During those five years of solitude, of study and of reflection, +the truth had gradually unrolled itself before him. Conclusions vastly +at variance with what he had ever believed possible as to the woman upon +whom he had first bestowed his heart had got into his being and were in +solution there, this present woman was the precipitant which brought +them to life. He knew now what the old appeal of his wife had been. He +knew now what the new appeal of this woman was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>In humanity two things in life are inextricably intermingled, body and +soul. Where the function of one begins and the function of the other +ends no one is able to say. In all human passions there are admixtures +of the earth earthy. We are born the sons of the Old Adam as we are +re-born the sons of the New. Passions are complex. As in harvest wheat +and tares grow together until the end, so in love earth and heaven +mingle ever. He remembered a clause from an ancient marriage service he +had read. "With my body I thee worship," and with every fiber of his +physical being, he loved this woman.</p> + +<p>It would be idle to deny that, impossible to disguise the facts, but in +the melting pot of passion the preponderant ingredients were mental and +spiritual; and just because higher and holier things predominated, he +held her in his heart a sacred thing. Love is like a rose: the material +part is the beautiful blossom, the spiritual factor is the fragrance +which abides in the rose jar even after every leaf has faded away, or +which may be expressed from the soft petals by the hard circumstances of +pain and sorrow until there is left nothing but the lingering perfume of +the flower.</p> + +<p>His body trembled if she laid a hand upon him, his soul thirsted for +her; present or absent he conjured before his tortured brain the +sweetness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> that inhabited her breast. He had been clear-sighted enough +in analyzing the past, he was neither clear-sighted nor coherent in +thinking of the present. He worshiped her, he could have thrown himself +upon his knees to her; if it would have added to her happiness she could +have killed him, smiling at her. Rode she in the Juggernaut car of the +ancient idol, with his body would he have unhesitatingly paved the way +and have been glad of the privilege. He longed to compass her with sweet +observances. The world revenged itself upon him for his long neglect, it +had summed up in this one woman all its charm, its beauty, its romance, +and had thrust her into his very arms. His was one of those great +passions which illuminate the records of the past. Paolo had not loved +Francesca more.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, the woman knew he loved her. It was not in the power of mortal +man, no matter how iron his restraint, how absolute the imposition of +his will, to keep his heart hidden, his passion undisclosed. No one +could keep such things secret. His love for her cried aloud in a +thousand ways: even his look when he dared to turn his eyes upon her was +eloquent of his feeling. He never said a word, however; he held his lips +at least fettered and bound for he believed that honor and its +obligations weighed down the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> balance upon the contrary side to which +his inclinations lay.</p> + +<p>He was not worthy of this woman. In the first place all he had to offer +her was a blood-stained hand. That might have been overcome in his mind; +but pride in his self-punishment, his resolution to withdraw himself +from man and woman until such time as God completed his expiation and +signified His acceptance of the penitent by taking away his life, held +him inexorably.</p> + +<p>The dark face of his wife rose before him. He forced himself to think +upon her; she had loved him, she had given him all that she could. He +remembered how she had pleaded with him that he take her on that last +and most dangerous of journeys, her devotion to him had been so great +she could not let him go out of her sight a moment, he thought +fatuously! And he had killed her. In the queer turmoil of his brain he +blamed himself for everything. He could not be false to his purpose, +false to her memory, unworthy of the passion in which he believed she +had held him and which he believed he had inspired.</p> + +<p>If he had gone out in the world, after her death, he might have +forgotten most of these things, he might have lived them down. Saner, +clearer views would have come to him. His morbid self-reproach and +self-consciousness would have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> changed. But he had lived with them +alone for five years and now there was no putting them aside. Honor and +pride, the only things that may successfully fight against love, +overcame him. He could not give way. He wanted to, every time he was in +her presence he longed to, sweep her to his heart and crush her in his +arms and bend her head back and press kisses of fire on her lips.</p> + +<p>But honor and pride held him back. How long would they continue to +exercise dominion over him? Would the time come when his passion rising +like a sea would thunder upon these artificial embankments of his soul, +beat them down and sweep them away?</p> + +<p>At first the disparity between their situations, not so much on account +of family or of property—the treasures of the mountains, hidden since +creation, he had discovered and let lie—but because of the youth and +position of the woman compared to his own maturer years, his desperate +experience, and his social withdrawal, had reinforced his determination +to live and love without a sign. But he had long since got beyond this. +Had he been free he would have taken her like a viking of old, if he had +to pluck her from amid a thousand swords and carry her to a beggar's hut +which love would have turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> to a palace. And she would have come with +him on the same conditions.</p> + +<p>He did not know that. Women have learned through centuries of weakness +that fine art of concealment which man has never mastered. She never let +him see what she thought of him. Yet he was not without suspicion; if +that suspicion grew to certainty, would he control himself then?</p> + +<p>At first he had sought to keep out of her way, but she had compelled him +to come in. The room that was kitchen and bedroom and store-room for him +was cheerless and somewhat cold. Save at night or when he was busy with +other tasks outside they lived together in the great room. It was always +warm, it was always bright, it was always cheerful, there.</p> + +<p>The little piles of manuscript she had noted were books he had written. +He made no effort to conceal such things from her. He talked frankly +enough about his life in the hills, indeed there was no possibility of +avoiding the discussion of such topics. On but two subjects was he +inexorably silent. One was the present state of his affections and the +other was the why and wherefore of his lonely life. She knew beyond +peradventure that he loved her, but she had no faint suspicion even as +to the reason why he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> become a recluse. He had never given her the +slightest clew to his past save that admission that he had known Kirkby, +which was in itself nothing definite and which she never connected with +that package of letters which she still kept with her.</p> + +<p>The man's mind was too active and fertile to be satisfied with manual +labor alone, the books that he had written were scientific treatises in +the main. One was a learned discussion of the fauna and flora of the +mountains. Another was an exhaustive account of the mineral resources +and geological formations of the range. He had only to allow a whisper, +a suspicion of his discovery of gold and silver in the mountains to +escape him and the caņons and crests alike would be filled with eager +prospectors. Still a third work was a scientific analysis of the water +powers in the caņons.</p> + +<p>He had willingly allowed her to read them all. Much of them she found +technical and, aside from the fact that he had written them, +uninteresting. But there was one book remaining in which he simply +discussed the mountains in the various seasons of the year; when the +snows covered them, when the grass and the moss came again, when the +flowers bloomed, when autumn touched the trees. There was the soul of +the man, poetry expressed in prose, man-like but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> none the less poetry +for that. This book she pored over, she questioned him about it, they +discussed it as they discussed Keats and the other poets.</p> + +<p>Those were happy evenings. She on one side of the fire sewing, her +finger wound with cloth to hold his giant thimble, fashioning for +herself some winter garments out of a gay colored, red, white and black +ancient and exquisitely woven Navajo blanket, soft and pliable almost as +an old fashioned piece of satin—priceless if she had but known +it—which he put at her disposal. While on the other side of the same +homely blaze he made her out of the skins of some of the animals that he +had killed, shapeless foot coverings, half moccasin and wholly legging, +which she could wear over her shoes in her short excursions around the +plateau and which would keep her feet warm and comfortable.</p> + +<p>By her permission he smoked as he worked, enjoying the hour, putting +aside the past and the future and for a few moments blissfully content. +Sometimes he laid aside his pipe and whatever work he was engaged upon +and read to her from some immortal noble number. Sometimes the +entertainment fell to her and she sang to him in her glorious contralto +voice, music that made him mad. Once he could stand it no longer. At +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> end of a burst of song which filled the little room—he had risen +to his feet while she sang, compelled to the erect position by the +magnificent melody—as the last notes died away and she smiled at him, +triumphant and expectant of his praise and his approval, he hurled +himself out of the room and into the night; wrestling for hours with the +storm which after all was but a trifle to that which raged in his bosom. +While she, left alone and deserted, quaked within the silent room till +she heard him come back.</p> + +<p>Often and often when she slept quietly on one side the thin partition, +he lay awake on the other, and sometimes his passion drove him forth to +cool the fever, the fire in his soul, in the icy, wintry air. The +struggle within him preyed upon him, the keen loving eye of the woman +searched his face, scrutinized him, looked into his heart, saw what was +there.</p> + +<p>She determined to end it, deciding that he must confess his affections. +She had no premonition of the truth and no consideration of any evil +consequences held her back. She could give free range to her love and +her devotion. She had the ordering of their lives and she had the power +to end the situation growing more and more impossible. She fancied the +matter easily terminable. She thought she had only to let him see her +heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> in such ways as a maiden may, to bring joy to his own, to make +him speak. She did not dream of the reality.</p> + +<p>One night, therefore, a month or more after she had come, she resolved +to end the uncertainty. She believed the easiest and the quickest way +would be to get him to tell her why he was there. She naturally surmised +that the woman of the picture, which she had never seen since the first +day of her arrival, was in some measure the cause of it; and the only +pain she had in the situation was the keen jealousy that would obtrude +itself at the thought of that woman. She remembered everything that he +had said to her and she recalled that he had once made the remark that +he would treat her as he would have his wife treated if he had one; +therefore whoever and whatever the picture of this woman was, she was +not his wife. She might have been someone he had loved, who had not +loved him. She might have died. She was jealous of her, but she did not +fear her.</p> + +<p>After a long and painful effort the woman had completed the winter suit +she had made for herself. He had advised her and had helped her. It was +a belted tunic that fell to her knees, the red and black stripes ran +around it, edged the broad collar, cuffed the warm sleeves and marked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +the graceful waist line. It was excessively becoming to her. He had been +down into the valley, or the pocket, for a final inspection of the +burros before the night, which promised to be severe, fell, and she had +taken advantage of the opportunity to put it on.</p> + +<p>She knew that she was beautiful; her determination to make this evening +count had brought an unusual color to her cheeks, an unwonted sparkle to +her eye. She stood up as she heard him enter the other room, she was +standing erect as he came through the door and faced her. He had only +seen her in the now somewhat shabby blue of her ordinary camp dress +before, and her beauty fairly smote him in his face. He stood before +her, wrapped in his great fur coat, snow and ice clinging to it, +entranced. The woman smiled at the effect she produced.</p> + +<p>"Take off your coat," she said gently, approaching him. "Here, let me +help you. Do you realize that I have been here over a month now? I want +to have a little talk with you. I want you to tell me something."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE KISS ON THE HAND</h3> + + +<p>"Did it ever occur to you," began Enid Maitland gravely enough, for she +quite realized the serious nature of the impending conversation, "did it +ever occur to you that you know practically all about me, while I know +practically nothing about you?"</p> + +<p>The man bowed his head.</p> + +<p>"You may have fancied that I was not aware of it, but in one way or +another you have possessed yourself of pretty nearly all of my short +and, until I met you, most uneventful life," she continued.</p> + +<p>Newbold might have answered that there was one subject which had been +casually introduced by her upon one occasion and to which she had never +again referred, but which was to him the most important of all subjects +connected with her; and that was the nature of her relationship to one +James Armstrong whose name, although he had heard it but once, he had +not forgotten. The girl had been frankness itself in following his deft +leads when he talked with her about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> herself, but she had shown the same +reticence in recurring to Armstrong that he had displayed in questioning +her about him. The statement she had just made as to his acquaintance +with her history was therefore sufficiently near the truth to pass +unchallenged and once again he gravely bowed in acquiescence.</p> + +<p>"I have withheld nothing from you," went on the girl; "whatever you +wanted to know, I have told you. I had nothing to conceal, as you have +found out. Why you wanted to know about me, I am not quite sure."</p> + +<p>"It was because—" burst out the man impetuously, and then he stopped +abruptly and just in time.</p> + +<p>Enid Maitland smiled at him in a way that indicated she knew what was +behind the sudden check he had imposed upon himself.</p> + +<p>"Whatever your reason, your curiosity—"</p> + +<p>"Don't call it that, please."</p> + +<p>"Your desire, then, has been gratified. Now it is my turn. I am not even +sure about your name. I have seen it in these books and naturally I have +imagined that it is yours."</p> + +<p>"It is mine."</p> + +<p>"Well, that is really all that I know about you. And now I shall be +quite frank. I want to know more. You evidently have something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> to +conceal or you would not be living here in this way. I have never asked +you about yourself, or manifested the least curiosity to solve the +problem you present, to find the solution of the mystery of your life."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said the man, "you didn't care enough about it to take the +trouble to inquire."</p> + +<p>"You know," answered the girl, "that is not true. I have been consumed +with desire to know?"</p> + +<p>"A woman's curiosity?"</p> + +<p>"Not that," was the soft answer that turned away his wrath.</p> + +<p>She was indeed frank. There was that in her way of uttering those two +simple words that set his pulses bounding. He was not altogether and +absolutely blind.</p> + +<p>"Come," said the girl, extending her hand to him, "we are alone here +together. We must help each other. You have helped me, you have been of +the greatest service to me. I can't begin to count all that you have +done for me; my gratitude—"</p> + +<p>"Only that?"</p> + +<p>"But that is all that you have ever asked or expected," answered the +young woman in a low voice, whose gentle tones did not at all accord +with the boldness and courage of the speech.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You mean?" asked the man, staring at her, his face aflame.</p> + +<p>"I mean," answered the girl swiftly, willfully misinterpreting and +turning his half-spoken question another way, "I mean that I am sure +that some trouble has brought you here. I do not wish to force your +confidence—I have no right to do so—yet I should like to enjoy it. +Can't you give it to me? I want to help you. I want to do my best to +make some return for what you have been to me and have done for me."</p> + +<p>"I ask but one thing," he said quickly.</p> + +<p>"And what is that?"</p> + +<p>But again he checked himself.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I am not free to ask anything of you."</p> + +<p>And that answer to Enid Maitland was like a knife thrust in the heart. +The two had been standing, confronting each other. Her heart grew faint +within her. She stretched out her hand vaguely, as if for support. He +stepped toward her, but before he reached her she caught the back of the +chair and sank down weakly. That he should be bound and not free, had +never once occurred to her. She had quite misinterpreted the meaning of +his remark.</p> + +<p>The man did not help her; he could not help her. He just stood and +looked at her. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> fought valiantly for self-control a moment or two +and then utterly oblivious to the betrayal of her feelings involved in +the question—the moments were too great for consideration of such +trivial matters—she faltered:</p> + +<p>"You mean there is some other woman?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head in negation.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"There was some other woman?"</p> + +<p>"Where is she now?"</p> + +<p>"Dead."</p> + +<p>"But you said you were not free."</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Did you care so much for her that now—that now—"</p> + +<p>"Enid," he cried desperately. "Believe me, I never knew what love was +until I met you."</p> + +<p>The secret was out now, it had been known to her long since, but now it +was publicly proclaimed. Even a man as blind, as obsessed, as he could +not mistake the joy that illuminated her face at this announcement. That +very joy and satisfaction produced upon him, however, a very different +effect than might have been anticipated. Had he been free indeed he +would have swept her to his breast and covered her sweet face with +kisses broken by whispered words of passionate endearment. Instead of +that he shrank back from her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> and it was she who was forced to take up +the burden of the conversation.</p> + +<p>"You say that she is dead," she began in sweet appealing bewilderment, +"and that you care so much for me and yet you—"</p> + +<p>"I am a murderer," he broke out harshly. "There is blood upon my hands, +the blood of a woman who loved me and whom, boy as I was, I thought that +I loved. She was my wife, I killed her."</p> + +<p>"Great Heaven!" cried the girl, amazed beyond measure or expectation by +this sudden avowal which she had never once suspected, and her hand +instinctively went to the bosom of her dress where she kept that soiled, +water-stained packet of letters, "are you that man?"</p> + +<p>"I am that man that did that thing, but what do you know?" he asked +quickly, amazed in his turn.</p> + +<p>"Old Kirkby, my uncle Robert Maitland, told me your story. They said +that you had disappeared from the haunts of men—"</p> + +<p>"And they were right. What else was there for me to do? Although +innocent of crime, I was blood guilty. I was mad. No punishment could be +visited upon me like that imposed by the stern, awful, appalling fact. I +swore to prison myself, to have nothing more forever to do with mankind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +or womankind with whom I was unworthy to associate, to live alone until +God took me. To cherish my memories, to make such expiation as I could, +to pray daily for forgiveness. I came here to the wildest, the most +inaccessible, the loneliest, spot in the range. No one ever would come +here I fancied, no one ever did come here but you. I was happy after a +fashion, or at least content. I had chosen the better part. I had work, +I could read, write, remember and dream. But you came and since that +time life has been heaven and hell. Heaven because I love you, hell +because to love you means disloyalty to the past, to a woman who loved +me. Heaven because you are here, I can hear your voice, I can see you, +your soul is spread out before me in its sweetness, in its purity; hell +because I am false to my determination, to my vow, to the love of the +past."</p> + +<p>"And did you love her so much, then?" asked the girl, now fiercely +jealous and forgetful of other things for the moment.</p> + +<p>"It's not that," said the man. "I was not much more than a boy, a year +or two out of college. I had been in the mountains a year. This woman +lived in a mining camp, she was a fresh, clean, healthy girl, her father +died and the whole camp fathered her, looked after her, and all the +young men in the range for miles on either side<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> were in love with her. +I supposed that I was, too, and—well, I won her from the others. We had +been married but a few months and a part of the time my business as a +mining engineer had called me away from her. I can remember the day +before we started on the last journey. I was going alone again, but she +was so unhappy over my departure, she clung to me, pleaded with me, +implored me to take her with me, insisted on going wherever I went, +would not be left behind. She couldn't bear me out of her sight, it +seemed. I don't know what there was in me to have inspired such +devotion, but I must speak the truth, however it may sound. She seemed +wild, crazy about me. I didn't understand it; frankly, I didn't know +what such love was—then—but I took her along. Shall I not be honest +with you? In spite of the attraction physical, I had begun to feel even +then that she was not the mate for me. I don't deserve it, and it shames +me to say it of course, but I wanted a better mind, a higher soul. That +made it harder—what I had to do, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know."</p> + +<p>"The only thing I could do when I came to my senses was to sacrifice +myself to her memory because she had loved me so; as it were, she gave +up her life for me, I could do no less than be true<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> and loyal to the +remembrance. It wasn't a sacrifice either until you came, but as soon as +you opened your eyes and looked into mine in the rain and the storm upon +the rock to which I had carried you after I had fought for you, I knew +that I loved you. I knew that the love that had come into my heart was +the love of which I had dreamed, that everything that had gone before +was nothing, that I had found the one woman whose soul should mate with +mine."</p> + +<p>"And this before I had said a word to you?"</p> + +<p>"What are words? The heart speaks to the heart, the soul whispers to the +soul. And so it was with us. I had fought for you, you were mine, mine. +My heart sang it as I panted and struggled over the rocks carrying you. +It said the words again and again as I laid you down here in this cabin. +It repeated them over and over; mine, mine! It says that every day and +hour. And yet honor and fidelity bid me stay. I am free, yet bound; free +to love you, but not to take you. My heart says yes, my conscience no. I +should despise myself if I were false to the love which my wife bore me, +and how could I offer you a blood stained hand?"</p> + +<p>He had drawn very near her while he spoke; she had risen again and the +two confronted each other. He stretched out his hand as he asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> that +last question, almost as if he had offered it to her. She made the best +answer possible to his demand, for before he could divine what she would +be at, she had seized his hand and kissed it, and this time it was the +man whose knees gave way. He sank down in the chair and buried his face +in his hands.</p> + +<p>"Oh, God! Oh, God!" he cried in his humiliation and shame. "If I had +only met you first, or if my wife had died as others die, and not by my +hand in that awful hour. I can see her now, broken, bruised, bleeding, +torn. I can hear the report of that weapon. Her last glance at me in the +midst of her indescribable agony was one of thankfulness and gratitude. +I can't stand it, I am unworthy even of her."</p> + +<p>"But you could not help it, it was not your fault. And you can't +help—caring—for me—"</p> + +<p>"I ought to help it, I ought not love you, I ought to have known that I +was not fit to love any woman, that I had no right, that I was pledged +like a monk to the past. I have been weak, a fool. I love you and my +honor goes, I love you and my self respect goes, I love you and my pride +goes. Would God I could say I love you and my life goes and end it all." +He stared at her a little space. "There is only one ray of satisfaction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +in it at all, one gleam of comfort," he added.</p> + +<p>"And what is that?"</p> + +<p>"You don't know what the suffering is, you don't understand, you don't +comprehend."</p> + +<p>"And why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because you do not love me."</p> + +<p>"But I do," said the woman quite simply, as if it were a matter of +course not only that she should love him, but that she should also tell +him so.</p> + +<p>The man stared at her, amazed. Such fierce surges of joy throbbed +through him as he had not thought the human frame could sustain. This +woman loved him, in some strange way he had gained her affection. It was +impossible, yet she had said so! He had been a blind fool. He could see +that now. She stood before him and smiled up at him, looking at him +through eyes misted with tears, with lips parted, with color coming and +going in her cheek and with her bosom rising and falling. She loved him, +he had but to step nearer to her to take her in his arms. There was +trust, devotion, surrender, everything, in her attitude and between +them, like that great gulf which lay between the rich man and the +beggar, that separated heaven and hell, was that he could not cross.</p> + +<p>"I never dreamed, I never hoped—oh," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> exclaimed as if he had got his +death wound, "this cannot be borne."</p> + +<p>He turned away, but in two swift steps she caught him.</p> + +<p>"Where do you go?"</p> + +<p>"Out, out into the night."</p> + +<p>"You cannot go now, it is dark; hark to the storm, you will miss your +footing; you would fall, you would freeze, you would die."</p> + +<p>"What matters that?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot have it."</p> + +<p>"It would be better so."</p> + +<p>He strove again to wrench himself away, but she would not be denied. She +clung to him tenaciously.</p> + +<p>"I will not let you go unless you give me your word of honor that you +will not leave the plateau, and that you will come back to me."</p> + +<p>"I tell you that the quicker and more surely I go out of your life, the +happier and better it will be for you."</p> + +<p>"And I tell you," said the woman resolutely, "that you can never go out +of my life again, living or dead," she released him with one hand and +laid it upon her heart, "you are here."</p> + +<p>"Enid," cried the man.</p> + +<p>"No," she thrust him gently away with one hand yet detained him with the +other—that was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> emblematic of the situation between them. "Not now, not +yet, let me think, but promise me you will do yourself no harm, you will +let nothing imperil your life."</p> + +<p>"As you will," said the man regretfully. "I had purposed to end it now +and forever, but I promise."</p> + +<p>"Your word of honor?"</p> + +<p>"My word of honor."</p> + +<p>"And you won't break it?"</p> + +<p>"I never broke it to a human being, much less will I do so to you?"</p> + +<p>She released him. He went into the other room and she heard him cross +the floor and open the door and go out into the night, into the storm +again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>THE FACE IN THE LOCKET</h3> + + +<p>Left alone in the room she sat down again before the fire and drew from +her pocket the packet of letters. She knew them by heart, she had read +and re-read them often when she had been alone. They had fascinated her. +They were letters from some other man to this man's wife. They were +signed by an initial only and the identity of the writer was quite +unknown to her. The woman's replies were not with the others, but it was +easy enough to see what those replies had been. All the passion of which +the woman had been capable had evidently been bestowed upon the writer +of the letters she had treasured.</p> + +<p>Her story was quite plain. She had married Newbold in a fit of pique. He +was an Eastern man, the best educated, the most fascinating and +interesting of the men who frequented the camp. There had been a quarrel +between the letter writer and the woman, there were always quarrels, +apparently, but this had been a serious one and the man had savagely +flung away and left her. He had not come back as he usually did. She +had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> waited for him and then she had married Newbold and then he had +come back—too late!</p> + +<p>He had wanted to kill the other, but she had prevented, and while +Newbold was away he had made desperate love to her. He had besought her +to leave her husband, to go away with him. He had used every argument +that he could to that end and the woman had hesitated and wavered, but +she had not consented; she had not denied her love for him any more than +she had denied her respect and a certain admiration for her gallant +trusting husband. She had refused again and again the requests of her +lover. She could not control her heart, nevertheless she had kept to her +marriage vows. But the force of her resistance had grown weaker and she +had realized that alone she would perhaps inevitably succumb.</p> + +<p>Her lover had been away when her husband returned prior to that last +fateful journey. Enid Maitland saw now why she had besought him to take +her with him. She had been afraid to be left alone! She had not dared to +depend upon her own powers any more, her only salvation had been to go +with this man whom she did not love, whom at times she almost hated, to +keep from falling into the arms of the man she did love. She had been +more or less afraid of Newbold. She had soon realized, because she was +not blinded by any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> passion as he, that they had been utterly mismated. +She had come to understand that when the same knowledge of the truth +came to him, as it inevitably must some day, nothing but unhappiness +would be their portion.</p> + +<p>Every kind of an argument in addition to those so passionately adduced +in these letters urging her to break away from her husband and to seek +happiness for herself while yet there was time, had besieged her heart, +had seconded her lover's plea and had assailed her will, and yet she had +not given way.</p> + +<p>Now Enid Maitland hated the woman who had enjoyed the first young love +of the man she herself loved. She hated her because of her priority of +possession, because her memory yet came between her and that man. She +hated her because Newbold was still true to her memory, because Newbold, +believing in the greatness of her passion for him, thought it shame and +dishonor to his manhood to be false to her, no matter what love and +longing drew him on.</p> + +<p>Yet there was a stern sense of justice in the bosom of this young woman. +She exulted in the successful battle the poor woman had waged for the +preservation of her honor and her good name, against such odds. It was a +sex triumph for which she was glad. She was proud of her for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> the stern +rigor with which she had refused to take the easiest way and the +desperation with which she had clung to him she did not love, but to +whom she was bound by the laws of God and man, in order that she might +not fall into the arms of the man she did love, in defiance of right.</p> + +<p>Enid Maitland and this woman were as far removed from each other as the +opposite poles of the earth, but there was yet a common quality in each +one, of virtuous womanhood, of lofty morality. Natural, perhaps, in the +one and to be expected; unnatural, perhaps, and to be unexpected in the +other, but there! Now that she knew what love was and what its power and +what its force—for all that she had felt and experienced and dreamed +about before were as nothing to what it was since he had spoken—she +could understand what the struggle must have been in that woman's heart. +She could honor her, reverence her, pity her.</p> + +<p>She could understand the feeling of the man, too, she could think much +more clearly than he. He was distracted by two passions, for his pride +and his honor and for her; she had as yet but one, for him. And as there +was less turmoil and confusion in her mind, she was the more capable of +looking the facts in the face and making the right deduction from them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p> + +<p>She could understand how in the first frightful rush of his grief and +remorse and love the very fact that Newbold had been compelled to kill +his wife, of whom she guessed he was beginning to grow a little weary, +under such circumstances had added immensely to his remorse and +quickened his determination to expiate his guilt and cherish her memory. +She could understand why he would do just as he had done, go into the +wilderness to be alone in horror of himself and in horror of his fellow +men, to think only, mistakenly, of her.</p> + +<p>Now he was paying the penalty of that isolation. Men were made to live +with one another, and no one could violate that law natural, or by so +long an inheritance as to have so become, without paying that penalty. +His ideas of loyalty and fidelity were warped, his conceptions of his +duty were narrow. There was something noble in his determination, it is +true, but there was something also very foolish. The dividing line +between wisdom and folly is sometimes as indefinite as that between +comedy and tragedy, between laughter and tears. If the woman he had +married and killed had only hated him and he had known, it would have +been different, but since he believed so in her love he could do nothing +else.</p> + +<p>At that period in her reflections Enid Maitland saw a great light. The +woman had not loved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> her husband after all, she had loved another. That +passion of which he had dreamed had not been for him. By a strange chain +of circumstances Enid Maitland held in her hand the solution of the +problem. She had but to give him these letters to show him that his +golden image had stood upon feet of clay, that the love upon which he +had dwelt was not his. Once convinced of that he would come quickly to +her arms. She cried a prayer of blessing on old Kirkby and started to +her feet, the letters in hand, to call Newbold back to her and tell him, +and then she stopped.</p> + +<p>Woman as she was, she had respect for the binding conditions and laws of +honor as well as he. Chance, nay, Providence, had put the honor of this +woman, her rival, in her hands. The world had long since forgotten this +poor unfortunate; in no heart was her memory cherished save in that of +her husband. His idea of her was a false one, to be sure, but not even +to procure her own happiness could Enid Maitland overthrow that ideal, +shatter that memory.</p> + +<p>She sat down again with the letters in her hand. It had been very simple +a moment since, but it was not so now. She had but to show him those +letters to remove the great barrier between them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> She could not do it. +It was clearly impossible. The reputation of her dead sister who had +struggled so bravely to the end was in her hands, she could not +sacrifice her even for her own happiness.</p> + +<p>Quixotic, you say? I do not think so. She had blundered unwittingly, +unwillingly, upon the heart secret of the other woman, she could not +betray it. Even if the other woman had been really unfaithful in deed as +well as in thought to her husband, Enid could hardly have destroyed his +recollection of her. How much more impossible it was since the other +woman had fought so heroically and so successfully for her honor. +Womanhood demanded her silence. Loyalty, honor, compelled her silence.</p> + +<p>A dead hand grasped his heart and the same dead hand grasped hers. She +could see no way out of the difficulty. So far as she knew, no human +soul except old Kirkby and herself knew this woman's story. She could +not tell Newbold and she would have to impose upon Kirkby the same +silence as she herself exercised. There was absolutely no way in which +the man could find out. He must cherish his dream as he would. She would +not enlighten him, she would not disabuse his mind, she could not +shatter his ideal, she could not betray his wife. They might love as +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> angels of heaven and yet be kept forever apart—by a scruple, an +idea, a principle, an abstraction, honor, a name.</p> + +<p>Her mind told her these things were idle and foolish, but her soul would +not hear of it. And in spite of her resolutions she felt that eventually +there would be some way. She would not have been a human woman if she +had not hoped and prayed that. She believed that God had created them +for each other, that He had thrown them together. She was enough of a +fatalist in this instance at least to accept their intimacy as the +result of His ordination. There must be some way out of the dilemma.</p> + +<p>Yet she knew that he would be true to his belief, and she felt that she +would not be false to her obligation. What of that? There would be some +way. Perhaps somebody else knew, and then there flashed into her mind +the writer of the letters. Who was he? Was he yet alive? Had he any part +to play in this strange tragedy aside from that he had already essayed?</p> + +<p>Sometimes an answer to a secret query is made openly. At this juncture +Newbold came back. He stopped before her unsteadily, his face now marked +not only by the fierceness of the storm outside, but by the fiercer +grapple of the storm in his heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You have a right," he began, "to know everything now. I can withhold +nothing from you."</p> + +<p>He had in his hand a picture and something yellow that gleamed in the +light. "There," he continued, extending them toward her, "is the picture +of the poor woman, who loved me and whom I killed, you saw it once +before."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she nodded, taking it from him carefully and looking again in a +strange commixture of pride, resentment and pity at the bold, somewhat +coarse, entirely uncultured, yet handsome face which gave no evidence of +the moral purpose which she had displayed.</p> + +<p>"And here," said the man, offering the other article, "is something that +no human eye but mine has ever seen since that day. It is a locket I +took from her neck. Until you came I wore it next my heart."</p> + +<p>"And since then?"</p> + +<p>"Since then I have been unworthy her as I am unworthy you, and I have +put it aside."</p> + +<p>"Does it contain another picture?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Of her?"</p> + +<p>"A man's face."</p> + +<p>"Yours?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Look and see," he answered. "Press the spring."</p> + +<p>Suiting action to word the next second Enid Maitland found herself +gazing upon the pictured semblance of Mr. James Armstrong!</p> + +<p>She was utterly unable to suppress an exclamation and a start of +surprise at the astonishing revelation. The man looked at her curiously, +he opened his mouth to question her, but she recovered herself in part +at least and swiftly interrupted him in a panic of terror lest she +should betray her knowledge.</p> + +<p>"And what is the picture of another man doing in your wife's locket?" +she asked to gain time, for she very well knew the reply; knew it, +indeed, better than Newbold himself; who, as it happened, was equally in +the dark both as to the man and the reason.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," answered the other.</p> + +<p>"Did you know this man?"</p> + +<p>"I never saw him in my life that I can recall."</p> + +<p>"And have you—did you—"</p> + +<p>"Did I suspect my wife?" he asked. "Never. I had too many evidences that +she loved me and me alone for a ghost of suspicion to enter my mind. It +may have been a brother, or her father in his youth."</p> + +<p>"And why did you wear it?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because I took it from her dead heart. Some day I shall find out who +the man is, and when I shall I know there will be nothing to her +discredit in the knowledge."</p> + +<p>Enid Maitland nodded her head. She closed the locket, laid it on the +table and pushed it away from her. So this was the man the woman had +loved, who had begged her to go away with him, this handsome Armstrong +who had come within an ace of winning her own affection, to whom she was +in some measure pledged!</p> + +<p>How strangely does fate work out its purposes. Enid had come from the +Atlantic seaboard to be the second woman that both these two men loved!</p> + +<p>If she ever saw Mr. James Armstrong again, and she had no doubt that she +would, she would have some strange things to say to him. She held in her +hands now all the threads of the mystery, she was master of all the +solutions, and each thread was as a chain that bound her.</p> + +<p>"My friend," she said at last with a deep sigh, "you must forget this +night and go on as before. You love me, thank God for that, but honor +and respect interpose between us. And I love you, and I thank God for +that, too, but for me as well the same barrier rises. Whether we shall +ever surmount these barriers God alone knows. He brought us together, He +put that love in our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> hearts, we will have to leave it to Him to do as +He will with us both. Meanwhile we must go on as before."</p> + +<p>"No," cried the man, "you impose upon me tasks beyond my strength; you +don't know what love like mine is, you don't know the heart hunger, the +awful madness I feel. Think, I have been alone with a recollection for +all these years, a man in the dark, in the night, and the light comes, +you are here. The first night I brought you here I walked that room on +the other side of that narrow door like a lion pent up in bars of steel. +I had only my own love, my own passionate adoration to move me then, but +now that I know you love me, that I see it in your eyes, that I hear it +from your lips, that I mark it in the beat of your heart, can I keep +silent? Can I live on and on? Can I see you, touch you, breathe the same +air with you, be shut up in the same room with you hour after hour, day +after day, and go on as before? I can't do it; it is an impossibility. +What keeps me now from taking you in my arms and from kissing the color +into your cheeks, from making your lips my own, from drinking the light +from your eyes?" He swayed near to her, his voice rose, "What restrains +me?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said the woman, never shrinking back an inch, facing him with +all the courage and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> daring with which a goddess might look upon a man. +"Nothing but my weakness and your strength."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's it; but do not count too much upon the one or the other. +Great God, how can I keep away from you. Life on the old terms is +insupportable. I must go."</p> + +<p>"And where?"</p> + +<p>"Anywhere, so it be away."</p> + +<p>"And when?"</p> + +<p>"Now."</p> + +<p>"It would be death in the snow and in the mountains to-night. No, no, +you can not go."</p> + +<p>"Well, to-morrow then. It will be fair, I can't take you with me, but I +must go alone to the settlements, I must tell your friends you are here, +alive, well. I shall find men to come back and get you. What I cannot do +alone numbers together may effect. They can carry you over the worst of +the trails, you shall be restored to your people, to your world again. +You can forget me."</p> + +<p>"And do you think?" asked the woman, "that I could ever forget you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"And will you forget me?"</p> + +<p>"Not as long as life throbs in my veins, and beyond."</p> + +<p>"And I too," was the return.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So be it. You won't be afraid to stay here alone, now."</p> + +<p>"No, not since you love me," was the noble answer. "I suppose I must, +there is no other way, we could not go on as before. And you will come +back to me as quickly as you can with the others?"</p> + +<p>"I shall not come back. I will give them the direction, they can find +you without me. When I say good-by to you to-morrow it shall be +forever."</p> + +<p>"And I swear to you," asserted the woman in quick desperation, "if you +do not come back, they shall have nothing to carry from here but my dead +body. You do not alone know what love is," she cried resolutely, "and I +will not let you go unless I have your word to return."</p> + +<p>"And how will you prevent my going?"</p> + +<p>"I can't. But I will follow you on my hands and knees in the snow until +I freeze and die unless I have your promise."</p> + +<p>"You have beaten me," said the man hopelessly. "You always do. Honor, +what is it? Pride, what is it? Self respect, what is it? Say the word +and I am at your feet, I put the past behind me."</p> + +<p>"I don't say the word," answered the woman bravely, white faced, pale +lipped, but resolute.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> "To be yours, to have you mine, is the greatest +desire of my heart, but not in the coward's way, not at the expense of +honor, of self respect—no not that way. Courage, my friend, God will +show us the way, and meantime good night."</p> + +<p>"I shall start in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she nodded reluctantly but knowing it had to be, "but you won't +go without bidding me good-bye."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Good night then," she said extending her hand.</p> + +<p>"Good night," he whispered hoarsely and refused it backing away. "I +don't dare to take it. I don't dare to touch you again. I love you so, +my only salvation is to keep away."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>THE STRENGTH OF THE WEAK</h3> + + +<p>Although Enid Maitland had spoken bravely enough while he was there, +when she was alone her heart sank into the depths as she contemplated +the dreadful and unsolvable dilemma in which these two lovers found +themselves so unwittingly and inextricably involved. It was indeed a +curious and bewildering situation. Passionate adoration for the other +rose in each breast like the surging tide of a mighty sea and like that +tide upon the shore it broke upon conventions, ideas, ideals and +obligations intangible to the naked eye but as real as those iron coasts +that have withstood the waves' assaults since the world's morning.</p> + +<p>The man had shaped his life upon a mistake. He believed absolutely in +the unquestioned devotion of a woman to whom he had been forced to mete +out death in an unprecedented and terrible manner. His unwillingness to +derogate by his own conduct from the standard of devotion which he +believed had inhabited his wife's bosom, made it impossible for him to +allow the real love<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> that had come into his heart for this new woman to +have free course; honor, pride and self respect scourged him just in +proportion to his passion for Enid Maitland.</p> + +<p>The more he loved her, the more ashamed he was. By a curious combination +of circumstances, Enid Maitland knew the truth, she knew that from one +point of view the woman had been entirely unworthy the reverence in +which her husband held her memory. She knew that his wife had not loved +him at all, that her whole heart had been given to another man, that +what Newbold had mistaken for a passionate desire for his society +because there was no satisfaction in life for the wife away from him was +due to a fear lest without his protection she should be unable to resist +the appeal of the other man which her heart seconded so powerfully. If +it were only that Newbold would not be false to the obligation of the +other woman's devotion, Enid might have solved the problem in a moment.</p> + +<p>It was not so simple, however. The fact that Newbold cherished this +memory, the fact that this other woman had fought so desperately, had +tried so hard not to give way, entitled her to Enid Maitland's +admiration and demanded her highest consideration as well. Chance, or +Providence, had put her in possession of this woman's secret.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> It was as +if she had been caught inadvertently eavesdropping. She could not in +honor make use of what she had overheard, as it were; she could not +blacken the other woman's memory, she could not enlighten this man at +the expense of his dead wife's reputation.</p> + +<p>Although she longed for him as much as he longed for her, although her +love for him amazed her by its depth and intensity, even to bring her +happiness commensurate with her feelings she could not betray her dead +sister. The imposts of honor, how hard they are to sustain when they +conflict with love and longing.</p> + +<p>Enid Maitland was naturally not a little thrown off her balance by the +situation and the power that was hers. What she could not do herself she +could not allow anyone else to do. The obligation upon her must be +extended to others. Old Kirkby had no right to the woman's secret any +more than she, he must be silenced. Armstrong, the only other being +privy to the truth, must be silenced too.</p> + +<p>One thing at least arose out of the sea of trouble in a tangible way, +she was done with Armstrong. Even if she had not so loved Newbold that +she could scarcely give a thought to any other human being, she was done +with Armstrong.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> + +<p>A singular situation! Armstrong had loved another woman, so had Newbold, +and the latter had even married this other woman, yet she was quite +willing to forgive Newbold, she made every excuse for him, she made none +for Armstrong. She was an eminently sane, just person, yet as she +thought of the situation her anger against Armstrong grew hotter and +hotter. It was a safety valve to her feelings, although she did not +realize it. After all, Armstrong's actions rendered her a certain +service; if she could get over the objection in her soul, if she could +ever satisfy her sense of honor and duty, and obligation, she could +settle the question at once. She had only to show the letters to Newbold +and to say, "These were written by the man of the picture; it was he and +not you your wife loved," and Newbold would take her to his heart +instantly.</p> + +<p>These thoughts were not without a certain comfort to her. All the +compensation of self-sacrifice is in its realization. That she could do +and yet did not somehow ennobled her love for him. Even women are +alloyed with base metal. In the powerful and universal appeal of this +man to her, she rejoiced at whatever was of the soul rather than of the +body. To possess power, to refrain from using it in obedience to some +higher law is perhaps to pay oneself the most flattering of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +compliments. There was a satisfaction to her soul in this which was yet +denied him.</p> + +<p>Her action was quite different from his. She was putting away happiness +which she might have had in compliance with a higher law than that which +bids humanity enjoy. It was flattering to her mind. In his case it was +otherwise: he had no consciousness that he was a victim of misplaced +trust, of misinterpreted action; he thought the woman for whom he was +putting away happiness was almost as worthy, if infinitely less +desirable, as the woman whom he now loved.</p> + +<p>Every sting of conscious weakness, every feeling of realized shame, +every fear of ultimate disloyalty, scourged him. She could glory in it; +he was ashamed, humiliated, broken.</p> + +<p>She heard him savagely walking up and down the other room, restlessly +impelled by the same Erinnyes who of old scourged Orestes, the violater +of the laws of moral being, drove him on. These malign Eumenides held +him in their hands. He was bound and helpless; rage as he might in one +moment, pray as he did in another, no light came into the whirling +darkness of his torn, tempest tossed, driven soul. The irresistible +impulse and the immovable body the philosophers puzzled over were +exemplified in him. While he almost hated the new woman, while he +almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> loved the old, yet that he did neither the one thing nor the +other absolutely was significant.</p> + +<p>Indeed he knew that he was glad Enid Maitland had come into his life. No +life is complete until it is touched by that divine fire which for lack +of another name we call love. Because we can experience that sensation +we are said to be made in God's image. The image is blurred as the +animal predominates, it is clearer as the spiritual has the ascendency.</p> + +<p>The man raved in his mind. White faced, stern, he walked up and down, he +tossed his arms about him, he stopped, his eyes closed, he threw his +hands up toward God, his heart cried out under the lacerations of the +blows inflicted upon it. No flagellant of old ever trembled beneath the +body lash as he under the spiritual punishment.</p> + +<p>He prayed that he might die at the same moment that he longed to live. +He grappled blindly for solutions of the problem that would leave him +with untarnished honor and undiminished self-respect and fidelity, and +yet give him this woman; and in vain. He strove to find a way to +reconcile the past with the present, realizing as he did so the futility +of such a proposition. One or the other must be supreme; he must +inexorably hold to his ideas and his ideals, or he must inevitably take +the woman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> + +<p>How frightful was the battle that raged within his bosom. Sometimes in +his despair he thought that he would have been glad if he and she had +gone down together in the dark waters before all this came upon him. The +floods of which the heavens had emptied themselves had borne her to him. +Oh, if they had only swept him out of life with its trouble, its trials, +its anxieties, its obligations, its impossibilities! If they had gone +together! And then he knew that he was glad even for the torture, +because he had seen her, because he had loved her, and because she had +loved him.</p> + +<p>He marveled at himself curiously and in a detached way. There was a +woman who loved him, who had confessed it boldly and innocently; there +were none to say him nay. The woman who stood between had been dead five +years, the world knew nothing, cared nothing; they could go out +together, he could take her, she would come. On the impulse he turned +and ran to the door and beat upon it. Her voice bade him enter and he +came in.</p> + +<p>Her heart yearned to him. She was shocked, appalled, at the torture she +saw upon his face. Had he been laid upon the rack and every joint pulled +from its sockets, he could not have been more white and agonized.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I give up," he cried. "What are honor and self-respect to me? I want +you. I have put the past behind. You love me, and I, I am yours with +every fiber of my being. Great God! Let us cast aside these foolish +quixotic scruples that have kept us apart. If a man's thoughts declare +his guilt I am already disloyal to the other woman; deeply, entirely so. +I have betrayed her, shamed her, abandoned her. Let me have some +compensation for what I have gone through. You love me, come to me."</p> + +<p>"No," answered the woman, and no task ever laid upon her had been harder +than that. "I do love you, I will not deny it, every part of me responds +to your appeal. I should be so happy that I cannot even think of it, if +I could put my hand in your own, if I could lay my head upon your +shoulder, if I could feel your heart beat against mine, if I could give +myself up to you, I would be so glad, so glad. But it can not be, not +now."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" pleaded the man.</p> + +<p>He was by her side, his arm went around her. She did not resist +physically, it would have been useless; she only laid her slender hand +upon his broad breast and threw her head back and looked at him.</p> + +<p>"See," she said, "how helpless I am, how weak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> in your hands? Every +voice in my heart bids me give way. If you insist I can deny you +nothing. I am helpless, alone, but it must not be. I know you better +than you know yourself, you will not take advantage of affection so +unbounded, of weakness so pitiable."</p> + +<p>Was it the wisdom of calculation, or was it the wisdom of instinct by +which she chose her course? Resistance would have been unavailing, in +weakness was her strength.</p> + +<p><i>Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth!</i></p> + +<p>Yes, that was true. She knew it now if never before, and so did he.</p> + +<p>Slowly the man released her. She did not even then draw away from him; +she stood with her hand still on his breast, she could feel the beating +of his heart beneath her fingers.</p> + +<p>"I am right," she said softly. "It kills me to deny you anything, my +heart yearns toward you, why should I deny it, it is my glory not my +shame."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing above love like ours," he pleaded, wondering what +marvelous mastery she exercised that she stopped him by a hand's touch, +a whispered word, a faith.</p> + +<p>"No; love is life, love is God, but even God Himself is under +obligations of righteousness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> For me to come to you now, to marry you +now, to be your wife, would be unholy. There would not be that perfect +confidence between us that must endure in that relation. Your honor and +mine, your self-respect and mine would interpose. If I can't have you +with a clear conscience, if you can't come to me in the same way, we are +better apart. Although it kills me, although life without you seems +nothing and I would rather not live it, we are better apart. I cannot be +your wife until—"</p> + +<p>"Until what and until when?" demanded Newbold.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said the woman, "but I believe that somewhere, somehow, +we shall find a way out of our difficulty. There is a way," she said a +little incautiously, "I know it."</p> + +<p>"Show it to me."</p> + +<p>"No, I can not."</p> + +<p>"What prevents?"</p> + +<p>"The same thing which prevents you, honor, loyalty."</p> + +<p>"To a man?"</p> + +<p>"To a woman."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"No, but you will some day," she smiled at him. "See," she said, +"through my tears I can smile at you, though my heart is breaking. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +know that in God's good time this will work itself out."</p> + +<p>"I can't wait for God, I want you now," persisted the other.</p> + +<p>"Hush, don't say that," answered the woman, for a moment laying her hand +on his lips. "But I forgive you, I know how you suffer."</p> + +<p>The man could say nothing, do nothing. He stared at her a moment and his +hand went to his throat as if he were choking.</p> + +<p>"Unworthy," he said hoarsely, "unworthy of the past, unworthy of the +present, unworthy of the future. May God forgive me, I never can."</p> + +<p>"He will forgive you, never fear," answered Enid gently.</p> + +<p>"And you?" asked her lover. "I have ruined your life."</p> + +<p>"No, you have ennobled it. Let nothing ever make you forget that. +Wherever you are and whatever you do and whatever you may have been, I +love you and I shall love you to the end. Now you must go, it is so +late, I can't stand any more. I throw myself on your mercy again. I grow +weaker and weaker before you. As you are a man, as you are stronger, +save me from myself. If you were to take me again in your arms," she +went on steadily, "I know not how I could drive you back. For God's +sake, if you love me—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> + +<p>That was the hardest thing he had ever done, to turn and go out of the +room, out of her sight and leave her standing there with eyes shining, +with pulses throbbing, with breath coming fast, with bosom panting. Once +more, and at a touch she might have yielded!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> +<h2>BOOK V</h2> + +<h3>THE CUP IS DRAINED</h3> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>THE CHALLENGE OF THE RANGE</h3> + + +<p>Mr. James Armstrong sat at his desk before the west window of his +private room in one of the tallest buildings in Denver. His suite of +offices was situated on one of the top floors and from it over the +intervening house tops and other buildings, he had a clear and +unobstructed view of the mighty range. The earth was covered with snow. +It had fallen steadily through the night but with the dawn the air had +cleared and the sun had come out brightly although it was very cold.</p> + +<p>Letters, papers, documents, the demands of a business extensive and +varied, were left unnoticed. He sat with his elbow on the desk and his +head on his hand, looking moodily at the range. In the month that had +elapsed since he had received news of Enid Maitland's disappearance he +had sat often in that way, in that place, staring at the range, a prey +to most despondent reflections, heavy hearted and disconsolate indeed.</p> + +<p>After that memorable interview with Mr. Stephen Maitland in Philadelphia +he had deemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> it proper to await there the arrival of Mr. Robert +Maitland. A brief conversation with that distracted gentleman had put +him in possession of all the facts in the case. As Robert Maitland had +said, after his presentation of the tragic story, the situation was +quite hopeless. Even Armstrong reluctantly admitted that her uncle and +old Kirkby had done everything that was possible for the rescue or +discovery of the girl.</p> + +<p>Therefore the two despondent gentlemen had shortly after returned to +their western homes, Robert Maitland in this instance being accompanied +by his brother Stephen. The latter never knew how much his daughter had +been to him until this evil fate had befallen her. Robert Maitland had +promised to inaugurate a thorough and extensive search to solve the +mystery of her death, which he felt was certain, in the spring when the +weather permitted humanity to have free course through the mountains.</p> + +<p>Mr. Stephen Maitland found a certain melancholy satisfaction in being at +least near the place where neither he nor anyone had any doubt his +daughter's remains lay hid beneath the snow or ice on the mountains in +the freezing cold. Robert Maitland had no other idea than that Enid's +body was in the lake. He intended to drain it—an engineering task of no +great difficulty—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> yet he intended also to search the hills for +miles on either side of the main stream down which she had gone; for she +might possibly have strayed away and died of starvation and exposure +rather than drowning. At any rate he would leave nothing undone to +discover her.</p> + +<p>He had strenuously opposed Armstrong's recklessly expressed intention of +going into the mountains immediately to search for her. Armstrong was +not easily moved from any purpose he once entertained or lightly to be +hindered from attempting any enterprise that he projected, but by the +time the party reached Denver the winter had set in and even he realized +the futility of any immediate search for a dead body lost in the +mountains. Admitting that Enid was dead the conclusions were sound of +course.</p> + +<p>The others pointed out to Armstrong that if the woman they all loved had +by any fortunate chance escaped the cloud burst she must inevitably have +perished from cold, starvation and exposure in the mountain long since. +There was scarcely a possibility that she could have escaped the flood, +but if she had it would only to be devoted to death a little later. If +she was not in the lake what remained of her would be in some lateral +caņon. It would be impossible to discover her body in the deep snows +until the spring and the warm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> weather came. When the snows melted what +was concealed would be revealed. Alone, she could do nothing. And +admitting again that Enid was alone this conclusion was as sound as the +other.</p> + +<p>Now no one had the faintest hope that Enid Maitland was yet alive except +perhaps her father, Mr. Stephen Maitland. They could not convince him, +he was so old and set in his opinions and so utterly unfamiliar with the +conditions that they tried to describe to him, that he clung to his +belief in spite of all, and finally they let him take such comfort as he +could from his vain hope without any further attempt at contradiction.</p> + +<p>In spite of all the arguments, however, Mr. James Armstrong was not +satisfied. He was as hopeless as the rest, but his temperament would not +permit him to accept the inevitable calmly. It was barely possible that +she might not be dead and that she might not be alone. There was +scarcely enough possibility of this to justify a suspicion, but that is +not saying there was none at all.</p> + +<p>Day after day he had sat in his office denying himself to everyone and +refusing to consider anything, brooding over the situation. He loved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +Enid Maitland, he loved her before and now that he had lost her he loved +her still more.</p> + +<p>Not altogether admirable had been James Armstrong's outwardly successful +career. In much that is high and noble and manly his actions—and his +character—had often been lacking, but even the base can love and +sometimes love transforms if it be given a chance. The passion of Cymon +for Iphigenia, made a man and prince out of the rustic boor. His real +love for Enid Maitland might have done more for Armstrong than he +himself or anyone who knew him as he was—and few there were who had +such knowledge of him—dreamed was possible. There was one thing that +love could not do, however; it could not make him a patient philosopher, +a good waiter. His rule of life was not very high, but in one way it was +admirable in that prompt bold decisive action was its chiefest +characteristic.</p> + +<p>On this certain morning a month after the heart breaking disaster his +power of passive endurance had been strained to the vanishing point. The +great white range was flung in his face like a challenge. Within its +secret recesses lay the solution of the mystery. Somewhere, dead or +alive, beyond the soaring rampart was the woman he loved. It was +impossible for him to remain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> quiet any longer. Common sense, reason, +every argument that had been adduced, suddenly became of no weight. He +lifted his head and stared straight westward. His eyes swept the long +semi-circle of the horizon across which the mighty range was drawn like +the chord of a gigantic arc or the string of a mighty bow. Each white +peak mocked him, the insolent aggression of the range called him +irresistibly to action.</p> + +<p>"By God," he said under his breath, rising to his feet, "winter or no +winter, I go."</p> + +<p>Robert Maitland had offices in the same building. Having once come to a +final determination there was no more uncertainty or hesitation about +Armstrong's course. In another moment he was standing in the private +room of his friend. The two men were not alone there. Stephen Maitland +sat in a low chair before another window removed from the desk somewhat, +staring out at the range. The old man was huddled down in his seat, +every line of his figure spoke of grief and despair. Of all the places +in Denver he liked best his brother's office fronting the rampart of the +mountains, and hour after hour he sat there quietly looking at the +summits, sometimes softly shrouded in white, sometimes swept bare by the +fierce winter gales that blew across them, sometimes shining and +sparkling so that the eye<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> could scarce sustain their reflection of the +dazzling sun of Colorado; and at other times seen dimly through mists of +whirling snow.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, the mountains challenged him also to the other side of the +range. His heart yearned for his child, but he was too old to make the +attempt. He could only sit and pray and wait with such faint and fading +hope as he could still cherish until the break up of the spring came. +For the rest he troubled nobody; nobody noticed him, nobody marked him, +nobody minded him. Robert Maitland transacted his business a little more +softly, a little more gently, that was all. Yet the presence of his +brother was a living grief and a living reproach to him. Although he was +quite blameless he blamed himself. He did not know how much he had grown +to love his niece until he had lost her. His conscience accused him +hourly, and yet he knew not where he was at fault or how he could have +done differently. It was a helpless and hopeless situation. To him, +therefore, entered Armstrong.</p> + +<p>"Maitland," he began, "I can't stand it any longer, I'm going into the +mountains."</p> + +<p>"You are mad!"</p> + +<p>"I can't help it. I can't sit here and face them, damn them, and remain +quiet."</p> + +<p>"You will never come out alive."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes I will, but if I don't I swear to God I don't care."</p> + +<p>Old Stephen Maitland rose unsteadily to his feet and gripped the back of +his chair.</p> + +<p>"Did I hear aright, sir?" he asked with all the polished and graceful +courtesy of birth and breeding which never deserted him in any emergency +whatsoever. "Do you say—"</p> + +<p>"I said I was going into the mountains to search for her."</p> + +<p>"It is madness," urged Robert Maitland.</p> + +<p>But the old man did not hear him.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" he exclaimed with deep feeling. "I have sat here day after +day and watched those mighty hills, and I have said to myself that if I +had youth and strength as I have love, I would not wait."</p> + +<p>"You are right," returned Armstrong, equally moved, and indeed it would +have been hard to have heard and seen that father unresponsively, "and I +am not going to wait either."</p> + +<p>"I understand your feeling, Jim, and yours too, Steve," began Robert +Maitland, arguing against his own emotions, "but even if she escaped the +flood, she must be dead by this time."</p> + +<p>"You needn't go over the old arguments, Bob. I'm going into the +mountains and I'm going now. No," he continued swiftly, as the other +opened his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> mouth to interpose further objections, "you needn't say +another word. I'm a free agent and I'm old enough to decide what I can +do. There is no argument, there is no force, there is no appeal, there +is nothing that will restrain me. I can't sit here and eat my heart out +when she may be there."</p> + +<p>"But it's impossible!"</p> + +<p>"It isn't impossible. How do I know that there may not have been +somebody in the mountains, she may have wandered to some settlement, +some hunter's cabin, some prospector's hut."</p> + +<p>"But we were there for weeks and saw nothing, no evidence of humanity."</p> + +<p>"I don't care. The mountains are filled with secret nooks you could pass +by within a stone's throw and never see into, she may be in one of them. +I suppose she is dead and it's all foolish, this hope, but I'll never +believe it until I have examined every square rod within a radius of +fifty miles from your camp. I'll take the long chance, the longest +even."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all right," said Robert Maitland. "Of course I intend to +do that as soon as the spring opens, but what's the use of trying to do +it now?"</p> + +<p>"It's use to me. I'll either go mad here in Denver, or I must go to seek +for her there."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But you will never come back if you once get in those mountains alone."</p> + +<p>"I don't care whether I do or not. It's no use, old man, I am going and +that's all there is about it."</p> + +<p>Robert Maitland knew men, he recognized finality when he heard it or +when he saw it and it was quite evident that he was in the presence of +it then. It was of no use for him or anyone to say more.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said, "I honor you for your feeling even if I don't +think much of your common sense."</p> + +<p>"Damn common sense," cried Armstrong triumphantly, "it's love that moves +me now."</p> + +<p>At that moment there was a tap on the door. A clerk from an outer office +bidden to enter announced that old Kirkby was in the ante-room.</p> + +<p>"Bring him in," directed Maitland, eager to welcome him.</p> + +<p>He fancied that the new comer would undoubtedly assist him in dissuading +Armstrong from his foolhardy, useless enterprise.</p> + +<p>"Mornin', old man," drawled Kirkby.</p> + +<p>"Howdy, Armstrong. My respects to you, sir," he said, sinking his voice +a little as he bowed respectfully toward Mr. Stephen Maitland, a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +sympathetic look in the old frontiersman's eyes at the sight of the +bereaved father.</p> + +<p>"Kirkby, you've come in the very nick of time," at once began Robert +Maitland.</p> + +<p>"Allus glad to be Johnny-on-the-spot," smiled the older man.</p> + +<p>"Armstrong here," continued the other intent upon his purpose, "says he +can't wait until the spring and the snows melt, he is going into the +mountains now to look for Enid."</p> + +<p>Kirkby did not love Armstrong, he did not care for him a little bit, but +there was something in the bold hardihood of the man, something in the +way which he met the reckless challenge of the mountains that the old +man and all the others felt that moved the inmost soul of the hardy +frontiersman. He threw an approving glance at him.</p> + +<p>"I tell him that it is absurd, impossible; that he risks his life for +nothing, and I want you to tell him the same thing. You know more about +the mountains than either of us."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kirkby," quavered Stephen Maitland, "allow me. I don't want to +influence you against your better judgment, but if you could sit here as +I have done and think that maybe she is there and perhaps alive still, +and in need, you would not say a word to deter him."</p> + +<p>"Why, Steve," expostulated Robert Maitland,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> "surely you know I would +risk anything for Enid; somehow it seems as if I were being put in the +selfish position by my opposition."</p> + +<p>"No, no," said his brother, "it isn't that. You have your wife and +children, but this young man—"</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you say, Kirkby? Not that it makes any difference to me +what anybody says. Come, we are wasting time," interposed Armstrong, +who, now that he had made up his mind, was anxious to be off.</p> + +<p>"Jim Armstrong," answered Kirkby decidedly, "I never thought much of you +in the past, an' I think sence you've put out this last projick of yourn +that I'm entitled to call you a damn fool, w'ich you are, an' I'm +another, for I'm goin' into the mountains with you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank God!" cried Stephen Maitland fervently.</p> + +<p>"I know you don't like me," answered Armstrong; "that's neither here nor +there. Perhaps you have cause to dislike me, perhaps you have not; I +don't like you any too well myself; but there is no man on earth I'd +rather have go with me on a quest of this kind than you, and there's my +hand on it."</p> + +<p>Kirkby shook it vigorously.</p> + +<p>"This ain't committin' myself," he said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> cautiously. "So far's I'm +concerned you ain't good enough for Miss Maitland, but I admires your +spirit, Armstrong, an' I'm goin' with you. Tain't no good, twon't +produce nothin', most likely we'll never come back agin; but jest the +same I'm goin' along; nobody's goin' to show me the trail; my nerve and +grit w'en it comes to helpin' a young feemale like that girl is as good +as anybody's I guess. You're her father," he drawled on, turning to +Stephen Maitland, "an' I ain't no kin to her, but by gosh, I believe I +can understand better than anyone else yere what you are feelin'."</p> + +<p>"Kirkby," said Robert Maitland, smiling at the other two, "you have gone +clean back on me. I thought you had more sense. But somehow I guess it's +contagious, for I am going along with you two myself."</p> + +<p>"And I, cannot I accompany you?" pleaded Stephen Maitland, eagerly +drawing near to the other three.</p> + +<p>"Not much," said old Kirkby promptly. "You ain't got the stren'th, ol' +man, you don't know them mountains, nuther; you'd be helpless on a pair +of snow shoes, there ain't anything you could do, you'd jest be a drag +on us. Without sayin' anything about myself, w'ich I'm too modest for +that, there ain't three better men in Colorado to tackle this job than +Jim Armstrong an' Bob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> Maitland an'—well, as I said, I won't mention no +other names."</p> + +<p>"God bless you all, gentlemen," faltered Stephen Maitland. "I think +perhaps I may have been wrong, a little prejudiced against the west, you +are men that would do honor to any family, to any society in +Philadelphia or anywhere else."</p> + +<p>"Lord love ye," drawled Kirkby, his eyes twinkling, "there ain't no +three men on the Atlantic seaboard that kin match up with two of us +yere, to say nothin' of the third."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Robert Maitland, "the thing now is to decide on what's to +be done."</p> + +<p>"My plan," said Armstrong, "is to go to the old camp."</p> + +<p>"Yep," said Kirkby, "that's a good point of deeparture, as my seafarin' +father down Cape Cod way used to say, an' wot's next."</p> + +<p>"I am going up the caņon instead of down," said the man, with a flash of +inspiration.</p> + +<p>"That ain't no bad idea nuther," assented the old man; "we looked the +ground over pretty thoroughly down the caņon, mebbe we can find +something up it."</p> + +<p>"And what do you propose to take with you?" asked Maitland.</p> + +<p>"What we can carry on the backs of men.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> We will make a camp somewhere +about where you did. We can get enough husky men up at Morrison who will +pack in what we want and with that as a basis we will explore the upper +reaches of the range."</p> + +<p>"And when do we start?"</p> + +<p>"There is a train for Morrison in two hours," answered Armstrong. "We +can get what we want in the way of sleeping bags and equipment between +now and then if we hurry about it."</p> + +<p>"Ef we are goin' to do it, we might as well git a move on us," assented +Kirkby, making ready to go.</p> + +<p>"Right," answered Robert Maitland grimly. "When three men set out to +make fools of themselves the sooner they get at it and get over with it +the better. I've got some business matters to settle, you two get what's +needed and I'll bear my share."</p> + +<p>A week later a little band of men on snow shoes, wrapped in furs to +their eyes, every one heavily burdened with a pack, staggered into the +clearing where once had been pitched the Maitland camp. The place was +covered with snow of course, but on a shelf of rock half way up the +hogback, they found a comparatively level clearing and there, all +working like beavers, they built a rude hut which they covered with +canvas and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> then with tightly packed snow and which would keep the three +who remained from freezing to death. Fortunately they were favored by a +brief period of pleasant weather and a few days served to make a +sufficiently habitable camp.</p> + +<p>Maitland, Kirkby and Armstrong worked with the rest. There was no +thought of search at first. Their lives depended upon the erection of a +suitable shelter and it was not until the helpers, leaving their burdens +behind them, had departed that the three men even considered what was to +be done next.</p> + +<p>"We must begin a systematic search to-morrow," said Armstrong decisively +as the three men sat around the cheerful fire in the hut.</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented Maitland. "Shall we go together, or separately?"</p> + +<p>"Separately, of course. We are all hardy and experienced men, nothing is +apt to happen to us, we will meet here every night and plan the next +day's work. What do you say, Kirkby?"</p> + +<p>The old man had been quietly smoking while the others talked. He smiled +at them in a way which aroused their curiosity and made them feel that +he had news for them.</p> + +<p>"While you was puttin' the finishin' touches on this yere camp, I come +acrost a heap o' stuns, that somehow the wind had swept bare. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +a big drift in front of it w'ich kep' us from seein' it afore; it was +built up in the open w'ere there want no trees, an' in our lumberin' +operations we want lookin' that-a-way. I came acrost a bottle by chance +an'—"</p> + +<p>"Well, for God's sake, old man," cried Armstrong impatiently, "what did +you find in it, anything?"</p> + +<p>"This," answered Kirkby, carefully producing a folded scrap of paper +from his leather vest.</p> + +<p>Armstrong fell on it ravenously, and as Maitland bent over him they both +read these words by the fire light.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>Miss Enid Maitland, whose foot is so badly crushed as to prevent +her traveling, is safe in a cabin at the head of this canon. I put +this notice here to reassure any who may be seeking her as to her +welfare. Follow the stream up to its source.</i>"</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Wm. Berkeley Newbold.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>"Thank God!" exclaimed Robert Maitland.</p> + +<p>"You called me a damn fool, Kirkby," said Armstrong, his eyes gleaming. +"What do you think of it now?"</p> + +<p>"It's the damn fool, I find," said Kirkby sapiently, "that gener'ly gits +there. Providence seems to be a-watchin' over 'em."</p> + +<p>"You said you chanced on this paper, Jack,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> continued Maitland, "it +looks to me like the deliberate intention of Almighty God."</p> + +<p>"I reckon so," answered the other simply. "You see He's got to look +after all the damn fools on earth to keep 'em from doin' too much damage +to theirselves an' to others in this yere crooked trail of a world."</p> + +<p>"Let us start now," urged Armstrong.</p> + +<p>"Tain't possible," said the old man, taking another puff at his pipe, +and only a glistening of the eye betrayed the joy that he felt; +otherwise his phlegmatic calm was unbroken, his demeanor just as +undisturbed as it always was. "We'd jest throw away our lives a +wanderin' round these yere mountains in the dark, we've got to have +light an' clear weather. Ef it should be snowin' in the mornin' we'd +have to wait until it cleared."</p> + +<p>"I won't wait a minute," cried Armstrong. "At daybreak, weather or no +weather, I start."</p> + +<p>"What's your hurry, Jim?" continued Kirkby calmly. "The gal's safe, one +day more or less ain't goin' to make no difference."</p> + +<p>"She's with another man," answered Armstrong quickly.</p> + +<p>"Do you know this Newbold?" asked Maitland, looking at the note again.</p> + +<p>"No, not personally, but I have heard of him."</p> + +<p>"I know him," answered Kirkby quickly, "an'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> you've seed him too, Bob; +he's the fellow that shot his wife, that married Louise Rosser."</p> + +<p>"That man!"</p> + +<p>"The very same."</p> + +<p>"You say you never saw him, Jim?" asked Maitland.</p> + +<p>"I repeat I never met him," said Armstrong, flushing suddenly, "but I +knew his wife."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you did that—" drawled the old mountaineer.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" flashed Armstrong.</p> + +<p>"I mean that you knowed her, that's all," answered the old man with an +innocent air that was almost childlike.</p> + +<p>When the others woke up in the morning Armstrong's sleeping bag was +empty. Kirkby crawled out of his own warm nest, opened the door and +peered out into the storm.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "I guess the damn fool has beat God this time; it don't +look to me as if even He could save him now."</p> + +<p>"But we must go after him at once," urged Maitland.</p> + +<p>"See for yourself," answered the old man, throwing wider the door. +"We've got to wait 'til this wind dies down unless we give the Almighty +the job o' lookin' after three instid o' one."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>THE CONVERGING TRAILS</h3> + + +<p>Whatever the feelings of the others, Armstrong found himself unable to +sleep that night. It seemed to him that fate was about to play him the +meanest and most fantastic of tricks. Many times before in his crowded +life he had loved other women, or so he characterized his feelings, but +his passion for Louise Rosser Newbold had been in a class by itself +until he had met Enid Maitland. Between the two there had been many +women, but these two were the high points, the rest was lowland.</p> + +<p>Once before, therefore, this Newbold had cut in ahead of him and had won +the woman he loved. Armstrong had cherished a hard grudge against him +for a long time. He had not been of those who had formed the rescue +party led by old Kirkby and Maitland which had buried the poor woman on +the great butte in the deep caņon. Before he got back to the camp the +whole affair was over and Newbold had departed. Luckily for him, +Armstrong had always thought, for he had been so mad with grief and rage +and jealousy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> that if he had come across him helpless or not he would +have killed him out of hand.</p> + +<p>Armstrong had soon enough forgotten Louise Rosser, but he had not +forgotten Newbold. All his ancient animosity had flamed into instant +life again, at the sight of his name last night. The inveteracy of his +hatred had been in no way abated by the lapse of time it seemed.</p> + +<p>Everybody in the mining camp had supposed that Newbold had wandered off +and perished in the mountains, else Armstrong might have pursued him and +hunted him down. The sight of his name on that piece of paper was +outward and visible evidence that he still lived. It had almost the +shock of a resurrection, and a resurrection to hatred rather than to +love. If Newbold had been alone in the world, if Armstrong had chanced +upon him in the solitude, he would have hated him just as he did; but +when he thought that his ancient enemy was with the woman he now loved, +with a growing intensity, beside which his former resentment seemed weak +and feeble, he hated him yet the more.</p> + +<p>He could not tell when the notice, which he had examined carefully, was +written; there was no date upon it, but he could come to only one +conclusion. Newbold must have found Enid Maitland alone in the mountains +very shortly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> after her departure and he had had her with him in his +cabin alone for at least a month. Armstrong gritted his teeth at the +thought. He did not undervalue the personality of Newbold, he had never +happened to see him, but he had heard enough about him to understand his +qualities as a man. The tie that bound Armstrong to Enid Maitland was a +strong one, but the tie by which he held her to him, if indeed he held +her at all, was very tenuous and easily broken; perhaps it was broken +already, and so he hated him still more and more.</p> + +<p>Indeed his animosity was so great and growing that for the moment he +took no joy in the assurance of the girl's safety, yet he was not +altogether an unfair man and in calmer moments he thanked God in his own +rough way that the woman he loved was alive and well, or had been when +the note was written. He rejoiced that she had not been swept away with +the flood or that she had not been lost in the mountains and forced to +wander on, finally to starve and freeze and die. In one moment her +nearness caused his heart to throb with joyful anticipation. The +certainty that at the first flush of day he would seek her again sent +the warm blood to his cheeks. But these thoughts would be succeeded by +the knowledge that she was with his enemy. Was this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> man to rob him of +the latest love as he had robbed him of the first? Perhaps the hardest +task that was ever laid upon Armstrong was to lie quietly in his +sleeping bag and wait until the morning.</p> + +<p>So soon as the first indication of dawn showed through the cracks of the +door, he slipped quietly out of his sleeping bag and without disturbing +the others drew on his boots, put on his heavy fur coat and cap and +gloves, slung his Winchester and his snow shoes over his shoulder and +without stopping for a bite to eat softly opened the door, stepped out +and closed it after him. It was quite dark in the bottom of the caņon, +although a few pale gleams overhead indicated the near approach of day. +It was quite still, too. There were clouds on the mountain top heavy +with threat of wind and snow.</p> + +<p>The way was not difficult, the direction of it that is. Nor was the +going very difficult at first; the snow was frozen and the crust was +strong enough to bear him. He did not need his snow shoes and indeed +would have had little chance to use them in the narrow broken rocky +pass. He had slipped away from the others because he wanted to be the +first to see the man and the woman. He did not want any witness to that +meeting. They would have to come on later of course, but he wanted an +hour or two in private<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> with Enid and Newbold without any interruption. +His conscience was not clear. Nor could he settle upon a course of +action.</p> + +<p>How much Newbold knew of his former attempt to win away his wife, how +much of what he knew he had told Enid Maitland, Armstrong could not +surmise. Putting himself into Newbold's place and imagining that the +engineer had possessed entire information, he decided that he must have +told everything to Enid Maitland so soon as he had found out the quasi +relation between her and Armstrong. And Armstrong did not believe the +woman he loved could be in anybody's presence a month without telling +something about him. Still it was possible that Newbold knew nothing and +that he told nothing therefore.</p> + +<p>The situation was paralyzing to a man of Armstrong's decided, determined +temperament. He could not decide upon the line of conduct he should +pursue. His course in this, the most critical emergency he had ever +faced, must be determined by circumstances of which he felt with savage +resentment he was in some measure the sport. He would have to leave to +chance what ought to be subject to his will. Of only one thing was he +sure—he would stop at nothing, murder, lying, nothing to win that +woman, and to settle his score with that man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was really only one thing he could do and that was to press on up +the caņon. He had no idea how far it might be or how long a journey he +would have to make before he reached that shelf on the high hill where +stood that hut in which she dwelt. As the crow flies it could not be a +great distance, but the caņon zigzagged through the mountains with as +many curves and angles as a lightning flash. He plodded on therefore +with furious haste, recklessly speeding over places where a misstep in +the snow or a slip on the icy rocks would have meant death or disaster +to him.</p> + +<p>He had gone about an hour, and had perhaps made four miles from the +camp, when the storm burst upon him. It was now broad day and the sky +was filled with clouds and the air with driving snow. The wind whistled +down the caņon with terrific force, it was with difficulty that he made +any headway at all against it. It was a local storm; if he could have +looked through the snow he would have discovered calmness on the top of +the peaks. It was one of those sudden squalls of wind and snow which +rage with terrific force while they last but whose range was limited and +whose duration would be as short as it was violent.</p> + +<p>A less determined man than he would have bowed to the inevitable and +sought some shelter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> behind a rock until the fury of the tempest was +spent, but there was no storm that blew that could stop this man so long +as he had strength to drive against it. So he bent his head to the +fierce blast and struggled on. There was something titantic and +magnificent about the iron determination and persistence of Armstrong. +The two most powerful passions which move humanity were at his service; +love led him and hate drove him. And the two were so intermingled that +it was difficult to say which predominated, now one and now the other. +The resultant of the two forces however was an onward move that would +not be denied.</p> + +<p>His fur coat was soon covered with snow and ice, the sharp needles of +the storm cut his face wherever it was exposed. The wind forced its way +through his garments and chilled him to the bone. He had eaten nothing +since the night before and his vitality was not at its flood, but he +pressed onward and upward and there was something grand in his +indomitable progress. <i>Excelsior!</i></p> + +<p>Back in the hut Kirkby and Maitland sat around the fire waiting most +impatiently for the wind to blow itself out and for that snow to stop +falling through which Armstrong struggled forward. As he followed the +windings of the caņon, not daring to ascend to the summit of either +wall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> and seek short cuts across the range, he was sensible that he was +constantly rising. There were many indications to his experienced mind; +the decrease in the height of the surrounding pines, the increasing +rarity of the icy air, the growing difficulty in breathing under the +sustained exertion he was making, the quick throbbing of his accelerated +heart, all told him he was approaching his journey's end.</p> + +<p>He judged that he must now be drawing near the source of the stream, and +that he would presently come upon the shelter. He had no means of +ascertaining the time, he would not have dared to unbutton his coat to +glance at his watch, and it is difficult to measure the flying minutes +in such scenes as those through which he passed, but he thought he must +have gone at least seven miles in perhaps three hours, which he fancied +had elapsed, his progress in the last two having been frightfully slow. +Every foot of advance he had to fight for.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, after a quick turn in the caņon, a passage through a narrow +entrance between lofty cliffs, and he found himself in a pocket or a +circular amphitheater which he could see was closed on the further side. +The bottom of this enclosure or valley was covered with pines, now +drooping under tremendous burdens of snow. In the midst of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> the pines a +lakelet was frozen solid, the ice was covered with the same dazzling +carpet of white.</p> + +<p>He could have seen nothing of this had not the sudden storm now stopped +as precipitately almost as it had begun. Indeed, accustomed to the +grayness of the snowfall, his eyes were fairly dazzled by the bright +light of the sun, now quite high over the range, which struck him full +in the face.</p> + +<p>He stopped, panting, exhausted, and leaned against the rocky wall of the +caņon's mouth which, here rose sheer over his head. This certainly was +the end of the trail, the lake was the source of the frozen rivulet +along whose rocky and torn banks he had tramped since dawn. Here if +anywhere he would find the object of his quest.</p> + +<p>Refreshed by the brief pause and encouraged by the sudden stilling of +the storm, he stepped out of the caņon and ascended a little knoll +whence he had a full view of the pocket over the tops of the pines. +Shading his eyes from the light with his hand as best he could, he +slowly swept the circumference with his eager glance, seeing nothing +until his eye fell upon a huge broken trail of rocks projecting from the +snow, indicating the ascent to a broad bare shelf of the mountains +across the lake to the right. Following this up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> he saw a huge block of +snow which suggested dimly the outlines of a hut!</p> + +<p>Was that the place? Was she there? He stared fascinated and as he did so +a thin curl of smoke rose above the snow heap and wavered up in the cold +quiet air! That was a human habitation then, it could be none other than +the hut referred to in the note. Enid Maitland must be there, and +Newbold!</p> + +<p>The lake lay directly in front of him beyond the trees at the foot of +the knoll and between him and the slope that led up to the hut. If it +had been summer, he would have been compelled to follow the water's edge +to the right or to the left, both journeys would have led over difficult +trails with little to choose between them, but the lake was now frozen +hard and covered with snow. He had no doubt that the snow would bear +him, but to make sure he drew his snow shoes from his shoulder, slipped +his feet in the straps, and sped straight on through the trees and then +across the lake like an arrow from a bow.</p> + +<p>In five minutes he was at the foot of the giant stairs. Kicking off his +snow shoes he scrambled up the broken way, easily finding in the snow a +trail which had evidently been passed and repassed daily. In a few +moments he was at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> top of the shelf. A hard trampled path ran +between high walls of snow to a door!</p> + +<p>Behind that door what would he find? Just what he brought to it, love +and hate he fancied. We usually find on the other side of doors no more +and no less than we bring to our own sides. But whatever it might be, +there was no hesitation in Armstrong's course. He ran toward it, laid +his hand on the latch and opened it.</p> + +<p>What creatures of habit we are! Early in that same morning, after one +vain attempt again to influence the woman who was now the deciding and +determining factor and who seemed to be taking the man's place, Newbold, +ready for his journey, had torn himself away from her presence and had +plunged down the giant stair. He had done everything that mortal man +could do for her comfort; wood enough to last her for two weeks had been +taken from the cave and piled in the kitchen and elsewhere so as to be +easily accessible to her, the stores she already had the run of and he +had fitted a stout bar to the outer door which would render it +impregnable to any attack that might be made against it, although he saw +no quarter from which any assault impended.</p> + +<p>Enid had recovered not only her strength but a good deal of her nerve. +That she loved this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> man and that he loved her had given her courage. +She would be fearfully lonely of course, but not so much afraid as +before. The month of immunity in the mountains without any interruption +had dissipated any possible apprehensions on her part. It was with a +sinking heart however that she saw him go at last.</p> + +<p>They had been so much together in that month they had learned what love +was. When he came back it would be different, he would not come alone. +The first human being he met would bring the world to the door of the +lonely but beloved cabin in the mountains—the world with its questions, +its inferences, its suspicions, its denunciations and its accusations! +Some kind of an explanation would have to be made, some sort of an +answer would have to be given, some solution of the problem would have +to be arrived at. What these would be she could not tell.</p> + +<p>Newbold's departure was like the end of an era to her. The curtain +dropped, when it rose again what was to be expected? There was no +comfort except in the thought that she loved him. So long as their +affections matched and ran together nothing else mattered. With the +solution of it all next to her sadly beating heart she was still +supremely confident that Love, or God—and there was not so much +difference between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> them as to make it worth while to mention the One +rather than the Other—would find the way.</p> + +<p>Their leave taking had been singularly cold and abrupt. She had realized +the danger he was apt to incur and she had exacted a reluctant promise +from him that he would be careful.</p> + +<p>"Don't throw your life away, don't risk it even, remember that it is +mine," she had urged.</p> + +<p>And just as simply as she had enjoined it upon him he had promised. He +had given his word that he would not send help back to her but that he +would bring it back, and she had confidence in that word. A confidence +that had he been inclined to break his promise would have made it +absolutely impossible. There had been a long clasp of the hands, a long +look in the eyes, a long breath in the breast, a long throb in the heart +and then—farewell. They dared no more.</p> + +<p>Once before he had left her and she had stood upon the plateau and +followed his vanishing figure with anxious troubled thought until it had +been lost in the depths of the forest below. She had controlled herself +in this second parting for his sake as well as her own. Under the ashes +of his grim repression she realized the presence of live coals which a +breath would have fanned into flame. She dared nothing while he was +there, but when he shut the door behind him the necessity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> for +self-control was removed. She had laid her arms on the table and bowed +her head upon them and shook and quivered with emotions unrelieved by a +single tear—weeping was for lighter hearts and less severe demands!</p> + +<p>His position after all was the easier of the two. As of old it was the +man who went forth to the battle field while the woman could only wait +passively the issue of the fight. Although he was half blinded with +emotion he had to give some thought to his progress, and there was yet +one task to be done before he could set forth upon his journey toward +civilization and rescue.</p> + +<p>It was fortunate, as it turned out, that this obligation detained him. +He was that type of a merciful man whose mercies extended to his beasts. +The poor little burros must be attended to and their safety assured so +far as it could be, for it would be impossible for Enid Maitland to care +for them. Indeed he had already exacted a promise from her that she +would not leave the plateau and risk her life on the icy stairs with +which she was so unfamiliar.</p> + +<p>He had gone to the corral and shaken down food enough for them which if +it had been doled out to them day by day would have lasted longer than +the week he intended to be absent; of course he realized that they would +eat it up in half that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> time, but even so they would probably suffer not +too great discomfort before he got back.</p> + +<p>All these preparations took some little time. It had grown somewhat late +in the morning before he started. There had been a fierce storm raging +when he first looked out and at her earnest solicitation he had delayed +his departure until it had subsided.</p> + +<p>His tasks at the corral were at last completed; he had done what he +could for them both, nothing now remained but to make the quickest and +safest way to the settlement. Shouldering the pack containing his ax and +gun and sleeping bag and such provisions as would serve to tide him over +until he reached human habitations, he set forth. He did not look up to +the hut; indeed, he could not have seen it for the corral was almost +directly beneath it; but if it had been in full view he would not have +looked back, he could not trust himself to; every instinct, every +impulse in his soul would fain drag him back to that hut and to the +woman. It was only his will and, did he but know it, her will that made +him carry out his purpose.</p> + +<p>He would have saved perhaps half a mile on his journey if he had gone +straight across the lake to the mouth of the caņon. We are creatures of +habit. He had always gone around the lake on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> the familiar trail and +unconsciously he followed that trail that morning. He was thinking of +her as he plodded on in a mechanical way over the trail which followed +the border of the lake for a time, plunged into the woods, wound among +the pines and at last reached that narrow rift in the encircling wall +through which the river flowed. He had passed along the white way +oblivious to all his surroundings, but as he came to the entrance he +could not fail to notice what he suddenly saw in the snow.</p> + +<p>Robinson Crusoe when he discovered the famous footprint of Man Friday in +the sand was not more astonished at what met his vision than Newbold on +that winter morning. For there, in the virgin whiteness, were the tracks +of a man!</p> + +<p>He stopped dead with a sudden contraction of the heart. Humanity other +than he and she in that wilderness? It could not be! For a moment he +doubted the evidence of his own senses. He shook his pack loose from his +shoulders and bent down to examine the tracks to read if he could their +indications. He could see that some one had come up the caņon, that +someone had leaned against the wall, that someone had gone on. Where had +he gone?</p> + +<p>To follow the new trail was child's play for him. He ran by the side of +it until he reached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> the knoll. The stranger had stopped again, he had +shifted from one foot to another, evidently he had been looking about +him seeking someone, only Enid Maitland of course. The trail ran forward +to the edge of the frozen lake, there the man had put on his snow shoes, +there he had sped across the lake like an arrow and like an arrow +himself, although he had left behind his own snow shoes, Newbold ran +upon his track. Fortunately the snow crest upbore him. The trail ran +straight to the foot of the rocky stairs. The newcomer had easily found +his way there.</p> + +<p>With beating heart and throbbing pulse, Newbold himself bounded up the +acclivity after the stranger, marking as he did so evidences of the +other's prior ascent. Reaching the top like him he ran down the narrow +path and in his turn laid his hand upon the door.</p> + +<p>He was not mistaken, he heard voices within. He listened a second and +then flung it open, and as the other had done, he entered.</p> + +<p>Way back on the trail, old Kirkby and Robert Maitland, the storm having +ceased, were rapidly climbing up the caņon. Fate was bringing all the +actors of the little drama within the shadow of her hand.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>THE ODDS AGAINST HIM</h3> + + +<p>The noise of the opening of the door and the in-rush of cold air that +followed awoke Enid Maitland to instant action. She rose to her feet and +faced the entrance through which she expected Newbold to reappear—for +of course the newcomer must be he—and for the life of her she could not +help that radiating flash of joy at that momentary anticipation which +fairly transfigured her being; although if she had stopped to reflect +she would have remembered that not in the whole course of their +acquaintance had Newbold ever entered her room at any time without +knocking and receiving permission.</p> + +<p>Some of that joy yet lingered in her lovely face when she tardily +recognized the newcomer in the half light. Armstrong, scarcely waiting +to close the door, sprang forward joyfully with his hands outstretched.</p> + +<p>"Enid!" he cried.</p> + +<p>Naturally he thought the look of expectant happiness he had surprised +upon her face was for him and he accounted for its sudden disappearance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> +by the shock of his unexpected, unannounced, abrupt, entrance.</p> + +<p>The warm color had flushed her face, but as she stared at him her aspect +rapidly changed. She grew paler. The happy light that had shone in her +eyes faded away and as he approached her she shrank back.</p> + +<p>"You!" she exclaimed almost in terror.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered smilingly, "I have found you at last. Thank God you +are safe and well. Oh, if you could only know the agonies I have gone +through. I thought I loved you when I left you six weeks ago, but now—"</p> + +<p>In eager impetuosity he drew nearer to her. Another moment and he would +have taken her in his arms, but she would have none of him.</p> + +<p>"Stop," she said with a cold and inflexible sternness that gave pause +even to his buoyant joyful assurance.</p> + +<p>"Why, what's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"The matter? Everything, but—"</p> + +<p>"No evasions, please," continued the man still cheerfully but with a +growing misgiving. His suspicions in abeyance for the moment because of +his joy at seeing her alive and well arose with renewed force. "I left +you practically pledged to me," he resumed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not so fast," answered Enid Maitland, determined to combat the +slightest attempt to establish a binding claim upon her.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it true?" asked Armstrong. "Here, wait," he said before she could +answer, "I am half frozen, I have been searching for you since early +morning in the storm." He unbuttoned and unbelted his huge fur coat as +he spoke and threw it carelessly on the floor by his Winchester leaning +against the wall. "Now," he resumed, "I can talk better."</p> + +<p>"You must have something to eat then," said the girl.</p> + +<p>She was glad of the interruption since she was playing for time. She did +not quite know how the interview would end, he had come upon her so +unexpectedly and she had never formulated how she should say to him that +which she felt she must say. She must have time to think, to collect +herself, which he on his part was quite willing to give her, for he was +not much better prepared for the interview than she. He really was +hungry and tired; his early journey had been foolhardy and in the +highest degree dangerous. The violence of his admiration for her, added +to the excitement of her presence and the probable nearness of Newbold +as to whose whereabouts he wondered, were not conducive to rapid +recuperation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> It would be comfort to him also to have food and time.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," she said. "I shall be back in a moment."</p> + +<p>The fire of the morning was still burning in the stove in the kitchen; +to heat a can of soup, to make him some buttered toast and hot coffee +were the tasks of a few moments. She brought them back to him, set them +on the table before him and bade him fall to.</p> + +<p>"By Jove," exclaimed the man after a little time as he began to eat +hastily but with great relish what she had prepared, while she stood +over him watching him silently, "this is cozy. A warm, comfortable room, +something to eat served by the finest woman in the world, the prettiest +girl on earth to look at—what more could a man desire? This is the way +it's going to be always in the future."</p> + +<p>"You have no warrant whatever for saying or hoping that," answered the +girl slowly but decisively.</p> + +<p>"Have I not?" asked the man quickly. "Did you not say to me a little +while ago that you liked me better than any man you had ever met and +that I might win you if I could? Well, I can, and what's more I will in +spite of yourself." He laughed. "Why, the memory of that kiss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> I stole +from you makes me mad." He pushed away the things before him and rose to +his feet once more. "Come, give me another," he said; "it isn't in the +power of woman to stand out against a love like mine."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed."</p> + +<p>"Louise Newbold did," she answered very quietly, but with the swiftness +and the dexterity of a sword thrust by a master hand, a mighty arm.</p> + +<p>Armstrong stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment.</p> + +<p>"What do you know about Louise Rosser or Newbold?" he asked at last.</p> + +<p>"All that I want to know."</p> + +<p>"And did that damned hound tell you?"</p> + +<p>"If you mean Mr. Newbold, he never mentioned your name, he does not know +you exist."</p> + +<p>"Where is he now?" thundered the man.</p> + +<p>"Have no fear," answered the woman calmly, "he has gone to the +settlements to tell them I am safe and to seek help to get me out of the +mountains."</p> + +<p>"Fear!" exclaimed Armstrong, proudly, "I fear nothing on earth. For +years, ever since I heard his name in fact, I have longed to meet him. I +want to know who told you about that woman, Kirkby?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He never mentioned your name in connection with her."</p> + +<p>"But you must have heard it somewhere," cried the man thoroughly +bewildered. "The birds of the air didn't tell it to you, did they?"</p> + +<p>"She told me herself," answered Enid Maitland.</p> + +<p>"She told you! Why, she's been dead in her grave five years, shot to +death by that murderous dog of a husband of hers."</p> + +<p>"A word with you, Mr. Armstrong," said the woman with great spirit. "You +can't talk that way about Mr. Newbold; he saved my life twice over, from +a bear and then in the cloud burst which caught me in the caņon."</p> + +<p>"That evens up a little," said Armstrong. "Perhaps for your sake I will +spare him."</p> + +<p>"You!" laughed the woman contemptuously. "Spare him! Be advised, look to +yourself; if he ever finds out what I know, I don't believe any power on +earth could save you."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Armstrong carelessly enough, although he was consumed with +hate and jealousy and raging against her clearly evident disdain, "I can +take care of myself, I guess. Anyway, I only want to talk about you, not +about him or her. Your father—"</p> + +<p>"Is he well?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well enough, but heart-broken, crushed. I happened to be in his house +in Philadelphia when the telegram came from your uncle that you were +lost and probably dead. I had just asked him for your hand," he added, +smiling grimly at the recollection.</p> + +<p>"You had no right to do that."</p> + +<p>"I know that."</p> + +<p>"It was not, it is not, his to give."</p> + +<p>"Still, when I won you I thought it would be pleasant all around if he +knew and approved."</p> + +<p>"And did he?"</p> + +<p>"Not then, he literally drove me out of the house; but afterward he said +if I could find you I could have you; and I have found you and I will +have you whether you like it or not."</p> + +<p>"Never," said the woman decisively.</p> + +<p>The situation had got on Armstrong's nerves, and he must perforce show +himself in his true colors. His only resources were his strength, not of +mind but of body. He made another most damaging mistake at this +juncture.</p> + +<p>"We are alone here, and I am master, remember," he said meaningly. +"Come, let's make it up. Give me a kiss for my pains and—"</p> + +<p>"I have been alone here for a month with another man," answered Enid +Maitland, who was strangely unafraid in spite of his threat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> "A +gentleman, he has never so much as offered to touch my hand without my +permission; the contrast is quite to your disadvantage."</p> + +<p>"Are you jealous of Louise Rosser?" asked Armstrong, suddenly seeing +that he was losing ground and casting about desperately to account for +it, and to recover what was escaping him. "Why, that was nothing, a mere +boy and girl affair," he ran on with specious good humor, as if it were +all a trifle. "The woman was, I hate to say it, just crazy in love with +me, but I really never cared anything especially for her, it was just a +harmless sort of flirtation anyway. She afterward married this man +Newbold and that's all there was about it."</p> + +<p>The truth would not serve him and in his desperation and desire he +staked everything on this astounding lie. The woman he loved looked at +him with her face as rigid as a mask.</p> + +<p>"You won't hold that against me, will you?" pleaded the man. "I told you +that I'd been a man among men, yes among women, too, here in this rough +country and that I wasn't worthy of you; there are lots of things in my +past that I ought to be ashamed of and I am, and the more I see you the +more ashamed I grow, but as for loving any one else all that I've ever +thought or felt or experienced before now is just nothing."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> + +<p>And this indeed was true, and even Enid Maitland with all her prejudice +could realize and understand it. Out of the same mouth, it was said of +old, proceeded blessing and cursing, and from these same lips came truth +and falsehood; but the power of the truth to influence this woman was as +nothing to the power of falsehood. She could never have loved him, she +now knew; a better man had won her affections, a nobler being claimed +her heart; but if Armstrong had told the truth regarding his +relationship to Newbold's wife and then had completed it with his +passionate avowal of his present love for her, she would have at least +admired him and respected him.</p> + +<p>"You have not told me the truth," she answered directly, "you have +deliberately been false."</p> + +<p>"Can't you see," protested the man, drawing nearer to her, "how much I +love you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that, yes I suppose that is true; so far as you can love anyone I +will admit that you do love me."</p> + +<p>"So far as I can love anyone?" he repeated after her. "Give me a chance +and I'll show you."</p> + +<p>"But you haven't told the truth about Mrs. Newbold. You have calumniated +the dead, you have sought to shelter yourself by throwing the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> burden of +a guilty passion upon the weaker vessel, it isn't man-like, it isn't—"</p> + +<p>Armstrong was a bold fighter, quick and prompt in his decisions. He made +another effort to set himself right. He staked his all on another throw +of the dice, which he began to feel were somehow loaded against him.</p> + +<p>"You are right," he admitted, wondering anxiously how much the woman +really knew. "It wasn't true, it was a coward's act, I am ashamed of it. +I'm so mad with love for you that I scarcely know what I am doing, but I +will make a clean breast of it now. I loved Louise Rosser after a +fashion before ever Newbold came on the scene. We were pledged to each +other, a foolish quarrel arose, she was jealous of other girls—"</p> + +<p>"And had she no right to be?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose so. We broke it off anyway, and then she married Newbold, +out of pique, I suppose, or what you will. I thought I was heart-broken +at the time, it did hit me pretty hard; it was five or six years ago, I +was a youngster then, I am a man now. The woman has been dead long +since. There was some cock-and-bull story about her falling off a cliff +and her husband being compelled to shoot her. I didn't half believe it +at the time and naturally I have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> waiting to get even with him. I +have been hating him for five years, but he has been good to you and we +will let bygones be bygones. What do I care for Louise Rosser, or for +him, or for what he did to her, now? I am sorry that I said what I did, +but you will have to charge it to my blinding passion for you. I can +truthfully say that you are the one woman that I have ever craved with +all my heart. I will do anything, be anything, to win you."</p> + +<p>It was very brilliantly done, he had not told a single untruth, he had +admitted much, but he had withheld the essentials after all. He was +playing against desperate odds, he had no knowledge of how much she +knew, or where she had learned anything. Everyone about the mining camp +where she had lived had known of his love for Louise Rosser, but he had +not supposed there was a single human soul who had been privy to its +later developments, and he could not figure out any way by which Enid +Maitland could have learned by any possibility any more of the story +than he had told her. He had calculated swiftly and with the utmost +nicety, just how much he should confess. He was a keen witted, clever +man and he was fighting for what he held most dear, but his eagerness +and zeal, as they have often done, overrode his judgment, and he made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> +another mistake at this juncture. His evil genius was at his elbow.</p> + +<p>"You must remember," he continued, "that you have been alone here in +these mountains with a man for over a month; the world—"</p> + +<p>"What, what do you mean?" exclaimed the girl, who indeed knew very well +what he meant, but who would not admit the possibility.</p> + +<p>"It's not every man," he added, blindly rushing to his doom, "that would +care for you or want you—after that."</p> + +<p>He received a sudden and terrible enlightenment.</p> + +<p>"You coward," she cried, with upraised hand, whether in protest or to +strike him neither ever knew, for at that moment the door opened the +second time that morning to admit another man.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>THE LAST RESORT OF KINGS AND MEN</h3> + + +<p>The sudden entrant upon a quarrel between others is invariably at a +disadvantage. Usually he is unaware of the cause of difference and +generally he has no idea of the stage of development of the affair that +has been reached. Newbold suffered from this lack of knowledge and to +these disadvantages were added others. For instance, he had not the +faintest idea as to who or what was the stranger. The room was not very +light in the day time, Armstrong happened to be standing with his back +to it at some distance from the window by the side of which Enid stood. +Six years naturally and inevitably make some difference in a man's +appearance and it is not to be wondered that at first Newbold did not +recognize the man before him as the original of the face in his wife's +locket, although he had studied that face over and over again. A nearer +scrutiny, a longer study would have enlightened him of course, but for +the present he saw nothing but a stranger visibly perturbed on one side +and the woman he loved apparently fiercely resentful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> sternly +indignant, confronting the other with an upraised hand.</p> + +<p>The man, whoever he was, had affronted her, had aroused her indignation, +perhaps had insulted her, that was plain. He went swiftly to her side, +he interposed himself between her and the man.</p> + +<p>"Enid," he asked, and his easy use of the name was a revelation and an +illumination to Armstrong, "who is this man, what has he done?"</p> + +<p>It was Armstrong who replied. If Newbold were in the dark, not so he; +although they had never spoken, he had seen Newbold. He recognized him +instantly, indeed recognized or not the newcomer could be no other than +he. There was doubtless no other man in the mountains. He had expected +to find him when he approached the hut and was ready for him.</p> + +<p>To the fire of his ancient hatred and jealousy was added a new fuel that +increased its heat and flame. This man had come between Armstrong and +the woman he loved before and had got away unscathed, evidently he had +come between him and this new woman he loved. Well, he should be made to +suffer for it this time and by Armstrong's own hands. The instant +Newbold had entered the room Armstrong had thirsted to leap upon him and +he meant to do it. One or the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> other of them, he swore in his heart, +should never leave that room alive.</p> + +<p>But Newbold should have his chance. Armstrong was as brave, as fearless, +as intrepid, as any man on earth. There was much that was admirable in +his character; he would not take any man at a disadvantage in an +encounter such as he proposed. He would not hesitate to rob a man of his +wife if he could and he would not shrink from any deceit necessary to +gain his purpose with a woman, for good or evil, but he had his own +ideas of honor, he would not shoot an enemy in the back for instance.</p> + +<p>Singular perversion, this, to which some minds are liable! To take from +a man his wife by subtle and underhand methods, to rob him of that which +makes life dear and sweet—there was nothing dishonorable in that! But +to take his life, a thing of infinitely less moment, by the same +process—that was not to be thought of. In Armstrong's code it was +right, it was imperative, to confront a man with the truth and take the +consequences; but to confront a woman with a lie and take her body and +soul, if so be she might be gained, was equally admirable. And there are +other souls than Armstrong's in which this moral inconsistency and +obliquity about men and women has lodgment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span></p> + +<p>Armstrong confronted Newbold therefore, lustful of battle; he yearned to +leap upon him, his fingers itched to grasp him, then trembled slightly +as he rubbed them nervously against his thumbs; his face protruded a +little, his eyes narrowed.</p> + +<p>"My name is Armstrong," he said, determined to precipitate the issue +without further delay and flinging the words at the other in a tone of +hectoring defiance which, however, strange to say, did not seem to +affect Newbold in exactly the degree he had anticipated.</p> + +<p>Yet the name was an illumination to Newbold, though not at all in the +way the speaker had fancied; the recollection of it was the one fact +concerning the woman he loved that rankled in the solitary's mind. He +had often wanted to ask Enid Maitland what she had meant by that chance +allusion to Armstrong which she had made in the beginning of their +acquaintance, but he had refrained. At first he had no right to question +her, there could be no natural end to their affections; and latterly +when their hearts had been disclosed to each other in the wild, +tempestuous, passionate scenes of the last two or three days, he had had +things of greater moment to engage his attention, subjects of more +importance to discuss with her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had for the time being forgotten Armstrong and he had not before +known what jealousy was until he had entered that room. To have seen her +with any man would have given him acute pain, perhaps just because he +had been so long withdrawn from human society, but to see her with this +man who flashed instantly into his recollection upon the utterance of +his name was an added exasperation.</p> + +<p>Newbold turned to the woman, to whom indeed he had addressed his +question in the first place, and there was something in his movement +which bespoke a galling, almost contemptuous, obliviousness to the +presence of the other man which was indeed hard for him to bear.</p> + +<p>Hate begets hate. He was quite conscious of Armstrong's antagonism, +which was entirely undisguised and open and which was growing greater +with every passing moment. The score against Newbold was running up in +the mind of his visitor.</p> + +<p>"Ah," coolly said the owner of the cabin to the latest of his two +guests, "I do remember Miss Maitland did mention your name the first day +she spent here. Is he a—a friend of yours?" he asked of the woman.</p> + +<p>"Not now," answered Enid Maitland.</p> + +<p>She too was in a strange state of perturbation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> on account of the +dilemma in which she found herself involved. She was determined not to +betray the unconscious confidence of the dead. She hoped fervently that +Newbold would not recognize Armstrong as the man of the locket, but if +he did she was resolute that he should not also be recognized as the man +of the letters, at least not by her act. Newbold was ignorant of the +existence of those letters and she did not intend that he should be +enlightened so far as she could prevent it. But she was keen enough to +see that the first recognition would be inevitable; she even admitted +the fact that Armstrong would probably precipitate it himself. Well, no +human soul, not even their writer, knew that she had the letters except +old Kirkby and he was far away. She wished that she had destroyed them; +she had determined to do so at the first convenient opportunity. Before +that, however, she intended to show them not to Newbold but to +Armstrong, to disclose his perfidy, to convict him of the falsehood he +had told her and to justify herself even in his eyes for the action she +had taken.</p> + +<p>Mingled with all these quick reflections was a deadly fear. She was +quick to perceive the hatred Armstrong cherished against Newbold on the +one hand because of the old love affair, the long standing grudge +breaking into sudden life;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> on the other because of her own failure to +come to Armstrong's hand and her love for Newbold which she had no +desire to conceal. The cumulation of all these passionate antagonisms +would only make him the more desperate, she knew.</p> + +<p>Whether or not Newbold found out Armstrong's connection with his past +love there was sufficient provocation in the present to evoke all the +oppugnation and resentment of his nature. Enid felt as she might if the +puncheons of the floor had been sticks of dynamite with active +detonators in every heel that pressed them; as if the slightest movement +on the part of anyone would bring about an explosion.</p> + +<p>The tensity of the situation was bewildering to her. It had come upon +her with such startling force; the unexpected arrival of Armstrong, of +all the men on earth the one who ought not to be there, and then the +equally startling arrival of Newbold, of whom perhaps the same might +have been said. If Newbold had only gone on, if he had not come back, if +she had been rescued by her uncle or old Kirkby—But "ifs" were idle, +she had to face a present situation to which she was utterly unequal.</p> + +<p>She had entirely repudiated Armstrong, that was one sure point; she knew +how guilty he had been toward Newbold's wife, that was another;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> she +realized how he had deceived her, that was the third. These eliminated +the man from her affections. But it is one thing to thrust a man out of +your heart and another to thrust him out of your life; he was still +there. And by no means the sport of blind fate, Armstrong intended to +have something to say as to the course of events, to use his own powers +to determine the issue.</p> + +<p>Of but one thing besides her hatred for Armstrong was Enid Maitland +absolutely certain; she would never disclose to the man she loved the +fact that the woman, the memory of whose supposed passion he cherished, +had been unfaithful to him in heart if not in deed. Nothing could wrest +that secret from her. She had been infected by Newbold's quixotic ideas, +the contagion of his perversion of common sense had fastened itself upon +her. She would not have been human either if she had not experienced a +thrill of pride and joy at the possibility that in some way, of which +she yet swore she would not be the instrument blind or otherwise, the +facts might be disclosed which would enable Newbold to claim her openly +and honorably, without hesitation before or remorse after, as his wife. +This fascinating flash of expectant hopeful feeling she thought unworthy +of her and strove to fight it down, but with manifest impossibility.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p> + +<p>It has taken time to set these things down; to speak or to write is a +slow process and the ratio between outward expressions and inward is as +great as that between light and sound. Questions and answers between +these three followed as swiftly as thrust and parry between accomplished +swordsmen, and yet between each demand and reply they had time to +entertain these swift thoughts—as the drowning compass life experiences +in seconds!</p> + +<p>"I may not be her friend," said Armstrong steadily, "but she left me in +these mountains a month ago with more than a half way promise to marry +me, and I have sought her through the snows to claim the fulfillment."</p> + +<p>"You never told me that," exclaimed Newbold sternly and again addressing +the woman rather than the man.</p> + +<p>"There was nothing to tell," she answered quickly. "I was a young girl, +heart free. I liked this man, perhaps because he was so different from +those to whom I had been accustomed and when he pressed his suit upon +me, I told him the truth. I did not love him, I did not know whether I +might grow to care for him or not; if I did, I should marry him and if I +did not no power on earth could make me. And now—I hate him!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p> + +<p>She flung the hard and bitter words at him savagely.</p> + +<p>Armstrong was beside himself with fury at her remark, and Newbold's cool +indifference to him personally was unendurable. In battle such as he +waged he had the mistaken idea that anything was fair. He could not +really tell whether it was love of woman or hate of man that was most +dominant; he saw at once the state of affairs between the two. He could +hurt the man and the woman with one statement; what might be its +ulterior effect he did not stop to consider; perhaps if he had he would +not have cared greatly then. He realized anyway that since Newbold's +arrival his chance with Enid was gone; perhaps whether Newbold were +alive or dead it was gone forever, although Armstrong did not think +that, he was not capable of thinking very far into the future in his +then condition, the present bulked too large for that.</p> + +<p>"I did not think after that kiss in the road that you would go back on +me this way, Enid," he said quickly.</p> + +<p>"The kiss in the road!" cried Newbold, staring again at the woman.</p> + +<p>"You coward," repeated she, with one swift envenomed glance at the other +man and then she turned to her lover. She laid her hand upon his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> arm, +she lifted her face up to him. "As God is my judge," she cried, her +voice rising with the tragic intensity of the moment and thrilling with +indignant protest, "he took it from me like the thief and the coward he +was and he tells it now like the liar he is. We were riding side by +side, I was utterly unsuspicious, I thought him a gentleman, he caught +me and kissed me before I knew it, I drove him from me. That's all."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," said Newbold gently, and then, for the second time, he +addressed himself to Armstrong. "You came doubtless to rescue Miss +Maitland, and in so far your purpose was admirable and you deserve +thanks and respect, but no further. This is my cabin, your words and +your conduct render you unwelcome here. Miss Maitland is under my +protection, if you will come outside I will be glad to talk with you +further."</p> + +<p>"Under your protection?" sneered Armstrong, completely beside himself. +"After a month with you alone I take it she needs no further +protection."</p> + +<p>Newbold did not leap upon the man for that mordant insult to the woman, +his approach was slow, relentless, terrible. Eight or ten feet separated +them. Armstrong met him half way, his impetuosity was the greater, he +sprang forward,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> turned about, faced the full light from the narrow +window.</p> + +<p>"Well," he cried, "have you got anything to say or do about it?"</p> + +<p>For Newbold had stopped, appalled. He stood staring as if petrified; +recognition, recollection rushed over him. Now and at last he knew the +man. The face that confronted him was the same face that had stared out +at him from the locket he had taken from the bruised breast of his dead +wife, which had been a mystery to him for all these years.</p> + +<p>"Well," tauntingly asked Armstrong again, "what are you waiting for, are +you afraid?"</p> + +<p>From Newbold's belt depended a holster and a heavy revolver. As +Armstrong made to attack him he flashed it out with astonishing +quickness and presented it. The newcomer was unarmed, his Winchester +leaned against the wall by his fur coat and he had no pistol.</p> + +<p>"If you move a step forward or backward," said Newbold with deadly calm, +"I will kill you without mercy."</p> + +<p>"So you'd take advantage of a weaponless man, would you?" sneered +Armstrong.</p> + +<p>"Oh, for God's sake," cried the woman, "don't kill him."</p> + +<p>"You both misjudge me," was the answer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> "I shall take no advantage of +this man. I would disdain to do so if it were necessary, but before the +last resort I must have speech with him, and this is the only way in +which I can keep him quiet for a moment, if as I suspect, his hate +measures with mine."</p> + +<p>"You have the advantage," protested Armstrong. "Say your say and get it +over with. I've waited all these years for a chance to kill you and my +patience is exhausted."</p> + +<p>Still keeping the other covered, Newbold stepped over to the table, +pulled out the drawer and drew from it the locket. Enid remembered she +had hastily thrust it there when he had handed it to her and there it +had lain unnoted and forgotten. It was quite evident to her what was +toward now. Newbold had recognized the other man, explanations were +inevitable. With his left hand Newbold sought the catch of the locket +and pressed the spring. In two steps he faced Armstrong with the open +locket thrust toward him.</p> + +<p>"Your picture?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Mine."</p> + +<p>"Do you know the locket?"</p> + +<p>"I gave it to a woman named Louise Rosser five or six years ago."</p> + +<p>"My wife."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, she was crazy in love with me but—"</p> + +<p>With diabolic malice Armstrong left the sentence uncompleted. The +inference he meant should be drawn from his reticence was obvious.</p> + +<p>"I took it from her dead body," gritted out Newbold.</p> + +<p>"She was beside herself with love for me, an old affair, you know," said +Armstrong more explicitly, thinking to use a spear with a double barb to +pierce the woman's and the man's heart alike. That he defamed the dead +was of no moment then. "She wanted to leave you," he ran on glibly, "she +wanted me to take her back and—"</p> + +<p>"Untrue," burst forth from Enid Maitland's lips. "A slanderous, +dastardly, cowardly untruth."</p> + +<p>But the men paid no attention to her in their excitement, perhaps they +did not even hear her. Newbold thrust his pistol violently forward.</p> + +<p>"Would you murder me as you murdered the woman?" gibed Armstrong in +bitter taunt.</p> + +<p>Then Enid Maitland found it in her heart to urge Newbold to kill him +where he stood, but she had no time if she could have carried out her +design, for Newbold flung the weapon from him and the next moment the +two men leaped upon each other, straining, struggling, clawing, +battling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> like savage beasts, each seeking to clasp his fingers around +the throat of the other and then twist and crush until life was gone.</p> + +<p>Saying nothing, fighting in a grim silence that was terrible, they +reeled crashing about the little room. No two men on earth could have +been better matched, yet Newbold had a slight advantage in height and +strength, as he had also the advantage in simple life and splendid +condition. Armstrong's hate and fierce temper counterbalanced these at +first and with arms locked and legs twined, with teeth clenched and eyes +blinded and pulses throbbing and hearts beating, they strove together.</p> + +<p>The woman shrank back against the wall and stared frightened. She feared +for her lover, she feared for herself. Strange primitive feelings +throbbed in her veins. It was an old situation, when two male animals +fought for supremacy and the ownership of a female, whose destiny was +entirely removed from her own hands.</p> + +<p>Armstrong had shown himself in his true colors at last. She would have +nothing to hope from him if he were the victor and she even wondered in +terror what might happen to her if the man she loved triumphed after the +passions aroused in such a battle. She grew sick and giddy, her bosom +rose and fell, her breath came fast as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> followed the panting, +struggling, clinging, grinding figures about the room.</p> + +<p>At first there had been no advantage to either, but now after five +minutes—or was it hours?—of fierce fighting, the strength and superior +condition of her lover began to tell. He was forcing the other backward. +Slowly, inch by inch, foot by foot, step by step, he mastered him. The +two intertwining figures were broadside to her now, she could see their +faces inflamed by the lust of the battle, engorged, blood red with hate +and fury. There was a look of exultation in one and the shadow of +approaching disaster in the other. But the consciousness that he was +being mastered ever so little only increased Armstrong's determination +and he fought back with the frenzy, the strength of a maddened gorilla, +and again for a space the issue was in doubt. But not for long.</p> + +<p>The table, a heavy, cumbersome, four-legged affair, solid almost as a +rock, stood in the way. Newbold at last backed Armstrong up against it +and by superhuman effort bent him over it, held him with one arm and +using the table as a support, wrenched his left hand free, and sunk his +fingers around the other's throat. It was all up with Armstrong. It was +only a question of time now.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<a name="illus4" id="illus4"></a> +<img src="images/illus4.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>It was all up with Armstrong.</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now," Newbold guttered out hoarsely, "you slandered the dead woman I +married, and you insulted the living one I love. Take back what you said +before you die."</p> + +<p>"I forgive him," cried Enid Maitland. "Oh, don't kill him before my +eyes."</p> + +<p>Armstrong was past speech. The inveteracy of his hatred could be seen +even in his fast glazing eyes, the indomitableness of his purpose yet +spoke in the negative shake of his head. He could die, but he would die +in his hate and in his purpose.</p> + +<p>Enid ran to the two, she grappled Newbold's arm with both her own and +strove with all her might to tear it away from the other's throat. Her +lover paid no more attention to her than if a summer breeze had touched +him. Armstrong grew black in the face, his limbs relaxed, another second +or two and it would have been over with him.</p> + +<p>Once more the door was thrown open, through it two snow covered men +entered. One swift glance told them all, one of them at least had +expected it. On the one side Kirkby, on the other Maitland, tore Newbold +away from his prey just in time to save Armstrong's life. Indeed the +latter was so far gone that he fell from the table to the floor +unconscious, choking, almost dying. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> was Enid Maitland who received +his head in her arms and helped bring him back to life while the panting +Newbold stood staring dully at the woman he loved and the man he hated +on the floor at his feet.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>THE BECOMING END</h3> + + +<p>"Why did you interfere?" when at last he got his breath again, asked +Newbold of Maitland who still held him firmly although restraint was now +unnecessary, the heat and fire of his passion being somewhat gone out of +him. "I meant to kill him."</p> + +<p>"He'd oughter die sure nuff," drawled old Kirkby, rising from where he +had been kneeling by Armstrong's side, "but I don't know's how you're +bound to be his executioner. He's all right now, Miss Enid," said the +old man. "Here"—he took a pillow from the bunk and slipped it under his +head and then extending his hands he lifted the excited almost +distraught woman to her feet—"tain't fittin' for you to tend on him."</p> + +<p>"Oh," exclaimed Enid, her limbs trembling, the blood flowing away from +her heart, her face deathly white, fighting against the faintness that +came with the reaction, while old Kirkby supported and encouraged her. +"I thank God you came. I don't know what would have happened if you had +not."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Has this man mistreated you?" asked Robert Maitland, suddenly +tightening his grip upon his hard breathing but unresisting passive +prisoner.</p> + +<p>"No, no," answered his niece. "He has been everything that a man should +be."</p> + +<p>"And Armstrong?" continued her uncle.</p> + +<p>"No, not even he."</p> + +<p>"I came in time, thank God!" ejaculated Newbold.</p> + +<p>By this time Armstrong had recovered consciousness. To his other causes +for hatred were now added chagrin, mortification, shame. He had been +overcome. He would have been a dead man and by Newbold's hands if the +others had not interfered. He almost wished they had let his enemy +alone. Well, he had lost everything but a chance for revenge on them +all.</p> + +<p>"She has been alone here with this man in this cabin for a month," he +said thickly. "I was willing to take her in spite of that, but—"</p> + +<p>"He made that damned suggestion before," cried Newbold, his rage +returning. "I don't know who you are—"</p> + +<p>"My name is Robert Maitland, and I am this girl's uncle."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you were her father, I could only swear—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It isn't necessary to swear anything," answered Maitland serenely. "I +know this child. And I believe I'm beginning to find out this man."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Uncle Robert," said Enid gratefully, coming nearer to him as +she spoke. "No man could have done more for me than Mr. Newbold has, and +no one could have been more considerate of me. As for you," she turned +on, Armstrong, who now slowly got to his feet, "your insinuations +against me are on a par with your charges against the dead woman, +beneath contempt."</p> + +<p>"What did he say about her?" asked Old Kirkby.</p> + +<p>"You know my story?" asked Newbold.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"He said that my wife had been unfaithful to me—with him—and that he +had refused to take her back."</p> + +<p>"And it was true," snarled Armstrong.</p> + +<p>It was all Maitland could do to check Newbold's rush, but in the end it +was old Kirkby who most effectively interposed.</p> + +<p>"That's a damned lie," he said quietly with his usual drawling voice.</p> + +<p>"You can say so," laughed Armstrong, "but that doesn't alter the +facts."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span></p> + +<p>"An' I can prove it," answered the old man triumphantly.</p> + +<p>It was coming, the secret that she had tried to conceal was about to be +revealed, thought Enid. She made a movement toward the old man. She +opened her mouth to bid him be silent and then stopped. It would be +useless she knew. The determination was no longer hers. The direction of +affairs had been withdrawn from her. After all it was better that the +unloving wife should be proved faithful, even if her husband's cherished +memory of her love for him had to be destroyed thereby. Helpless she +listened knowing full well what the old frontiersman's next word would +be.</p> + +<p>"Prove it!" mocked Armstrong. "How?"</p> + +<p>"By your own hand, out of your own mouth, you dog," thundered old +Kirkby. "Miss Enid, w'ere are them letters I give you?"</p> + +<p>"I—I—" faltered the girl, but there was no escape from the keen glance +of the old man, her hand went to the bosom of her tunic.</p> + +<p>"Letters!" exclaimed Armstrong. "What letters?"</p> + +<p>"These," answered Enid Maitland, holding up the packet.</p> + +<p>Armstrong reached for them but Kirkby again interposed.</p> + +<p>"No, you don't," he said dryly. "Them ain't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> for your eyes yit. Mr. +Newbold, I found them letters on the little shelf w'ere your wife first +struck w'en she fell over onto the butte w'ere she died. I figgered out +her dress was tore open there an' them letters she was carryin' fell out +an' lodged there. We had ropes an' we went down over the rocks that way. +I went first an' I picked 'em up. I never told nobody about it an' I +never showed 'em to a single human bein' until I give 'em to Miss +Maitland at the camp."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asked Newbold, taking the letters.</p> + +<p>"There wasn't no good tellin' nobody then, jest fer the sake o' stirrin' +up trouble."</p> + +<p>"But why did you give them to her at last?"</p> + +<p>"Because I was afeered she might fall in love with Armstrong. I supposed +she'd know his writin', but w'en she didn't I jest let her keep 'em +anyway. I knowed it'd all come out somehow; there is a God above us in +spite of all the damned scoundrels on earth like this un."</p> + +<p>"Are these letters addressed to my dead wife?" asked Newbold.</p> + +<p>"They are," answered Enid Maitland; "look and see."</p> + +<p>"And did Mr. Armstrong write them?"</p> + +<p>"He'll deny it, I suppose," answered Kirkby.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I am familiar with his handwriting," said Maitland.</p> + +<p>Taking the still unopened packet from Newbold he opened it, examined one +of the letters and handed them all back.</p> + +<p>"There is no doubt about it," he said. "It's Armstrong's hand, I'll +swear to it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll acknowledge them," said Armstrong, seeing the absolute +futility of further denial. He had forgotten all about the letters. He +had not dreamed they were in existence. "You've got me beat between you, +the cards are stacked against me, I've done my damndest—" and indeed +that was true.</p> + +<p>Well, he had played a great game, battling for a high stake he had stuck +at nothing. A career in which some good had mingled with much bad was +now at an end. He had lost utterly, would he show himself a good loser?</p> + +<p>"Mr. Armstrong," said Newbold, quietly extending his hand, "here are +your letters."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I am not in the habit of reading letters addressed to other people +without permission and when the recipient of them is dead long since, I +am doubly bound."</p> + +<p>"You're a damned fool," cried Armstrong contemptuously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That kind of a charge from your kind of a man is perhaps the highest +compliment you could pay me. I don't know whether I shall ever get rid +of the doubt you have tried to lodge in my soul about my dead wife, +but—"</p> + +<p>"There ain't no doubt about it," protested old Kirkby earnestly. "I've +read them letters a hundred times over, havin' no scruples whatsomever, +an' in every one of 'em he was beggin' an' pleadin' with her to go away +with him an' fightin' her refusal to do it. I guess I've got to admit +that she didn't love you none, Newbold, an' she did love this here +wuthless Armstrong, but for the sake of her reputation I'll prove to you +all from them letters of hisn, from his own words, that there didn't +live a cleaner hearted, more virtuous, upright feemale than that there +wife of yourn, even if she didn't love you. It's God's truth an' you kin +take it from me."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Armstrong," cried Enid Maitland, interposing at this juncture, "not +very long ago I told you I liked you better than any man I had ever +seen, I thought perhaps I might have loved you, and that was true. You +have played the coward's part and the liar's part in this room—"</p> + +<p>"Did I fight him like a coward?" asked Armstrong.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," answered Newbold for her, remembering the struggle, "you fought +like a man."</p> + +<p>Singular perversion of language and thought there! If two struggled like +wild beasts that was fighting like men!</p> + +<p>"But let that pass," continued the woman. "I don't deny your physical +courage, but I am going to appeal to another kind of a courage which I +believe you possess. You have showed your evil side here in this room, +but I don't believe that's the only side you have, else I couldn't even +have liked you in the past. You have made a charge against two women, +one dead and one living. It makes little difference what you say about +me; I need no defense and no justification in the eyes of those here who +love me and for the rest of the world I don't care. But you have slain +this man's confidence in a woman he once loved, and whom he thought +loved him. As you are a man, tell him that it was a lie and that she was +innocent of anything else although she did love you."</p> + +<p>What a singular situation, an observer who knew all might have +reflected? Here was Enid Maitland pleading for the good name of the +woman who had married the man she now loved, and whom by rights she +should have jealously hated.</p> + +<p>"You ask me more than I can," faltered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> Armstrong, yet greatly moved by +this touching appeal to his better self.</p> + +<p>"Let him speak no word," protested Newbold quickly. "I wouldn't believe +him on his oath."</p> + +<p>"Steady now, steady," interposed Kirkby with his frontier instinct for +fair play. "The man's down, Newbold, don't hit him now."</p> + +<p>"Give him a chance," added Maitland earnestly.</p> + +<p>"You would not believe me, eh?" laughed Armstrong horribly; "well then +this is what I say, whether it is true or a lie you can be the judge."</p> + +<p>What was he about to say? They all recognized instinctively that his +forthcoming deliverance would be a final one. Would good or evil +dominate him now? Enid Maitland had made her plea and it had been a +powerful one; the man did truly love the woman who urged him, there was +nothing left for him but a chance that she should think a little better +of him than he merited, he had come to the end of his resources. And +Enid Maitland spoke again as he hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Oh, think, think before you speak," she cried.</p> + +<p>"If I thought," answered Armstrong quickly, "I should go mad. Newbold, +your wife was as pure as the snow. That she loved me I cannot and will +not deny. She married you in a fit of jealousy and anger after a quarrel +between us in which I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> was to blame, and when I came back to the camp in +your absence I strove to make it up and used every argument that I +possessed to get her to leave you and to go with me. Although she had no +love for you she was too good and too true a woman for that. Now you've +got the truth, damn you; believe it or not as you like. Miss Maitland," +he added swiftly, "if I had met you sooner, I might have been a better +man. Good-by."</p> + +<p>He turned suddenly and none preventing, indeed it was not possible, he +ran to the outer door; as he did so his hand snatched something that lay +on the chest of drawers. There was a flash of light as he drew in his +arm but none saw what it was. In a few seconds he was outside the door. +The table was between old Kirkby and the exit, Maitland and Newbold were +nearest. The old man came to his senses first.</p> + +<p>"After him," he cried, "he means—"</p> + +<p>But before anybody could stir, the dull report of a pistol came through +the open door!</p> + +<p>They found Armstrong lying on his back in the snowy path, his face as +white as the drift that pillowed his head, Newbold's heavy revolver +still clutched in his right hand and a bloody, welling smudge on his +left breast over his heart. It was the woman who broke the silence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh," she sobbed, "It can't be—"</p> + +<p>"Dead," said Maitland solemnly.</p> + +<p>"And it might have been by my hand," muttered Newbold to himself in +horror.</p> + +<p>"He'll never cause no more trouble to nobody in this world, Miss Enid +an' gents," said old Kirkby gravely. "Well, he was a damned fool an' a +damned villain in some ways," continued the old frontiersman +reflectively in the silence broken otherwise only by the woman's sobbing +breaths, "but he had some of the qualities that go to make a man, an' I +ain't doubtin' but what them last words of hisn was mighty near true. Ef +he had met a gal like you earlier in his life he mought have been a +different man."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>THE DRAUGHT OF JOY</h3> + + +<p>The great library was the prettiest room in Robert Maitland's +magnificent mansion in Denver's most favored residence section. It was a +long, low studded room with a heavy beamed ceiling. The low book cases, +about five feet high, ran between all the windows and doors on all sides +of the room. At one end there was a huge open fireplace built of rough +stone, and as it was winter a cheerful fire of logs blazed on the +hearth. It was a man's room preëminently. The drawing room across the +hall was Mrs. Maitland's domain, but the library reflected her husband's +picturesque if somewhat erratic taste. On the walls there were pictures +of the west by Remington, Marchand, Dunton, Dixon and others, and to set +them off finely mounted heads of bear and deer and buffalo. Swords and +other arms stood here and there. The writing table was massive and the +chairs easy, comfortable and inviting. The floor was strewn with robes +and rugs. From the windows facing westward, since the house was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> set on +a high hill, one could see the great rampart of the range.</p> + +<p>There were three men in the room on that brilliant morning early in +January something like a month after these adventures in the mountains +which have been so veraciously set forth. Two of them were the brothers +Maitland, the third was Newbold.</p> + +<p>The shock produced upon Enid Maitland by the death of Armstrong, +together with the tremendous episodes that had preceded it, had utterly +prostrated her. They had spent the night at the hut in the mountains and +had decided that the woman must be taken back to the settlements in some +way at all hazards.</p> + +<p>The wit of old Kirkby had effected a solution of the problem. Using a +means certainly as old as Napoleon and the passage of his cannon over +the Great St. Bernard—and perhaps as old as Hannibal!—they had made a +rude sled from the trunk of a pine which they hollowed out and provided +with a back and runners. There was no lack of fur robes and blankets for +her comfort.</p> + +<p>Wherever it was practicable the three men hitched themselves to the sled +with ropes and dragged it and Enid over the snow. Of course for miles +down the caņon it was impossible to use the sled. When the way was +comparatively easy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> the woman supported by the two men, Newbold and +Maitland, made shift to get along afoot. When it became too difficult +for her, Newbold picked her up as he had done before and assisted by +Maitland carried her bodily to the next resting place. At these times +Kirkby looked after the sled.</p> + +<p>They had managed to reach the temporary hut in the old camp the first +night and rested there. They gathered up their sleeping bags and tents +and resumed their journey in the morning. They were strong men, and, +save for old Kirkby, young. It was a desperate endeavor but they carried +it through.</p> + +<p>When they hit the open trails the sledding was easy and they made great +progress. After a week of terrific going they struck the railroad and +the next day found them all safe in Maitland's house in Denver.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Stephen Maitland his daughter was as one who had risen from the +dead. And indeed when he first saw her she looked like death itself. No +one had known how terrible that journey had been to the woman. Her three +faithful attendants had surmised something, but in spite of all even +they did not realize that in these last days she had been sustained only +by the most violent effort of her will. She had no sooner reached the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> +house, greeted her father, her aunt and the children than she collapsed +utterly.</p> + +<p>The wonder was, said the physician, not that she did it then but that +she had not done it before. For a short time it appeared as if her +illness might be serious, but youth, vigor, a strong body and a good +constitution, a heart now free from care and apprehension and a great +desire to live and love and be loved, worked wonders.</p> + +<p>Newbold had enjoyed no opportunity for private conversation with the +woman he loved, which was perhaps just as well. He had the task of +readjusting himself to changed conditions; not only to a different +environment, but to strange and unusual departures from his long +cherished view points.</p> + +<p>He could no longer doubt Armstrong's final testimony to the purity of +his wife, although he had burned the letters unread, and by the same +token he could no longer cherish the dream that she had loved him and +him alone. Those words that had preceded that pistol shot had made it +possible for him to take Enid Maitland as his wife without doing +violence to his sense of honor or his self-respect. Armstrong had made +that much reparation. And Newbold could not doubt that the other had +known what would be the result of his speech and had chosen his words +deliberately.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> Score that last action to his credit. He was a sensitive +man, however; he realized the brutal and beastlike part he and Armstrong +had both played before this woman they both loved, how they had battled +like savage animals and how but for a lucky interposition he would have +added murder to his other disabilities.</p> + +<p>He was honest enough to say to himself that he would have done the same +thing over under the same circumstances, but that did not absolve his +conscience. He did not know how the woman looked at the transaction or +looked at him, for he had not enjoyed one moment alone with her to +enable him to find out.</p> + +<p>They had buried Armstrong in the snow, Robert Maitland saying over him a +brief but fervent petition in which even Newbold joined. Enid Maitland +herself had repeated eloquently to her Uncle and old Kirkby that night +before the fire the story of her rescue from the flood by this man, how +he had carried her in the storm to the hut and how he had treated her +since, and Maitland had afterwards repeated her account to his brother +in Denver.</p> + +<p>Maitland had insisted that Newbold share his hospitality, but that young +man had refused. Kirkby had a little place not far from Denver and +easily accessible to it and the old man had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> gladly taken the younger +one with him. Newbold had been in a fever of anxiety over Enid +Maitland's illness, but his alarm had soon been dispelled by the +physician's assurance and there was nothing now left for him but to wait +until she could see him. He inquired for her morning and evening at the +great house on the hill, he kept her room a bower of beauty with +priceless blossoms, but he had sent no word.</p> + +<p>Robert Maitland had promised to let him know, however, so soon as Enid +could see him and it was in pursuance of a telephone message that he was +in the library that morning.</p> + +<p>He had not yet become accustomed to the world, he had lived so long +alone that he had grown somewhat shy and retiring, the habits and +customs of years were not to be lightly thrown aside in a week or a +month. He had sought no interview with Enid's father heretofore, indeed +had rather avoided it, but on this morning he had asked for it, and when +Robert Maitland would have withdrawn he begged him to remain.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Maitland," Newbold began, "I presume that you know my unfortunate +history."</p> + +<p>"I have heard the general outlines of it, sir, from my brother and +others," answered the other kindly.</p> + +<p>"I need not dwell upon it further then.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> Although my hair is tinged with +gray and doubtless I look much older, I was only twenty-eight on my last +birthday. I was not born in this section of the country, my home was in +Baltimore."</p> + +<p>"Do you by any chance belong to the Maryland Newbolds, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"They are distantly related to a most excellent family of the same name +in Philadelphia, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"I have always understood that to be the truth."</p> + +<p>"Ah, a very satisfactory connection indeed," said Stephen Maitland with +no little satisfaction. "Proceed, sir."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing much else to say about myself, except that I love your +daughter and with your permission I want her for my wife."</p> + +<p>Mr. Stephen Maitland had thought long and seriously over the state of +affairs. He had proposed in his desperation to give Enid's hand to +Armstrong if he found her. It had been impossible to keep secret the +story of her adventure, her rescue and the death of Armstrong. It was +natural and inevitable that gossip should have busied itself with her +name. It would therefore have been somewhat difficult for Mr. Maitland +to have withheld his consent to her marriage to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> almost any reputable +man who had been thrown so intimately with her, but when the man was so +unexceptionably born and bred as Newbold, what had appeared as a more or +less disagreeable duty, almost an imperative imposition, became a +pleasure!</p> + +<p>Mr. Maitland was no bad judge of men when his prejudices were not +rampant and he looked with much satisfaction on the fine, clean limbed, +clear eyed, vigorous man who was at present suing for his daughter's +hand. Newbold had shaved his beard and had cropped close his mustache, +he was dressed in the habits of civilization and he was almost +metamorphosed. His shyness wore away as he talked and his inherited ease +of manner and his birthright of good breeding came back to him and sat +easily upon him.</p> + +<p>Under the circumstances the very best thing that could happen would be a +marriage between the two; indeed, to be quite honest, Mr. Stephen +Maitland would have felt that perhaps under any circumstances his +daughter could do no better than commit herself to a man like this.</p> + +<p>"I shall never attempt," he said at last, "to constrain my daughter. I +think I have learned something by my touch with this life here, perhaps +we of Philadelphia need a little broadening in airs more free. I am sure +that she would never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> give her hand without her heart, and therefore, +she must decide this matter herself. From her own lips you shall have +your answer."</p> + +<p>"But you, sir; I confess that I should feel easier and happier if I had +your sanction and approval."</p> + +<p>"Steve," said Mr. Robert Maitland, as the other hesitated, not because +he intended to refuse but because he was loath to say the word that so +far as he was concerned would give his daughter into another man's +keeping, "I think you can trust Newbold. There are men here who knew him +years ago; there is abundant evidence and testimony as to his qualities; +I vouch for him."</p> + +<p>"Robert," answered his brother, "I need no such testimony; the way in +which he saved Enid, the way he comported himself during that period of +isolation with her, his present bearing—in short, sir, if a father is +ever glad to give away his daughter, I might say that I should be glad +to entrust her to you. I believe you to be a man of honor and a +gentleman, your family is almost as old as my own, as for the disparity +in our fortunes, I can easily remedy that."</p> + +<p>Newbold smiled at Enid's father, but it was a pleasant smile, albeit +with a trace of mockery and a trace of triumph in it.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Maitland I am more grateful to you than I can say for your consent +and approval<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> which I shall do my best to merit. I think I may claim to +have won your daughter's heart, to have added to that your sanction +completes my happiness. As for the disparity in our fortunes, while your +generosity touches me profoundly, I hardly think that you need be under +any uneasiness as to our material welfare."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I am a mining engineer, sir; I didn't live five years alone in the +mountains of Colorado for nothing."</p> + +<p>"Pray explain yourself, sir."</p> + +<p>"Did you find gold in the hills?" asked Robert Maitland, quicker to +understand.</p> + +<p>"The richest veins on the continent," answered Newbold.</p> + +<p>"And nobody knows anything about it?"</p> + +<p>"Not a soul."</p> + +<p>"Have you located the claims?"</p> + +<p>"Only one."</p> + +<p>"We'll go back as soon as the snow melts," said the younger Maitland, +"and take them up. You are sure?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely."</p> + +<p>"But I don't quite understand?" queried Mr. Stephen Maitland.</p> + +<p>"He means," said his brother, "that he has discovered gold."</p> + +<p>"And silver too," interposed Newbold.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span></p> + +<p>"In unlimited quantities," continued the other Maitland.</p> + +<p>"Your daughter will have more money than she knows what to do with, +sir," smiled Newbold.</p> + +<p>"God bless me!" exclaimed the Philadelphian.</p> + +<p>"And that, whether she marries me or not, for the richest claim of all +is to be taken out in her name," added her lover.</p> + +<p>Mr. Stephen Maitland shook the other by the hand vigorously.</p> + +<p>"I congratulate you," he said, "you have beaten me on all points. I must +therefore regard you as the most eligible of suitors. Gold in these +mountains, well, well!"</p> + +<p>"And may I see your daughter and plead my cause in person, sir?" asked +Newbold.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, certainly. Robert, will you oblige me—"</p> + +<p>In compliance with his brother's gesture, Robert Maitland touched the +bell and bade the answering servant ask Miss Maitland to come down to +the library.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Mr. Stephen Maitland as the servant closed the door, "you +and I would best leave the young people alone, eh, Robert?"</p> + +<p>"By all means," answered the younger and opening the door again the two +older men went out leaving Newbold alone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span></p> + +<p>He heard a soft step on the stair in the hall without, the gentle swish +of a dress as somebody descended from the floor above. A vision appeared +in the doorway. Without a movement in opposition, without a word of +remonstrance, without a throb of hesitation on her part, he took her in +his arms. From the drawing room opposite, Mr. Robert Maitland softly +tiptoed across the hall and closed the library door, neither of the +lovers being aware of his action.</p> + +<p>Often and often they had longed for each other on the opposite side of a +door and now at last the woman was in the man's arms and no door rose +between them, no barrier kept them apart any longer. There was no +obligation of loyalty or honor, real or imagined, to separate them now. +They had drunk deep of the chalice of courage, they had drained the cup +to the very bottom, they had shown each other that though love was the +greatest of passions, honor and loyalty were the most powerful of forces +and now they reaped the reward of their abnegation and devotion.</p> + +<p>At last the woman gave herself up to him in complete and entire +abandonment without fear and without reproach; and at last the man took +what was his own without the shadow of a reservation. She shrank from no +pressure of his arms, she turned her face away from no touch of his +lips.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> They two had proved their right to surrender by their ability to +conquer.</p> + +<p>Speech was hardly necessary between them and it was not for a long time +that coherent words came. Little murmurs of endearment, little +passionate whispers of a beloved name—these were enough then.</p> + +<p>When he could find strength to deny himself a little and to hold her at +arm's length and look at her, he found her paler, thinner and more +delicate than when he had seen her in the mountains. She had on some +witching creation of pale blue and silver, he didn't know what it was, +he didn't care, it made her only more like an angel to him than ever. +She found him, too, greatly changed and highly approved the alterations +in his appearance.</p> + +<p>"Why, Will," she said at last, "I never realized what a handsome man you +were."</p> + +<p>He laughed at her.</p> + +<p>"I always knew you were the most beautiful woman on earth."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, doubtless when I was the only one."</p> + +<p>"And if there were millions you would still be the only one. But it +isn't for your beauty alone that I love you. You knew all the time that +my fight against loving you was based upon a misinterpretation, a +mistake; you didn't tell me because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> you were thoughtful of a poor dead +woman."</p> + +<p>"Should I have told you?"</p> + +<p>"No. I have thought it all out: I was loyal through a mistake but you +wouldn't betray a dead sister, you would save her reputation in the mind +of the one being that remembered her, at the expense of your own +happiness. And if there were nothing else I could love you for that."</p> + +<p>"And is there anything else?" asked she who would fain be loved for +other qualities.</p> + +<p>"Everything," he answered rapturously, drawing her once more to his +heart.</p> + +<p>"I knew that there would be some way," answered the satisfied woman +softly after a little space. "Love like ours is not born to fall short +of the completest happiness. Oh, how fortunate for me was that idle +impulse that turned me up the caņon instead of down, for if it had not +been for that there would have been no meeting—"</p> + +<p>She stopped suddenly, her face aflame at the thought of the conditions +of that meeting, she must needs hide her face on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>He laughed gayly.</p> + +<p>"My little spirit of the fountain, my love, my wife that is to be! Did +you know that your father has done me the honor to give me your hand, +subject to the condition that your heart goes with it?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You took that first," answered the woman looking up at him again.</p> + +<p>There was a knock on the door. Without waiting for permission it was +opened; this time three men entered, for old Kirkby had joined the +group. The blushing Enid made an impulsive movement to tear herself away +from Newbold's arms, but he shamelessly held her close. The three men +looked at the two lovers solemnly for a moment and then broke into +laughter. It was Kirkby who spoke first.</p> + +<p>"I hear as how you found gold in them mountains, Mr. Newbold."</p> + +<p>"I found something far more valuable than all the gold in Colorado in +these mountains," answered the other.</p> + +<p>"And what was that?" asked the old frontiersman curiously and +innocently.</p> + +<p>"This!" answered Newbold as he kissed the girl again.</p> + + +<h3>THE END</h3> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Chalice Of Courage, by Cyrus Townsend Brady + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHALICE OF COURAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 37492-h.htm or 37492-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/4/9/37492/ + +Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 Chalice Of Courage + A Romance of Colorado + +Author: Cyrus Townsend Brady + +Illustrator: Harrison Fisher + J. N. Marchand + +Release Date: September 20, 2011 [EBook #37492] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHALICE OF COURAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE CHALICE OF COURAGE + + _A Romance of Colorado_ + + BY CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY + +Author of "The Island of Regeneration," "The Better Man," "Hearts and +the Highway," "As the Sparks Fly Upward," etc., etc. + + + _With Illustrations By + HARRISON FISHER and J. N. MARCHAND_ + + NEW YORK + DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY + 1912 + + COPYRIGHT, 1911 + BY W. G. CHAPMAN + + COPYRIGHT, 1912 + BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY + + _Published, February, 1912_ + + + + + To My Beloved Friend + _JOHN B . WALKER, JR._ + + Great-hearted, Great-souled, High-spirited + Man of Colorado. + + + + +[Illustration: "Leave me to myself, I would not take the finest, noblest +man on earth--"] + + + + +PREFACE + + +Prefaces, like much study, are a weariness to the flesh; to some people, +not to me. I can conceive of no literary proposition more attractive +than the opportunity to write unlimited prefaces. Let me write the +preface and I care not who writes the book. Unfortunately for my +desires, I can only be prefatory in the case of my own. Happily my own +are sufficiently numerous to afford me some scope in the indulgence of +this passion for forewords. + +I suppose no one ever sat down to write a preface until after he had +written the book. It is like the final pat that the fond parent gives to +the child before it is allowed to depart in its best clothes. I have +seen the said parent accompany the child quite a distance on the way, +keeping up a continual process of adjustment of raiment which it was +evidently loath to discontinue. + +And that is my case exactly. Here is the novel with which I have done my +best, which I have written and rewritten after long and earnest thought, +and yet I cannot let it go forth without some final, shall I say caress? +And as it is, I really have nothing of importance to say! The final +pats and pulls and tugs and smoothings do not materially add to the +child's appearance or increase its fascination, and I am at a loss to +find a reason for the preface except it be the converse of the statement +about the famous and much disliked Dr. Fell! + +Perhaps, if I admit to you that I have been in the canyon, that I have +followed the course of the brook, that I have seen that lake, that I +have tramped those trails, it will serve to make you understand, dear +reader, how real and actual it all is to me. Yes, I have even looked +over the precipice down which the woman fell. I have talked with old +Kirkby; Robert Maitland is an intimate friend of mine; I have even met +his brother in Philadelphia and as for that glorious girl Enid--well, +being a married man, I will refrain from any personal appraisement of +her qualities. But I can with propriety dilate upon Newbold, and even +Armstrong, bad as he was, has some place in my regard. + +If these people shall by any chance seem real to you and become your +friends as they are mine, another of those pleasant ties that bind the +author and his public together will have been woven, knotted, forged. +Never mind the method so long as there is a tie. And with this hope, +looking out up the winter snows that might have covered the range, as I +have often seen them there, I bid you a happy good morning. + + CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY + +_St. George's Rectory, Kansas City, Missouri._ + +_Thanksgiving Day, 1911._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + BOOK I + + THE HIGHER LAW + + I THE CUP THAT WOULD NOT PASS 1 + II ALONE UPON THE TRAIL 16 + + + BOOK II + + THE EAST AND THE WEST + + III THE YOUNG LADY FROM PHILADELPHIA 29 + IV THE GAME PLAYED IN THE USUAL WAY 43 + V THE STORY AND THE LETTERS 55 + VI THE POOL AND THE WATER SPRITE 72 + VII THE BEAR, THE MAN AND THE FLOOD 88 + VIII DEATH, LIFE AND THE RESURRECTION 101 + + + BOOK III + + FORGETTING AND FORGOT + + IX A WILD DASH FOR THE HILLS 123 + X A TELEGRAM AND A CALLER 136 + XI OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY 149 + XII ON THE TWO SIDES OF THE DOOR 166 + XIII THE LOG HUT IN THE MOUNTAINS 179 + XIV A TOUR OF INSPECTION 193 + XV THE CASTAWAYS OF THE MOUNTAINS 203 + + + BOOK IV + + OH YE ICE AND SNOW, PRAISE YE THE LORD + + XVI THE WOMAN'S HEART 223 + XVII THE MAN'S HEART 236 + XVIII THE KISS ON THE HAND 248 + XIX THE FACE IN THE LOCKET 261 + XX THE STRENGTH OF THE WEAK 276 + + + BOOK V + + THE CUP IS DRAINED + + XXI THE CHALLENGE OF THE RANGE 291 + XXII THE CONVERGING TRAILS 310 + XXIII THE ODDS AGAINST HIM 327 + XXIV THE LAST RESORT OF KINGS AND MEN 339 + XXV THE BECOMING END 357 + XXVI THE DRAUGHT OF JOY 368 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"LEAVE ME TO MYSELF, I WOULD NOT TAKE THE +FINEST, NOBLEST MAN ON EARTH--" _FRONTISPIECE_ + +"READ THE LETTERS," HE SAID. "THEY'LL TELL +THE STORY. GOOD-NIGHT." _FACING PAGE_ 70 + +"WAIT! I AM A WOMAN, ABSOLUTELY ALONE, +ENTIRELY AT YOUR MERCY" " " 156 + +IT WAS ALL UP WITH ARMSTRONG " " 354 + + + + +THE CHALICE OF COURAGE + +(Courtesy of _The Outlook_) + + + Drink of the Chalice of Courage! + Pressed to the trembling lip, + The dark-veiled fears + From the passing years, + Like a dusty garment slip. + + Drink of the Chalice of Courage! + Poured for the Hero's feast, + When the strength divine + Of its subtle wine + Is shared with the last and least. + + Drink of the Chalice of Courage! + The mead of mothers and men, + And the sinewed might + Of the Victor's might, + Be yours, again and again. + + Marie Hemstreet + + + + +BOOK I + +THE HIGHER LAW + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE CUP THAT WOULD NOT PASS + + +The huge concave of the rocky wall towering above them threw the woman's +scream far into the vast profound of the canyon. It came sharp to the +man's ear, yet terminated abruptly; as when two rapidly moving trains +pass, the whistle of one is heard shrill for one moment only to be cut +short on the instant. Brief as it was, however, the sound was +sufficiently appalling; its suddenness, its unexpectedness, the awful +terror in its single note, as well as its instantaneity, almost stopped +his heart. + +With the indifference of experience and long usage he had been riding +carelessly along an old pre-historic trail through the canyon, probably +made and forgotten long before the Spaniards spied out the land. +Engrossed in his thoughts, he had been heedless alike of the wall above +and of the wall below. Prior to that moment neither the over-hanging +rock that curved above his head nor the almost sheer fall to the river a +thousand feet beneath the narrow ledge of the trail had influenced him +at all. He might have been riding a country road so indifferent had +been his progress. That momentary shriek dying thinly away into a +strange silence changed everything. + +The man was riding a sure-footed mule, which perhaps somewhat accounted +for his lack of care, and it seemed as if the animal must also have +heard and understood the meaning of the woman's scream, for with no +bridle signal and no spoken word the mule stopped suddenly as if +petrified. Rider and ridden stood as if carved from stone. + +The man's comprehending, realizing fear almost paralyzed him. At first +he could scarcely force himself to do that toward which his whole being +tended--look around. Divining instantly the full meaning of that sudden +cry, it seemed hours before he could turn his head; really her cry and +his movement were practically simultaneous. He threw an agonized glance +backward on the narrow trail and saw--nothing! Where there had been +life, companionship, comradeship, a woman, there was now vacancy. + +The trail made a little bend behind him, he could see its surface for +some distance, but not what lay beneath. He did not need the testimony +of his eyes for that. He knew what was down there. + +It seemed to his distorted perceptions that he moved slowly, his limbs +were like lead, every joint was as stiff as a rusty hinge. Actually he +dropped from the mule's back with reckless and life-defying haste and +fairly leaped backward on his path. Had there been any to note his +progress, they would have said he risked his own life over every foot of +the way. He ran down the narrow shelf, rock strewn and rough, swaying +upon the unfathomable brink until he reached the place where she had +been a moment since. There he dropped on one knee and looked downward. + +She was there! A few hundred feet below the trail edge the canyon wall, +generally a sheer precipice, broadened out into a great butte, or +buttress, which sloped somewhat more gently to the foaming, roaring +river far beneath. About a hundred and fifty feet under him a stubby +spur with a pocket on it jutted out from the face of the cliff; she had +evidently struck on that spur and bounded off and fallen, half rolling, +to the broad top of the butte two hundred or more feet below the pocket. + +Three hundred and fifty feet down to where she lay he could distinguish +little except a motionless huddled mass. The bright blue of her dress +made a splotch of unwonted color against the reddish brown monotones of +the mountain side and canyon wall. She was dead, of course; she must be +dead, the man felt. From that distance he could see no breathing, if +such there were; indeed as he stared she grew less and less distinct to +him, his eyes did not fill with tears, but to his vision the very earth +itself, the vast depths of the canyon, the towering wall on the other +side, seemed to quiver and heave before him. For the first time in his +life the elevation made him dizzy, sick. He put his hands to his face to +shut out the sight, he tore them away to look again. He lifted his eyes +toward the other side across the great gulf to the opposing wall which +matched the one upon which he stood, where the blue sky cloudless +overhung. + +"God!" he whispered in futile petition or mayhap expostulation. + +He was as near the absolute breaking point as a man may go and yet not +utterly give way, for he loved this woman as he loved that light of +heaven above him, and in the twinkling of an eye she was no more. And so +he stared and stared dumbly agonizing, wondering, helpless, misty-eyed, +blind. + +He sank back from the brink at last and tried to collect his thoughts. +What was he to do? There was but one answer to that question. He must +go down to her. There was one quick and easy way; over the brink, the +way she had gone. That thought came to him for a moment, but he put it +away. He was not a coward, life was not his own to give or to take, +besides she might be alive, she might need him. There must be some other +way. + +Determining upon action, his resolution rose dominant, his vision +cleared. Once again he forced himself to look over the edge and see +other things than she. He was a daring, skillful and experienced +mountaineer; in a way mountaineering was his trade. He searched the side +of the canyon to the right and the left with eager scrutiny and found no +way within the compass of his vision to the depths below. He shut his +eyes and concentrated his thoughts to remember what they had passed over +that morning. There came to him the recollection of a place which as he +had viewed it he had idly thought might afford a practicable descent to +the river's rim. + +Forgetful of the patient animal beside him, he rose to his feet and with +one last look at the poor object below started on his wild plunge down +the trail over which some men might scarcely have crept on hands and +knees. Sweat bedewed his forehead, his limbs trembled, his pulses +throbbed, his heart beat almost to bursting. Remorse sharpened by love, +passion quickened by despair, scourged him, desperate, on the way. And +God protected him also, or he had fallen at every uncertain, hurried, +headlong step. + +And as he ran, thoughts, reproaches, scourged him on. Why had he brought +her, why had he allowed her to take that trail which but for him and for +her had probably not been traversed by man or woman or beast, save the +mountain sheep, the gray wolves, or the grizzly bear, for five hundred +years. She had protested that she was as good a mountaineer as he--and +it was true--and she had insisted on accompanying him; he recollected +that there had been a sort of terror in her urgency,--he must take her, +he must not leave her alone, she had pleaded; he had objected, but he +had yielded, the joy of her companionship had meant so much to him in +his lonely journeying, and now--he accused himself bitterly as he surged +onward. + +After a time the man forced himself to observe the road, he discovered +that in an incredibly short period, perhaps an hour, he had traversed +what it had taken them four times as long to pass over that very day. He +must be near his goal. Ah, there it was at last, and in all the turmoil +and torture of his brain he found room for a throb of satisfaction when +he came upon the broken declivity. Yes, it did afford a practicable +descent; some landslide centuries back had made there a sort of rude, +rough, broken, megalithic stairway in the wall of the canyon. The man +threw himself upon it and with bleeding hands, bruised limbs and torn +clothing descended to the level of the river. + +Two atoms to the eye of the Divine, in that vast rift in the gigantic +mountains. One unconscious, motionless, save for faint gasping breaths; +the other toiling blindly along the river bank, fortunately here +affording practicable going, to the foot of the great butte upon whose +huge shoulder the other lay. The living and the dead in the waste and +the wilderness of the everlasting hills. + +Unconsciously but unerringly the man had fixed the landmarks in his mind +before he started on that terrific journey. Without a moment of +incertitude, or hesitation, he proceeded directly to the base of the +butte and as rapidly as if he had been fresh for the journey and the +endeavor. Up he climbed without a pause for rest. It was a desperate +going, almost sheer at times, but his passion found the way. He clawed +and tore at the rocks like an animal, he performed feats of strength and +skill and determination and reckless courage marvelous and impossible +under less exacting demands. Somehow or other he got to the top at last; +perhaps no man in all the ages since the world's first morning when God +Himself upheaved the range had so achieved that goal. + +The last ascent was up a little stretch of straight rock over which he +had to draw himself by main strength and determination. He fell panting +on the brink, but not for a moment did he remain prone; he got to his +feet at once and staggered across the plateau which made the head of the +butte toward the blue object on the further side beneath the wall of the +cliff above, and in a moment he bent over what had been--nay, as he saw +the slow choking uprise of her breast, what was--his wife. + +He knelt down beside her and looked at her for a moment, scarce daring +to touch her. Then he lifted his head and flung a glance around the +canyon as if seeking help from man. As he did so he became aware, below +him on the slope, of the dead body of the poor animal she had been +riding, whose misstep, from whatever cause he would never know, had +brought this catastrophe upon them. + +Nothing else met his gaze but the rocks, brown, gray, relieved here and +there by green clumps of stunted pine. Nothing met his ear except far +beneath him the roar of the river, now reduced almost to a murmur, with +which the shivering leaves of aspens, rustled by the gentle breeze of +this glorious morning, blended softly like a sigh of summer. No, there +was nobody in the canyon, no help there. He threw his head back and +stretched out his arms toward the blue depths of the heavens above, to +the tops of the soaring peaks, and there was nothing there but the +eternal silence of a primeval day. + +"God! God!" he murmured again in his despair. + +It was the final word that comes to human lips in the last extremity +when life and its hopes and its possibilities tremble on the verge. And +no answer came to this poor man out of that vast void. + +He bent to the woman again. What he saw can hardly be described. Her +right arm and her left leg were bent backward and under her. They were +shattered, evidently. He was afraid to examine her and yet he knew that +practically every other bone in her body was broken as well. Her head +fell lower than her shoulders, the angle which she made with the uneven +rock on which she lay convinced him that her back was broken too. Her +clothing was rent by her contact with the rocky spur above, it was torn +from the neck downward, exposing a great red scar which ran across her +sweet white young breast, blood oozing from it, while in the middle of +it something yellow and bright gleamed in the light. Her cheek was cut +open, her glorious hair, matted, torn and bloody, was flung backward +from her down-thrown head. + +She should have been dead a thousand times, but she yet lived, she +breathed, her ensanguined bosom rose and fell. Through her pallid lips +bloody foam bubbled, she was still alive. + +The man must do something. He did not dare to move her body, yet he took +off his hat, folded it, lifted her head tenderly and slipped it +underneath; it made a better pillow than the hard rock, he thought. Then +he tore his handkerchief from his neck and wiped away the foam from her +lips. In his pocket he had a flask of whiskey, a canteen of water that +hung from his shoulder somehow had survived the rough usage of the +rocks. He mingled some of the water with a portion of the spirit in the +cup of the flask and poured a little down her throat. Tenderly he took +his handkerchief again, and wetting it laved her brow. Except to mutter +incoherent prayers again and again he said no word, but his heart was +filled with passionate endearments, he lavished agonized and infinite +tenderness upon her in his soul. + +By and by she opened her eyes. In those eyes first of all he saw +bewilderment, and then terror and then anguish so great that it cannot +be described, pain so horrible that it is not good for man even to think +upon it. Incredible as it may seem, her head moved, her lips relaxed, +her set jaw unclenched, her tongue spoke thickly. + +"God!" she said. + +The same word that he had used, that final word that comes to the lips +when the heart is wrung, or the body is racked beyond human endurance. +The universal testimony to the existence of the Divine, that trouble and +sometimes trouble alone, wrings from man. No human name, not even his, +upon her lips in that first instant of realization! + +"How I--suffer," she faltered weakly. + +Her eyes closed again, the poor woman had told her God of her condition, +that was all she was equal to. Man and human relationships might come +later. The man knelt by her side, his hands upraised. + +"Louise," he whispered, "speak to me." + +Her eyes opened again. + +"Will," the anguished voice faltered on, "I am--broken--to pieces--kill +me. I can't stand--kill me"--her voice rose with a sudden fearful +appeal--"kill me." + +Then the eyes closed and this time they did not open, although now he +overwhelmed her with words, alas, all he had to give her. At last his +passion, his remorse, his love, gushing from him in a torrent of frantic +appeal awakened her again. She looked him once more in the face and once +more begged him for that quick relief he alone could give. + +"Kill me." + +That was her only plea. There has been One and only One, who could +sustain such crucifying anguish as she bore without such appeal being +wrested from the lips, yet even He, upon His cross, for one moment, +thought God had forsaken and forgotten Him! + +She was silent, but she was not dead. She was speechless, but she was +not unconscious, for she opened her eyes and looked at him with such +pitiful appeal that he would fain hide his face as he could not bear it, +and yet again and again as he stared down into her eyes he caught that +heart breaking entreaty, although now she made no sound. Every twisted +bone, every welling vein, every scarred and marred part on once smooth +soft flesh was eloquent of that piteous petition for relief. "Kill me" +she seemed to say in her voiceless agony. Agony the more appalling +because at last it could make no sound. + +He could not resist that appeal. He fought against it, but the demand +came to him with more and more terrific force until he could no longer +oppose it. That cup was tendered to him and he must drain it. No more +from his lips than from the lips of Him of the Garden could it be +withdrawn. Out of that chalice he must drink. It could not pass. Slowly, +never taking his eyes from her, as a man might who was fascinated or +hypnotized, he lifted his hand to his holster and drew out his revolver. + +No, he could not do it. He laid the weapon down on the rock again and +bowed forward on his knees, praying incoherently, protesting that God +should place this burden on mere man. In the silence he could hear the +awful rasp of her breath--the only answer. He looked up to find her eyes +upon him again. + +Life is a precious thing, to preserve it men go to the last limit. In +defense of it things are permitted that are permitted in no other case. +Is it ever nobler to destroy it than to conserve it? Was this such an +instance? What were the conditions? + +There was not a human being, white or red, within five days' journey +from the spot where these two children of malign destiny confronted +each other. That poor huddled broken mass of flesh and bones could not +have been carried a foot across that rocky slope without suffering +agonies beside which all the torture that might be racking her now would +be as nothing. He did not dare even to lay hand upon her to straighten +even one bent and twisted limb, he could not even level or compose her +body where she lay. He almost felt that he had been guilty of +unpardonable cruelty in giving her the stimulant and recalling her to +consciousness. Nor could he leave her where she was, to seek and bring +help to her. With all the speed that frantic desire, and passionate +adoration, and divine pity, would lend to him, it would be a week before +he could return, and by that time the wolves and the vultures--he could +not think that sentence to completion. That way madness lay. + +The woman was doomed, no mortal could survive her wounds, but she might +linger for days while high fever and inflammation supervened. And each +hour would add to her suffering. God was merciful to His Son, Christ +died quickly on the cross, mere man sometimes hung there for days. + +All these things ran like lightning through his brain. His hand closed +upon the pistol, the eternal anodyne. No, he could not. And the +tortured eyes were open again, it seemed as if the woman had summoned +strength for a final appeal. + +"Will," she whispered, "if you--love me--kill me." + +He thrust the muzzle of his weapon against her heart, she could see his +movement and for a moment gratitude and love shone in her eyes, and then +with a hand that did not tremble, he pulled the trigger. + +A thousand thunder claps could not have roared in his ear with such +detonation. And he had done it! He had slain the thing he loved! Was it +in obedience to a higher law even than that writ on the ancient tables +of stone? + +For a moment he thought incoherently, the pistol fell from his hand, his +eyes turned to her face, her eyes were open still, but there was neither +pain, nor appeal, nor love, nor relief in them; there was no light in +them; only peace, calm, darkness, rest. His hand went out to them and +drew the lids down, and as he did so, something gave way in him and he +fell forward across the red, scarred white breast that no longer either +rose or fell. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +ALONE UPON THE TRAIL + + +They had started from their last camp early in the morning. It had been +mid-day when she fell and long after noon when he killed her and lapsed +into merciful oblivion. It was dusk in the canyon when he came to life +again. The sun was still some distance above the horizon, but the +jutting walls of the great pass cut off the light, the butte top was in +ever deepening shadow. + +I have often wondered what were the feelings of Lazarus when he was +called back to life by the great cry of his Lord. "Hither--Out!" Could +that transition from the newer way of death to the older habit of living +have been accomplished without exquisite anguish and pain, brief, +sudden, but too sacred, like his other experiences, to dwell upon in +mortal hours? + +What he of Bethany might perhaps have experienced this man felt long +after under other circumstances. The enormous exertions of the day, the +cruel bruises and lacerations to which clothes and body gave evidence, +the sick, giddy, uncertain, helpless, feeling that comes when one +recovers consciousness after such a collapse, would have been hard +enough to bear; but he took absolutely no account of any of these things +for, as he lifted himself on his hands, almost animal-like for a moment, +from the cold body of his wife, everything came across him with a +sudden, terrific, overwhelming, rush of recollection. + +She was dead, and he had killed her. There were reasons, arguments, +excuses, for his course; he forgot them confronted by that grim, +terrific, tragic fact. The difference between that mysterious thing so +incapable of human definition which we call life, and that other +mysterious thing equally insusceptible of explanation which we call +death, is so great that when the two confront each other the most +indifferent is awed by the contrast. Many a man and many a woman prays +by the bedside of some agonized sufferer for a surcease of anguish only +to be brought about by death, by a dissolution of soul and body, +beseeching God of His mercy for the oblivion of the last, long, quiet, +sleep; but when the prayer has been granted, and the living eyes look +into the dead, the beating heart bends over the still one--it is a hard +soul indeed which has the strength not to wish again for a moment, one +little moment of life, to whisper one word of abiding love, to hear one +word of fond farewell. + +Since that is true, what could this man think whose hand had pointed the +weapon and pulled the trigger and caused that great gaping hole through +what had once been a warm and loving heart? God had laid upon him a +task, than which none had ever been heavier on the shoulders of man, and +he did not think as he stared at her wildly that God had given him at +the same time strength to bear his burden. + +Later, it might be that cold reason would come to his aid and justify +him for what he had done, but now, now, he only realized that she was +dead, and he had killed her. He forgot her suffering in his own anguish +and reproach of himself. He found time to marvel at himself with a +strange sort of wonder. How could he have done it. + +Something broke the current of his thoughts, and it was good for him +that it was so. He heard a swish through the air and he looked away from +his dead wife in the direction of the sound. A little distance off upon +a pinnacle of rock he saw a vulture, a hideous, horrible, unclean, +carrion bird. While he watched, another and another settled softly down. +He rose to his feet and far beneath him from the tree clad banks of the +river the long howl of a wolf smote upon his ear. Gluttony and rapine +were at hand. Further down the declivity the body of the dead mule was +the object of the converging attack from earth and air. The threat of +that attack stirred him to life. + +There were things he had to do. The butte top was devoid of earth or +much vegetation, yet here and there in hollows where water settled or +drained, soft green moss grew. He stooped over and lifted the body of +the woman. She seemed to fall together loosely and almost break within +his hands--it was evidence of what the fall had done for her, +justification for his action, too, if he had been in a mood to reason +about it, but his only thought then was of how she must have suffered. +By a strange perversion he had to fight against the feeling that she was +suffering now. He laid her gently and tenderly down in a deep hollow in +the rock shaped almost to contain her. He straightened her poor twisted +limbs. He arranged with decent care the ragged dress, covering over the +torn breast and the frightful wound above her heart. With the last of +the water in the canteen, he washed her face, he could not wash out the +scar of course. With rude unskillful hands, yet with pitiable +tenderness, he strove to arrange her blood-matted hair, he pillowed her +head upon his hat again. + +Sometimes the last impression of life is stamped on the face of death, +sometimes we see in the awful fixity of feature that attends upon +dissolution, the index of the agony in which life has passed, but more +often, thank God, death lays upon pain and sorrow a smoothing, calming +hand. It was so in this instance. There was a great peace, a great +relief, in the face he looked upon; this poor woman had been tortured +not only in body, that he knew, but she had suffered anguish of soul of +which he was unaware, and death, had it come in gentler form would +perhaps not have been unwelcome. That showed in her face. There was +dignity, composure, surcease of care, repose--the rest that shall be +forever! + +The man had done all that he could for her. Stop, there was one thing +more; he knelt down by her side, he was not what we commonly call a +religious man, the habit that he had learned at his mother's knee he had +largely neglected in maturer years, but he had not altogether forgotten, +and even the atheist--and he was far from that--might have prayed then. + +"God, accept her," he murmured. "Christ receive her,"--that was all but +it was enough. + +He remained by her side some time looking at her; he would fain have +knelt there forever; he would have been happy at that moment if he +could have lain down by her and had someone do for them both the last +kindly office he was trying to do for her. But that was not to be, and +the growing darkness warned him to make haste. The wolf barks were +sharper and nearer, he stooped over her, bent low and laid his face +against hers. Oh that cold awful touch of long farewell. He tore himself +away from her, lifted from her neck a little object that had gleamed so +prettily amid the red blood. It was a locket. He had never seen it +before and had no knowledge of what it might contain. He kissed it, +slipped it into the pocket of his shirt and rose to his feet. + +The plateau was strewn with rock; working rapidly and skillfully he +built a burial mound of stone over her body. The depression in which she +lay was deep enough to permit no rock to touch her person. The cairn, if +such it may be called, was soon completed. No beast of the earth or bird +of the air could disturb what was left of his wife. It seemed so piteous +to him to think of her so young, and so sweet and so fair, so soft and +so tender, so brave and so true, lying alone in the vast of the canyon, +weighted down by the great rocks that love's hands had heaped above her. +But there was no help for it. + +Gathering up the revolver and canteen he turned and fell rather than +climbed to the level of the river. It was quite dark in the depths of +the canyon, but he pressed rapidly on over the uneven and broken rocks +until he reached the giant stairway. Up them he toiled painfully until +he attained again the trail. + +It was dark when he reached the wooded recess where they had slept the +night before. There were grass and trees, a bubbling spring, an oasis +amid the desert of rocks; he found the ashes of their fire and gathering +wood heaped it upon the still living embers until the blaze rose and +roared. He realized at last that he was weary beyond measure, he had +gone through the unendurable since the morning. He threw himself down +alone where they had lain together the night before and sought in vain +for sleep. In his ears he heard that sharp, sudden, breaking cry once +more, and her voice begging him to kill her. He heard again the rasp of +her agonized breathing, the crashing detonation of the weapon. He +writhed with the anguish of it all. Dry-eyed he arose at last and +stretched out his hands to that heaven that had done so little for him +he thought. + +Long after midnight he fell into a sort of uneasy, restless stupor. The +morning sun of the new and desolate day recalled him to action. He arose +to his feet and started mechanically down the trail alone--always and +forever alone. Yet God was with him though he knew it not. + +Four days later a little party of men winding through the foothills came +upon a wavering, ghastly, terrifying figure. Into the mining town two +days before had wandered a solitary mule, scraps of harness dangling +from it. They had recognized it as one of a pair the man had purchased +for a proposed journey far into the unsurveyed and inaccessible +mountains--to hunt for the treasures hidden within their granite +breasts. It told too plainly a story of disaster. A relief party had +been hurriedly organized to search for the two, one of whom was much +beloved in the rude frontier camp. + +The man they met on the way was the man they had come to seek. His boots +were cut to pieces, his feet were raw and bleeding for he had taken no +care to order his going or to choose his way. His clothes were in rags, +through rents and tatters his emaciated body showed its discolored +bruises. His hands were swollen and soiled with wounds and the stains of +the way. The front of his shirt was sadly and strangely discolored. He +was hatless, his hair was gray, his face was as white as the snow on the +crest of the peak, his lips were bloodless yet his eyes blazed with +fever. + +For four days without food and with but little water this man had +plodded down the mountain toward the camp. All his energies were merged +in one desire, to come in touch with humanity and tell his awful story; +the keeping of it to himself, which he must do perforce because he was +alone in the world, added to the difficulty of endurance. The sun had +beaten down upon him piteously during the day. The cold dew had drenched +him in the night. Apparitions had met his vision alike in the darkness +and in the light. Voices had whispered to him as he plodded on. But +something had sustained him in spite of the awful drain, physical and +mental, which had wasted him away. Something had sustained him until he +came in touch with men, thereafter the duty would devolve upon his +brethren not upon himself. + +They caught him as he staggered into the group of them, these Good +Samaritans of the frontier; they undressed him and washed him, they +bound up his wounds and ministered to him, they laid him gently down +upon the ground, they bent over him tenderly and listened to him while +he told in broken, disjointed words the awful story, of her plunge into +the canyon, of his search for her, of her last appeal to him. And then he +stopped. + +"What then?" asked one of the men bending over him as he hesitated. + +"God forgive me--I shot her--through the heart." + +There was appalling stillness in the little group of rough men, while he +told them where she lay and begged them to go and bring back what was +left of her. + +"You must bring her--back," he urged pitifully. + +None of the men had ever been up the canyon, but they knew of its +existence and the twin peaks of which he had told them could be seen +from afar. He had given them sufficient information to identify the +place and to enable them to go and bring back the body for Christian +burial. Now these rude men of the mining camp had loved that woman as +men love a bright and cheery personality which dwelt among them. + +"Yes," answered the spokesman, "but what about you?" + +"I shall be--a dead man," was the murmured answer, "and I don't care--I +shall be glad--" + +He had no more speech and no more consciousness after that. It was a +sardonic comment on the situation that the last words that fell from his +lips then should be those words of joy. + +"Glad, glad!" + + + + +BOOK II + +THE EAST AND THE WEST + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE YOUNG LADY FROM PHILADELPHIA + + +Miss Enid Maitland was a highly specialized product of the far east. I +say far, viewing Colorado as a point of departure not as identifying her +with the orient. The classic shades of Bryn Mawr had been the "Groves of +Academus where with old Plato she had walked." Incidentally during her +completion of the exhaustive curriculum of that justly famous +institution she had acquired at least a bowing acquaintance with other +masters of the mind. + +Nor had the physical in her education been sacrificed to the mental. In +her at least the _mens sana_ and the _corpore sano_ were alike in +evidence. She had ridden to hounds many times on the anise-scented trail +of the West Chester Hunt! Exciting tennis and leisurely golf had engaged +her attention on the courts and greens of the Merion Cricket Club. She +had buffeted "Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste" on the beach at +Cape May and at Atlantic City. + +Spiritually she was a devoted member of the Episcopal Church, of the +variety that abhors the word "Protestant" in connection therewith. +Altogether she reflected great credit upon her pastors and masters, +spiritual and temporal, and her up-bringing in the three departments of +life left little to be desired. + +Upon her graduation she had been at once received and acclaimed by the +"Assembly Set," of Philadelphia, to which indeed she belonged +unquestioned by right of birth and position--and there was no other +power under heaven by which she could have effected entrance therein; at +least that is what the "outs" thought of that most exclusive circle. The +old home of the Maitlands overlooking Rittenhouse Square had been the +scene of her debut. In all the refined and decorous gayeties of +Philadelphia's ultra-fastidious society she had participated. She had +even looked upon money standardized New York in its delirium of +extravagance, at least in so far as a sedate and well-born Philadelphia +family could countenance such golden madness. During the year she had +ranged like a conqueror--pardon the masculine appellation--between Palm +Beach in the South and Bar Harbor in the North. Philadelphia was proud +of her, and she was not unknown in those unfortunate parts of the United +States which lay without. + +In all this she had remained a frank, free, unspoiled young woman. Life +was full of zest for her, and she enjoyed it with the most +un-Pennsylvanian enthusiasm. + +The second summer after her coming out found her in Colorado. Robert +Maitland was one of the big men of the west. He had departed from +Philadelphia at an early age and had settled in Colorado while it was +still in the formative period. There he had grown up with the state. The +Philadelphia Maitlands could never understand it or explain it. Bob +Maitland must have been, they argued, a reversion to an ancient type, a +throwback to some robber baron long antecedent to William Penn. And the +speculation was true. The blood of some lawless adventurer of the past, +discreetly forgot by the conservative section of the family, bubbled in +his veins unchecked by the repressive atmosphere of his home and his +early environment. + +He had thoroughly identified himself with his new surroundings and had +plunged into all the activities of the west. During one period in his +life he had actually served as sheriff of one of the border counties, +and it was a rapid "bad man" indeed, who enjoyed any advantage over him +when it came to drawing his "gun." His skill and daring had been +unquestioned. He had made a name for himself which still abides, +especially in the mountains where things yet remained almost as +primitive as they had been from the beginning. + +His fame had been accompanied by fortune, too; the cattle upon a +thousand hills were his, the treasures of mines of fabulous richness +were at his command. He lived in Denver in one of the greatest of the +bonanza palaces on the hills of that city, confronting the snow-capped +mountain range. For the rest he held stock in all sorts of corporations, +was a director in numerous concerns and so on--the reader can supply the +usual catalogue, they are all alike. He had married late in life and was +the father of two little girls and a boy, the oldest sixteen and the +youngest ten. + +Going east, which he did not love, on an infrequent business trip he had +renewed his acquaintance with his brother and the one ewe lamb of his +brother's flock, to wit, the aforementioned Enid. He had been struck, as +everybody was, by the splendid personality of the girl and had striven +earnestly to disabuse her mind of the prevalent idea that there was +nothing much worth while on the continent beyond the Alleghanies except +scenery. + +"What you need, Enid, is a ride across the plains, a sight of real +mountains, beside which these little foothills in Pennsylvania that +people back here make so much of wouldn't be noticed. You want to get +some of the spirited glorious freedom of the west into your conservative +straight-laced little body!" + +"In my day, Robert," reprovingly remarked his brother, Enid's father, +"freedom was the last thing a young lady gently born and delicately +nurtured would have coveted." + +"Your day is past, Steve," returned the younger Maitland with shocking +carelessness. "Freedom is what every woman desires now, especially when +she is married. You are not in love with anybody are you, Enid?" + +"With not a soul," frankly replied the girl, greatly amused at the +colloquy between the two men, who though both mothered by the same woman +were as dissimilar as--what shall I say, the east is from the west? Let +it go at that. + +"That's all right," said her uncle, relieved apparently. "I will take +you out west and introduce you to some real men and--" + +"If I thought it possible," interposed Mr. Stephen Maitland in his most +austere and dignified manner, "that my daughter," with a perceptible +emphasis on the "my," as if he and not the daughter were the principal +being under consideration, "should ever so far forget what belongs to +her station in life and her family as to allow her affections to become +engaged by anyone who, from his birth and up-bringing in the +er--ah--unlicensed atmosphere of the western country would be _persona +non grata_ to the dignified society of this ancient city and--" + +"Nonsense," interrupted the younger brother bluntly. "You have lived +here wrapped up in yourselves and your dinky little town so long that +mental asphyxiation is threatening you all." + +"I will thank you, Robert," said his brother with something approaching +the manner in which he would have repelled a blasphemy, "not to refer to +Philadelphia as--er--What was your most extraordinary word?" + +"'Dinky,' if my recollection serves." + +"Ah, precisely. I am not sure as to the meaning of the term but I +conceive it to be something opprobrious. You can say what you like about +me and mine, but Philadelphia, no." + +"Oh, the town's right enough," returned his brother, not at all +impressed. "I'm talking about people now. There are just as fine men and +women in the west as in New York or Philadelphia." + +"I am sure you don't mean to be offensive, Robert, but really the +association of ideas in your mention of us with that common and vulgar +New York is er--unpleasant," fairly shuddered the elder Maitland. + +"I'm only urging you to recognize the quality of the western people. I +dare say they are of a finer type than the average here." + +"From your standpoint, no doubt," continued his brother severely and +somewhat wearily as if the matter were not worth all this argument. "All +that I want of them is that they stay in the west where they belong and +not strive to mingle with the east; there is a barrier between us and +them which it is not well to cross. To permit any intermixtures of +er--race or--" + +"The people out there are white, Steve," interrupted his brother +sardonically. "I wasn't contemplating introducing Enid here to Chinese, +or Negroes, or Indians, or--" + +"Don't you see," said Mr. Stephen Maitland, stubbornly waving aside this +sarcastic and irrelevant comment, "from your very conversation the vast +gulf that there is between you and me? Although you had every advantage +in life that birth can give you, we are--I mean you have changed so +greatly," he had quickly added, loath to offend. + +But he mistook the light in his brother's eyes, it was a twinkle not a +flash. Robert Maitland laughed, laughed with what his brother conceived +to be indecorous boisterousness. + +"How little you know of the bone and sinew of this country, Steve," he +exclaimed presently. Robert Maitland could not comprehend how it +irritated his stately brother to be called "Steve." Nobody ever spoke of +him but as Stephen Maitland--"But Lord, I don't blame you," continued +the Westerner. "Any man whose vision is barred by a foothill couldn't be +expected to know much of the main range and what's beyond." + +"There isn't any danger of my falling in love with anybody," said Enid +at last, with all the confidence of two triumphant social seasons. "I +think I must be immune even to dukes," she said gayly. + +"I referred to worthy young Americans of--" began her father who, to do +him justice, was so satisfied with his own position that no foreign +title 'dazzled' him in the least degree. + +"Rittenhouse Square," cut in Robert Maitland with amused sarcasm. "Well, +Enid, you seem to have run the gamut of the east pretty thoroughly, come +out and spend the summer with me in Colorado. My Denver house is open to +you, we have a ranch amid the foothills, or if you are game we can +break away from civilization entirely and find some unexplored, unknown +canyon in the heart of the mountains and camp there. We'll get back to +nature, which seems to be impossible in Philadelphia, and you will see +things and learn things that you will never see or learn anywhere else. +It'll do you good, too; from what I hear, you have been going the pace +and those cheeks of yours are a little too pale for so splendid a girl, +you look too tired under the eyes for youth and beauty." + +"I believe I am not very fit," said the girl, "and if father will +permit--" + +"Of course, of course," said Stephen Maitland. "You are your own +mistress anyway, and having no mother"--Enid's mother had died in her +infancy--"I suppose that I could not interfere or object if I wished to, +but no marrying or giving in marriage: Remember that." + +"Nonsense, father," answered the young woman lightly. "I am not anxious +to assume the bonds of wedlock." + +"Well, that settles it," said Robert Maitland. "We'll give you a royal +good time. I must run up to New York and Boston for a few days, but I +shall be back in a week and I can pick you up then." + +"What is the house in Denver, is it er--may I ask, provided with all +modern conveniences and--" began the elder Maitland nervously. + +Robert Maitland laughed. + +"What do you take us for, Steve? Do you ever read the western +newspapers?" + +"I confess that I have not given much thought to the west since I +studied geography and--_The Philadelphia Ledger_ has been thought +sufficient for the family since--" + +"Gracious!" exclaimed Maitland. "The house cost half a million dollars +if you must know it, and if there is anything that modern science can +contribute to comfort and luxury that isn't in it, I don't know what it +is. Shall it be the house in Denver, or the ranch, or a real camp in the +wilds, Enid?" + +"First the house in Denver," said Enid, "and then the ranch and then the +mountains." + +"Right O! That shall be the program." + +"Will my daughter's life be perfectly safe from the Cowboys, Indians and +Desperadoes?" + +"Quite safe," answered Robert, with deep gravity. "The cowboys no longer +shoot up the city and it has been years since the Indians have held up +even a trolley car. The only real desperado in my acquaintance is the +mildest, gentlest old stage driver in the west." + +"Do you keep up an acquaintance with men of that class, still?" asked +his brother in great surprise. + +"You know I was Sheriff in a border county for a number of years and--" + +"But you must surely have withdrawn from all such society now." + +"Out west," said Robert Maitland, "when we know a man and like him, when +we have slept by him on the plains, ridden with him through the +mountains, fought with him against some border terror, some bad man +thirsting to kill, we don't forget him, we don't cut his acquaintance, +and it doesn't make any difference whether the one or the other of us is +rich or poor. I have friends who can't frame a grammatical sentence, who +habitually eat with their knives, yet who are absolutely devoted to me +and I to them. The man is the thing out there." He smiled and turned to +Enid. "Always excepting the supremacy of woman," he added. + +"How fascinating!" exclaimed the girl. "I want to go there right away." + +And this was the train of events which brought about the change. Behold +the young lady astride of a horse for the first time in her life in a +divided skirt, that fashion prevalent elsewhere not having been accepted +by the best equestriennes of Philadelphia. She was riding ahead of a +lumbering mountain wagon, surrounded by other riders, which was loaded +with baggage, drawn by four sturdy broncos and followed by a number of +obstinate little burros at present unencumbered with packs which would +be used when they got further from civilization and the way was no +longer practicable for anything on wheels. + +Miss Enid Maitland was clad in a way that would have caused her father a +stroke of apoplexy if he could have been suddenly made aware of her +dress, if she had burst into the drawing-room without announcement for +instance. Her skirt was distinctly short, she wore heavy hobnailed shoes +that laced up to her knees, she had on a bright blue sweater, a kind of +a cap known as a tam-o-shanter was pinned above her glorious hair, which +was closely braided and wound around her head. She wore a silk +handkerchief loosely tied around her neck, a knife and revolver hung at +her belt, a little watch was strapped to one wrist, a handsomely braided +quirt dangled from the other, a pair of spurs adorned her heels and, +most discomposing fact of all, by her side rode a handsome and dashing +cavalier. + +How Mr. James Armstrong might have appeared in the conventional black +and white of evening clothes was not quite clear to her, for she had as +yet never beheld him in that obliterating raiment, but in the habit of +the west, riding trousers, heavy boots that laced to the knees, blue +shirt, his head covered by a noble "Stetson," mounted on the fiery +restive bronco which he rode to perfection, he was ideal. Alas for the +vanity of human proposition! Mr. James Armstrong, friend and protege +these many years of Mr. Robert Maitland, mine owner and cattle man on a +much smaller scale than his older friend, was desperately in love with +Enid Maitland, and Enid, swept off her feet by a wooing which began with +precipitant ardor so soon as he laid eyes on her, was more profoundly +moved by his suit, or pursuit, than she could have imagined. + +_Omne ignotum pro magnifico!_ + +She had been wooed in the conventional fashion many times and oft, on +the sands of Palm Beach, along the cliffs of Newport, in the romantic +glens of Mount Desert, in the old fashioned drawing-room overlooking +Rittenhouse Square. She had been proposed to in motor cars, on the decks +of yachts and once even while riding to hounds, but there had been a +touch of sameness about it all. Never had she been made love to with the +headlong gallantry, with the dashing precipitation of the west. It had +swept her from her moorings. She found almost before she was aware of it +that her past experience now stood her in little stead. She awoke to a +sudden realization of the fact that she was practically pledged to James +Armstrong after an acquaintance of three weeks in Denver and on the +ranch. + +Business of the most important and critical nature required Armstrong's +presence east at this juncture, and willy-nilly there was no way he +could put off his departure longer. He had to leave the girl with an +uneasy conscience that though he had her half-way promise, he had her +but half-way won. He had snatched the ultimate day from his business +demands to ride with her on the first stage of her journey to the +mountains. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE GAME PLAYED IN THE USUAL WAY + + +The road on which they advanced into the mountains was well made and +well kept up. The canyon through the foothills was not very deep--for +Colorado--and the ascent was gentle. Naturally it wound in every +direction following the devious course of the river which it frequently +crossed from one side to the other on rude log bridges. A brisk gallop +of a half mile or so on a convenient stretch of comparatively level +going put the two in the lead far ahead of the lumbering wagon and out +of sight of those others of the party who had elected to go a horseback. +There was perhaps a tacit agreement among the latter not to break in +upon this growing friendship or, more frankly, not to interfere in a +developing love affair. + +The canyon broadened here and there at long intervals and ranch houses +were found in every clearing, but these were few and far between and for +the most part Armstrong and Enid Maitland rode practically alone save +for the passing of an occasional lumber wagon. + +"You can't think," began the man, as they drew rein after a splendid +gallop and the somewhat tired horses readily subsided into a walk, "how +I hate to go back and leave you." + +"And you can't think how loath I am to have you return," the girl +flashed out at him with a sidelong glance from her bright blue eyes and +a witching smile from her scarlet lips. + +"Enid Maitland," said the man, "you know I just worship you. I'd like to +sweep you out of your saddle, lift you to the bow of mine and ride away +with you. I can't keep my hands off you, I--" + +Before she realized what he would be about he swerved his horse toward +her, his arm went around her suddenly. Taken completely off her guard +she could make no resistance, indeed she scarcely knew what to expect +until he crushed her to him and kissed her, almost roughly, full on the +lips. + +"How dare you!" cried the girl, her face aflame, freeing herself at +last, and swinging her own horse almost to the edge of the road which +here ran on an excavation some fifty feet above the river. + +"How dare I?" laughed the audacious man, apparently no whit abashed by +her indignation. "When I think of my opportunity I am amazed at my +moderation." + +"Your opportunity, your moderation?" + +"Yes; when I had you helpless I took but one kiss, I might have held you +longer and taken a hundred." + +"And by what right did you take that one?" haughtily demanded the +outraged young woman, looking at him beneath level brows while the color +slowly receded from her face. She had never been kissed by a man other +than a blood relation in her life--remember, suspicious reader, that she +was from Philadelphia--and she resented this sudden and unauthorized +caress with every atom and instinct of her still somewhat conventional +being. + +"But aren't you half-way engaged to me?" he pleaded in justification, +seeing the unwonted seriousness with which she had received his impudent +advance. "Didn't you agree to give me a chance?" + +"I did say that I liked you very much," she admitted, "no man better, +and that I thought you might--" + +"Well, then--" he began. + +But she would not be interrupted. + +"I did not mean that you should enjoy all the privileges of a conquest +before you had won me. I will thank you not to do that again, sir." + +"It seems to have had a very different effect upon you than it did upon +me," replied the man fervently. "I loved you before, but now, since I +have kissed you, I worship you." + +"It hasn't affected me that way," retorted the girl promptly, her face +still frowning and indignant. "Not at all, and--" + +"Forgive me, Enid," pleaded the other. "I just couldn't help it. You +were so beautiful I had to. I took the chance. You are not accustomed to +our ways." + +"Is this your habit in your love affairs?" asked the girl swiftly and +not without a spice of feminine malice. + +"I never had any love affairs before," he replied with a ready masculine +mendacity, "at least none worth mentioning. But you see this is the +west, we have gained what we have by demanding every inch that nature +offers, and then claiming the all. That's the way we play the game out +here and that's the way we win." + +"But I have not yet learned to play the 'game,' as you call it, by any +such rules," returned the young woman determinedly, "and it is not the +way to win me if I am the stake." + +"What is the way?" asked the man anxiously. "Show me and I'll take it +no matter what its difficulty." + +"Ah, for me to point out the way would be to play traitor to myself," +she answered, relenting and relaxing a little before his devoted wooing. +"You must find it without assistance. I can only tell you one thing." + +"And what is that?" + +"You do not advance toward the goal by such actions as those of a moment +since." + +"Look here," said the other suddenly. "I am not ashamed of what I did, +and I'm not going to pretend that I am, either." + +"You ought to be," severely. + +"Well, maybe so, but I'm not. I couldn't help it any more than I could +help loving you the minute I saw you. Put yourself in my place." + +"But I am not in your place, and I can't put myself there. I do not wish +to. If it be true, as you say, that you have grown to--care so much for +me and so quickly--" + +"If it be true?" came the sharp interruption as the man bent toward her +fairly devouring her with his bold, ardent gaze. + +"Well, since it is true," she admitted under the compulsion of his +protest, "that fact is the only possible excuse for your action." + +"You find some justification for me, then!" + +"No, only a possibility, but whether it be true or not, I do not feel +that way--yet." + +There was a saving grace in that last word, which gave him a little +heart. He would have spoken, but she suffered no interruption, saying: + +"I have been wooed before, but--" + +"True, unless the human race has become suddenly blind," he said softly +under his breath. + +"But never in such ungentle ways." + +"I suppose you have never run up against a real red-blooded man like me +before." + +"If red-blooded be evidenced mainly by lack of self-control, perhaps I +have not. Yet there are men whom I have met who would not need to +apologize for their qualities even to you, Mr. James Armstrong." + +"Don't say that. Evidently I make but poor progress in my wooing. Never +have I met with a woman quite like you."--And in that indeed lay some of +her charm, and she might have replied in exactly the same language and +with exactly the same meaning to him.--"I am no longer a boy. I must be +fifteen years older than you are, for I am thirty-five." + +The difference between their years was not quite so great as he +declared, but woman-like the girl let the statement pass unchallenged. + +"And I wouldn't insult your intelligence by saying you are the only +woman that I have ever made love to, but there is a vast difference +between making love to a woman and loving one. I have just found that +out for the first time. I marvel at the past, and I am ashamed of it, +but I thank God that I have been saved for this opportunity. I want to +win you, and I am going to do it, too. In many things I don't match up +with the people with whom you train. I was born out here, and I've made +myself. There are things that have happened in the making that I am not +especially proud of, and I am not at all satisfied with the results, +especially since I have met you. The better I know you the less pleased +I am with Jim Armstrong, but there are possibilities in me, I rather +believe, and with you for inspiration, Heavens!"--the man flung out his +hand with a fine gesture of determination. "They say that the east and +west don't naturally mingle, but it's a lie, you and I can beat the +world." + +The woman thrilled to his gallant wooing. Any woman would have done so, +some of them would have lost their heads, but Enid Maitland was an +exceedingly cool young person, for she was not quite swept off her feet, +and did not quite lose her balance. + +"I like to hear you say things like that," she answered. "Nobody quite +like you has ever made love to me, and certainly not in your way, and +that's the reason I have given you a half-way promise to think about it. +I was sorry that you could not be with us on this adventure, but now I +am rather glad, especially if the even temper of my way is to be +interrupted by anything like the outburst of a few moments since." + +"I am glad, too," admitted the man. "For I declare I couldn't help it. +If I have to be with you either you have got to be mine, or else you +would have to decide that it could never be, and then I'd go off and +fight it out." + +"Leave me to myself," said the girl earnestly, "for a little while; it's +best so. I would not take the finest, noblest man on earth--" + +"And I am not that." + +"Unless I loved him. There is something very attractive about your +personality. I don't know in my heart whether it is that or--" + +"Good," said the man, as she hesitated. "That's enough," he gathered up +the reins and whirled his horse suddenly in the road, "I am going back. +I'll wait for your return to Denver, and then--" + +"That's best," answered the girl. + +She stretched out her hand to him, leaning backward. If he had been a +different kind of a man he would have kissed it, as it was he took it +in his own hand and almost crushed it with a fierce grip. + +"We'll shake on that, little girl," he said, and then without a backward +glance he put spurs to his horse and galloped furiously down the road. + +No, she decided then and there, she did not love him, not yet. Whether +she ever would she could not tell. And yet she was half bound to him. +The recollection of his kiss was not altogether a pleasant memory; he +had not done himself any good by that bold assault upon her modesty, +that reckless attempt to rifle the treasure of her lips. No man had ever +really touched her heart, although many had engaged her interest. Her +experiences therefore were not definitive or conclusive. If she had +truly loved James Armstrong, in spite of all that she might have said, +she would have thrilled to the remembrance of that wild caress. The +chances, therefore, were somewhat heavily against him that morning as he +rode hopefully down the trail alone. + +His experiences in love affairs were much greater than hers. She was by +no means the first woman he had kissed--remember suspicious reader that +he was _not_ from Philadelphia!--hers were not the first ears into which +he had poured passionate protestations. He was neither better nor worse +than most men, perhaps he fairly enough represented the average, but +surely fate had something better in store for such a superb woman--a +girl of such attainments and such infinite possibilities, she must mate +higher than with the average man. Perhaps there was a sub-consciousness +of this in her mind as she silently waited to be overtaken by the rest +of the party. + +There were curious glances and strange speculations in that little +company as they saw her sitting her horse alone. A few moments before +James Armstrong had passed them at a gallop, he had waved his hand as he +dashed by and had smiled at them, hope giving him a certain assurance, +although his confidence was scarcely warranted by the facts. + +His demeanor was not in consonance with Enid's somewhat grave and +somewhat troubled present aspect. She threw off her preoccupation +instantly and easily, however, and joined readily enough in the merry +conversation of the way. + +Mr. Robert Maitland, as Armstrong had said, had known him from a boy. +There were things in his career of which Maitland did not and could not +approve, but they were of the past, he reflected, and Armstrong was +after all a pretty good sort. Mr. Maitland's standards were not at all +those of his Philadelphia brother, but they were very high. His +experiences of men had been different; he thought that Armstrong, +having certainly by this time reached years of discretion, could be +safely entrusted with the precious treasure of the young girl who had +been committed to his care, and for whom his affection grew as his +knowledge of and acquaintanceship with her increased. + +As for Mrs. Maitland and the two girls and the youngster, they were +Armstrong's devoted friends. They knew nothing about his past, indeed +there were things in it of which Maitland himself was ignorant, and +which had they been known to him might have caused him to withhold even +his tentative acquiescence in the possibilities. + +Most of these things were known to old Kirkby who with masterly skill, +amusing nonchalance and amazing profanity, albeit most of it under his +breath lest he shock the ladies, tooled along the four nervous excited +broncos who drew the big supply wagon. Kirkby was Maitland's oldest and +most valued friend. He had been the latter's deputy sheriff, he had been +a cowboy and a lumberman, a mighty hunter and a successful miner, and +now although he had acquired a reasonable competence, and had a nice +little wife and a pleasant home in the mountain village at the entrance +to the canyon, he drove stage for pleasure rather than for profit. He had +given over his daily twenty-five mile jaunt from Morrison to Troutdale +to other hands for a short space that he might spend a little time with +his old friend and the family, who were all greatly attached to him, on +this outing. + +Enid Maitland, a girl of a kind that Kirkby had never seen before, had +won the old man's heart during the weeks spent on the Maitland ranch. He +had grown fond of her, and he did not think that Mr. James Armstrong +merited that which he evidently so overwhelmingly desired. Kirkby was +well along in years, but he was quite capable of playing a man's game +for all that, and he intended to play it in this instance. + +Nobody scanned Enid Maitland's face more closely than he, sitting humped +up on the front seat of the wagon, one foot on the high brake, his head +sunk almost to the level of his knee, his long whip in his hand, his +keen and somewhat fierce brown eyes taking in every detail of what was +going on about him. Indeed there was but little that came before him +that old Kirkby did not see. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE STORY AND THE LETTERS + + +Imagine, if you please, the forest primeval; yes, the murmuring pines +and the hemlocks of the poem as well, by the side of a rapidly rushing +mountain torrent fed by the eternal snows of the lofty peaks of the +great range. A level stretch of grassy land where a mountain brook +joined the creek was dotted with clumps of pines and great boulders +rolled down from the everlasting hills--half an acre of open clearing. +On the opposite side of the brook the canyon wall rose almost sheer for +perhaps five hundred feet, ending in jagged, needle-edged pinnacles of +rock, sharp, picturesque and beautiful. A thousand feet above ran the +timber line, and four thousand feet above that the crest of the greatest +peak in the main range. + +The white tents of the little encampment which had gleamed so brightly +in the clear air and radiant sunshine of Colorado, now stood dim and +ghost-like in the red reflection of a huge camp fire. It was the evening +of the first day in the wilderness. + +For two days since leaving the wagon, the Maitland party with its long +train of burros heavily packed, its horsemen and the steady plodders on +foot, had advanced into unexplored and almost inaccessible retreats of +the mountains--into the primitive indeed! In this delightful spot they +had pitched their tents and the permanent camp had been made. Wood was +abundant, the water at hand was as cold as ice, as clear as crystal and +as soft as milk. There was pasturage for the horses and burros on the +other side of the mountain brook. The whole place was a little +amphitheater which humanity occupied perhaps the first time since +creation. + +Unpacking the burros, setting up the tents, making the camp, building +the fire had used up the late remainder of the day which was theirs when +they had arrived. Opportunity would come to-morrow to explore the +country, to climb the range, to try the stream that tumbled down a +succession of waterfalls to the right of the camp and roared and rushed +merrily around its feet until, swelled by the volume of the brook, it +lost itself in tree-clad depths far beneath. To-night rest after labor, +to-morrow play after rest. + +The evening meal was over. Enid could not help thinking with what scorn +and contempt her father would have regarded the menu, how his gorge +would have risen--hers too for that matter!--had it been placed before +him on the old colonial mahogany of the dining-room in Philadelphia. But +up there in the wilds she had eaten the coarse homely fare with the zest +and relish of the most seasoned ranger of the hills. Anxious to be of +service, she had burned her hands and smoked her hair and scorched her +face by usurping the functions of the young ranchman who had been +brought along as cook, and had actually fried the bacon herself! Imagine +a goddess with a frying pan! The black thick coffee and the condensed +milk, drunk from the graniteware cup, had a more delicious aroma and a +more delightful taste than the finest Mocha and Java in the daintiest +porcelain of France. _Optimum condimentum._ The girl was frankly, +ravenously hungry, the air, the altitude, the exertion, the excitement +made her able to eat anything and enjoy it. + +She was gloriously beautiful, too; even her brief experience in the west +had brought back the missing roses to her cheek, and had banished the +bister circles from beneath her eyes. Robert Maitland, lazily reclining +propped up against a boulder, his feet to the fire, smoking an old pipe +that would have given his brother the horrors, looked with approving +complacency upon her, confident and satisfied that his prescription was +working well. Nor was he the only one who looked at her that way. Marion +and Emma, his two daughters, worshiped their handsome Philadelphia +cousin and they sat one on either side of her on the great log lying +between the tents and the fire. Even Bob junior condescended to give her +approving glances. The whole camp was at her feet. Mrs. Maitland had +been greatly taken by her young niece. Kirkby made no secret of his +devotion; Arthur Bradshaw and Henry Phillips, each a "tenderfoot" of the +extremest character, friends of business connections in the east, who +were spending their vacation with Maitland, shared in the general +devotion; to say nothing of George the cook, and Pete, the packer and +"horse wrangler." + +Phillips, who was an old acquaintance of Enid's, had tried his luck with +her back east and had sense enough to accept as final his failure. +Bradshaw was a solemn young man without that keen sense of humor which +was characteristic of the west. The others were suitably dressed for +adventure, but Bradshaw's idea of an appropriate costume was +distinguished chiefly by long green felt puttees which swathed his huge +calves and excited curious inquiry and ribald comment from the surprised +denizens of each mountain hamlet through which they had passed, to all +of which Bradshaw remained serenely oblivious. The young man, who does +not enter especially into this tale, was a vestryman of the church in +his home in the suburbs of Philadelphia. His piety had been put to a +severe strain in the mountains. + +That day everybody had to work on the trail--everybody wanted to for +that matter. The hardest labor consisted in the driving of the burros. +Unfortunately there was no good and trained leader among them through an +unavoidable mischance, and the campers had great difficulty in keeping +the burros on the trail. To Arthur Bradshaw had been allotted the most +obstinate, cross-grained and determined of the unruly band, and old +Kirkby and George paid particular attention to instructing him in the +gentle art of manipulating him over the rocky mountain trail. + +"Wall," said Kirkby with his somewhat languid, drawling, nasal voice, +"that there burro's like a ship w'ich I often seed 'em w'n I was a kid +down east afore I come out to God's country. Nature has pervided 'em +with a kind of a hellum. I remember if you wanted the boat to go to the +right you shoved the hellum over to the left. Sta'boad an' port was the +terms as I recollects 'em. It's jest the same with burros, you takes 'em +by the hellum, that's by the tail, git a good tight twist on it an' ef +you want him to head to the right, slew his stern sheets around to the +left, an' you got to be keerful you don't git no kick back w'ich if it +lands on you is worse 'n the ree-coil of a mule." + +Arthur faithfully followed directions, narrowly escaping the outraged +brute's small but sharp pointed heels on occasion. His efforts not being +productive of much success, finally in his despair he resorted to brute +strength; he would pick the little animal up bodily, pack and all--he +was a man of powerful physique--and swing him around until his head +pointed in the right direction; then with a prayer that the burro would +keep it there for a few rods anyway, he would set him down and start him +all over again. The process, oft repeated, became monotonous after a +while. Arthur was a slow thinking man, deliberate in action, he stood it +as long as he possibly could. Kirkby who rode one horse and led two +others, and therefore was exempt from burro driving, observed him with +great interest. He and Bradshaw had strayed way behind the rest of the +party. + +At last Arthur's resistance, patience and piety, strained to the +breaking point, gave way suddenly. Primitive instincts rose to the +surface and overwhelmed him like a flood. He deliberately sat down on a +fallen tree by the side of a trail, the burro halting obediently, turned +and faced him with hanging head apparently conscious that he merited the +disapprobation that was being heaped upon him, for from the desperate +tenderfoot there burst forth so amazing, so fluent, so comprehensive a +torrent of assorted profanity, that even the old past master in +objurgation was astonished and bewildered. Where did Bradshaw, mild and +inoffensive, get it? His proficiency would have appalled his Rector and +amazed his fellow vestrymen. Not the Jackdaw of Rheims himself was so +cursed as that little burro. Kirkby sat on his horse in fits of silent +laughter until the tears ran 'down his cheeks, the only outward and +visible expression of his mirth. + +Arthur only stopped when he had thoroughly emptied himself, possibly of +an accumulation of years of repression. + +"Wall," said Kirkby, "you sure do overmatch anyone I ever heard w'en it +comes to cursin'. W'y you could gimme cards an' spades an' beat me, an' +I was thought to have some gift that-a-way in the old days." + +"I didn't begin to exhaust myself," answered Bradshaw, shortly, "and +what I did say didn't equal the situation. I'm going home." + +"I wouldn't do that," urged the old man. "Here, you take the hosses an' +I'll tackle the burro." + +"Gladly," said Arthur. "I would rather ride an elephant and drive a herd +of them than waste another minute on this infernal little mule." + +The story was too good to keep, and around the camp fire that night +Kirkby drawled it forth. There was a freedom and easiness of intercourse +in the camp, which was natural enough. Cook, teamster, driver, host, +guest, men, women, children, and I had almost said burros, stood on the +same level. They all ate and lived together. The higher up the mountain +range you go, the deeper into the wilderness you plunge, the further +away from the conventional you draw, the more homogeneous becomes +society and the less obvious are the irrational and unscientific +distinctions of the lowlands. The guinea stamp fades and the man and the +woman are pure gold or base metal inherently and not by any artificial +standard. + +George, the cattle man who cooked, and Peter, the horse wrangler, who +assisted Kirkby in looking after the stock, enjoyed the episode +uproariously, and would fain have had the exact language repeated to +them, but here Robert Maitland demurred, much to Arthur's relief, for he +was thoroughly humiliated by the whole performance. + +It was very pleasant lounging around the camp fire, and one good story +easily led to another. + +"It was in these very mountains," said Robert Maitland, at last, when +his turn came, "that there happened one of the strangest and most +terrible adventures that I ever heard of. I have pretty much forgotten +the lay of the land, but I think it wasn't very far from here that there +is one of the most stupendous canyons through the range. Nobody ever goes +there--I don't suppose anybody has ever been there since. It must have +been at least five years ago that it all happened." + +"It was four years an' nine months, exactly, Bob," drawled old Kirkby, +who well knew what was coming. + +"Yes, I dare say you are right. I was up at Evergreen at the time, +looking after timber interests, when a mule came wandering into the +camp, saddle and pack still on his back." + +"I knowed that there mule," said Kirkby. "I'd sold it to a feller named +Newbold, that had come out yere an' married Louise Rosser, old man +Rosser's daughter, an' him dead, an' she bein' an orphan, an' this +feller bein' a fine young man from the east, not a bit of a tenderfoot +nuther, a minin' engineer he called hisself." + +"Well, I happened to be there too, you remember," continued Maitland, +"and they made up a party to go and hunt up the man, thinking something +might have happened." + +"You see," explained Kirkby, "we was all mighty fond of Louise Rosser. +The hull camp was actin' like a father to her at the time, so long's she +hadn't nobody else. We was all at the weddin', too, some six months +afore. The gal married him on her own hook, of course, nobody makin' +her, but somehow she didn't seem none too happy, although Newbold, who +was a perfect gent, treated her white as far as we knowed." + +The old man stopped again and resumed his pipe. + +"Kirkby, you tell the story," said Maitland. + +"Not me," said Kirkby. "I have seen men shot afore for takin' words +out'n other men's mouths an' I ain't never done that yit." + +"You always were one of the most silent men I ever saw," laughed George. +"Why, that day Pete yere got shot accidental an' had his whole breast +tore out w'en we was lumbering over on Black Mountain, all you said was, +'Wash him off, put some axle grease on him an' tie him up.'" + +"That's so," answered Pete, "an' there must have been somethin' powerful +soothin' in that axle grease, for here I am, safe an' sound, to this +day." + +"It takes an old man," assented Kirkby, "to know when to keep his mouth +shet. I learned it at the muzzle of a gun." + +"I never knew before," laughed Maitland, "how still a man you can be. +Well, to resume the story, having nothing to do, I went out with the +posse the sheriff gathered up--" + +"Him not thinkin' there had been any foul play," ejaculated the old man. + +"No, certainly not." + +"Well, what happened, Uncle Bob," inquired Enid. + +"Just you wait," said young Bob, who had heard the story. "This is an +awful good story, Cousin Enid." + +"I can't wait much longer," returned the girl. "Please go on." + +"Two days after we left the camp, we came across an awful figure, +ragged, blood stained, wasted to a skeleton, starved--" + +"I have seen men in extreme cases afore," interposed Kirkby, "but never +none like him." + +"Nor I," continued Maitland. + +"Was it Newbold?" asked Enid. + +"Yes." + +"And what had happened to him?" + +"He and his wife had been prospecting in these very mountains, she had +fallen over a cliff and broken herself so terribly that Newbold had to +shoot her." + +"What!" exclaimed Bradshaw. "You don't mean that he actually killed +her?" + +"That's what he done," answered old Kirkby. + +"Poor man," murmured Enid. + +"But why?" asked Phillips. + +"They were five days away from a settlement, there wasn't a human being +within a hundred and fifty miles of them, not even an Indian," continued +Maitland. "She was so frightfully broken and mangled that he couldn't +carry her away." + +"But why couldn't he leave her and go for help?" asked Bradshaw. + +"The wolves, the bears, or the vultures would have got her. These woods +and mountains were full of them then and there are some of them, left +now, I guess." + +The two little girls crept closer to their grown up cousin, each casting +anxious glances beyond the fire light. + +"Oh, you're all right, little gals," said Kirkby, reassuringly, "they +wouldn't come nigh us while this fire is burnin' an' they're pretty well +hunted out I guess; 'sides, there's men yere who'd like nothin' better'n +drawin' a bead on a big b'ar." + +"And so," continued Maitland, "when she begged him to shoot her, to put +her out of her misery, he did so and then he started back to the +settlement to tell his story and stumbled on us looking after him." + +"What happened then?" + +"I went back to the camp," said Maitland. "We loaded Newbold on a mule +and took him with us. He was so crazy he didn't know what was happening, +he went over the shooting again and again in his delirium. It was +awful." + +"Did he die?" + +"I don't think so," was the answer, "but really I know nothing further +about him. There were some good women in that camp, and we put him in +their hands, and I left shortly afterwards." + +"I kin tell the rest," said old Kirkby. "Knowin' more about the +mountains than most people hereabouts I led the men that didn't go back +with Bob an' Newbold to the place w'ere he said his woman fell, an' +there we found her, her body, leastways." + +"But the wolves?" queried the girl. + +"He'd drug her into a kind of a holler and piled rocks over her. He'd +gone down into the canyon, w'ich was somethin' frightful, an' then +climbed up to w'ere she'd lodged. We had plenty of rope, havin' brought +it along a purpose, an' we let ourselves down to the shelf where she was +a lyin'. We wrapped her body up in blankets an' roped it an' finally +drug her up on the old Injun trail, leastways I suppose it was made +afore there was any Injuns, an' brought her back to Evergreen camp, +w'ich the only thing about it that was green was the swing doors on the +saloon. We got a parson out from Denver an' give her a Christian +burial." + +"It that all?" asked Enid as the old man paused again. + +"Nope." + +"Oh, the man?" exclaimed the woman with quick intuition. + +"He recovered his senses so they told us, an' w'en we got back he'd +gone." + +"Where?" was the instant question. + +Old Kirkby stretched out his hands. + +"Don't ax me," he said. "He'd jest gone. I ain't never seed or heerd of +him sence. Poor little Louise Rosser, she did have a hard time." + +"Yes," said Enid, "but I think the man had a harder time than she. He +loved her?" + +"It looked like it," answered Kirkby. + +"If you had seen him, his remorse, his anguish, his horror," said +Maitland, "you wouldn't have had any doubt about it. But it is getting +late. In the mountains everybody gets up at daybreak. Your sleeping bags +are in the tents, ladies, time to go to bed." + +As the party broke up, old Kirkby rose slowly to his feet. He looked +meaningly toward the young woman, upon whom the spell of the tragedy +still lingered, he nodded toward the brook, and then repeated his +speaking glance at her. His meaning was patent, although no one else had +seen the covert invitation. + +"Come, Kirkby," said the girl in quick response, "you shall be my +escort. I want a drink before I turn in. No, never mind," she said, as +Bradshaw and Phillips both volunteered, "not this time." + +The old frontiersman and the young girl strolled off together. They +stopped by the brink of the rushing torrent a few yards away. The noise +that it made drowned the low tones of their voices and kept the others, +busy preparing to retire, from hearing what they said. + +"That ain't quite all the story, Miss Enid," said the old trapper +meaningly. "There was another man." + +"What!" exclaimed the girl. + +"Oh, there wasn't nothin' wrong with Louise Rosser, w'ich she was Louise +Newbold, but there was another man. I suspected it afore, that's why she +was sad. W'en we found her body I knowed it." + +"I don't understand." + +"These'll explain," said Kirkby. He drew out from his rough hunting coat +a package of soiled letters; they were carefully enclosed in an oil skin +and tied with a faded ribbon. "You see," he continued, holding them in +his hand, yet carefully concealing them from the people at the fire. +"W'en she fell off the cliff--somehow the mule lost his footin', nobody +never knowed how, leastways the mule was dead an' couldn't tell--she +struck on a spur or shelf about a hundred feet below the brink. +Evidently she was carryin' the letters in her dress. Her bosom was +frightfully tore open an' the letters was lying there. Newbold didn't +see 'em, because he went down into the canyon an' came up to the shelf, +or butte head, w'ere the body was lyin', but we dropped down. I was the +first man down an' I got 'em. Nobody else seein' me, an' there ain't no +human eyes, not even my wife's, that's ever looked on them letters, +except mine and now yourn." + +"You are going to give them to me?" + +"I am," said Kirkby. + +"But why?" + +"I want you to know the hull story." + +"But why, again?" + +"I rather guess them letters'll tell," answered the old man evasively, +"an' I like you, and I don't want to see you throwed away." + +[Illustration: "Read the letters," he said. "They'll tell the story. +Good night."] + +"What do you mean?" asked the girl, curiously, thrilling to the +solemnity of the moment, the seriousness, the kind affection of the old +frontiersman, the weird scene, the fire light, the tents gleaming +ghost-like, the black wall of the canyon and the tops of the mountain +range broadening out beneath the stars in the clear sky where they +twinkled above her head. The strange and terrible story, and now the +letters in her hand which somehow seemed to be imbued with human +feeling, greatly affected her! Kirkby patted her on the shoulder. + +"Read the letters," he said. "They'll tell the story. Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE POOL AND THE WATER SPRITE + + +Long after the others in the camp had sunk into the profound slumber of +weary bodies and good consciences, a solitary candle in the small tent +occupied by Enid Maitland alone, gave evidence that she was busy over +the letters which Kirkby had handed to her. + +It was a very thoughtful girl indeed who confronted the old frontiersman +the next morning. At the first convenient opportunity when they were +alone together she handed him the packet of letters. + +"Have you read 'em?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"Wall, you keep 'em," said the old man gravely. "Mebbe you'll want to +read 'em agin." + +"But I don't understand why you want me to have them." + +"Wall, I'm not quite sure myself why, but leastways I do an'--" + +"I shall be very glad to keep them," said the girl still more gravely, +slipping them into one of the pockets of her hunting shirt as she +spoke. + +The packet was not bulky, the letters were not many nor were they of any +great length. She could easily carry them on her person and in some +strange and inexplicable way she was rather glad to have them. She could +not, as she had said, see any personal application to herself in them, +and yet in some way she did feel that the solution of the mystery would +be hers some day. Especially did she think this on account of the +strange but quiet open emphasis of the old hunter. + +There was much to do about the camp in the mornings. Horses and burros +to be looked after, fire wood to be cut, plans for the day arranged, +excursions planned, mountain climbs projected. Later on unwonted hands +must be taught to cast the fly for the mountain trout which filled the +brook and pool, and all the varied duties, details and fascinating +possibilities of camp life must be explained to the new-comers. + +The first few days were days of learning and preparation, days of mishap +and misadventure, of joyous laughter over blunders in getting settled, +or learning the mysteries of rod and line, of becoming hardened and +acclimated. The weather proved perfect; it was late October and the +nights were very cold, but there was no rain and the bright sunny days +were invigorating and exhilarating to the last degree. They had huge +fires and plenty of blankets and the colder it was in the night the +better they slept. + +It was an intensely new experience for the girl from Philadelphia, but +she showed a marked interest and adaptability, and entered with the +keenest zest into all the opportunities of the charming days. She was a +good sportswoman and she soon learned to throw a fly with the best of +them. Old Kirkby took her under his especial protection, and as he was +one of the best rods in the mountains, she enjoyed every advantage. + +She had always lived in the midst of life. Except in the privacy of her +own chamber she had rarely ever been alone before--not twenty feet from +a man: she thought whimsically; but here the charm of solitude attracted +her, she liked to take her rod and wander off alone. She actually +enjoyed it. + +The main stream that flowed down the canyon was fed by many affluents +from the mountain sides, and in each of them voracious trout appeared. +She explored them as she had opportunity. Sometimes with the others but +more often by herself. She discovered charming and exquisite nooks, +little stretches of grass, the size perhaps of a small room, flower +decked, ferny bordered, overshadowed by tall gaunt pine trees, the +sunlight filtering through their thin foliage, checkering the verdant +carpet beneath. Huge moss covered boulders, wet with the everdashing +spray of the roaring brooks, lay in mid-stream and with other natural +stepping stones hard-by invited her to cross to either shore. Waterfalls +laughed musically in her ears, deep still pools tempted her skill and +address. + +Sometimes leaving rod and basket by the waterside, she climbed some +particularly steep acclivity of the canyon wall and stood poised, wind +blown, a nymph of the woods, upon some pinnacle of rock rising needle +like at the canyon's edge above the sea of verdure which the wind waved +to and fro beneath her feet. There in the bright light, with the breeze +blowing her golden hair, she looked like some Norse goddess, blue eyed, +exhilarated, triumphant. + +She was a perfectly formed woman on the ancient noble lines of Milo +rather than the degenerate softness of Medici. She grew stronger of limb +and fuller of breath, quicker and steadier of eye and hand, cooler of +nerve, in these demanding, compelling adventures among the rocks in this +mountain air. She was not a tall woman, indeed slightly under rather +than over the medium size, but she was so ideally proportioned, she +carried herself with the fearlessness of a young chamois, that she +looked taller than she was. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh +upon her, yet she had the grace of Hebe, the strength of Pallas Athene, +and the swiftness of motion of Atalanta. Had she but carried bow and +spear, had she worn tunic and sandals, she might have stood for Diana +and she would have had no cause to blush by comparison with the finest +model of Praxiteles' chisel or the most splendid and glowing example of +Appelles' brush. + +Uncle Robert was delighted with her. His contribution to her western +outfit was a small Winchester. She displayed astonishing aptitude under +his instructions and soon became wonderfully proficient with that deadly +weapon and with a revolver also. There was little danger to be +apprehended in the daytime among the mountains the more experienced men +thought, still it was wise for the girl always to have a weapon in +readiness, so in her journeyings, either the Winchester was slung from +her shoulder or carried in her hand, or else the Colt dangled at her +hip. At first she took both, but finally it was with reluctance that she +could be persuaded to take either. Nothing had ever happened. Save for a +few birds now and then she had seemed the only tenant of the +wildernesses of her choice. + +One night after a camping experience of nearly two weeks in the +mountains, and just before the time for breaking up and going back to +civilization, she announced that early the next morning she was going +down the canyon for a day's fishing excursion. + +None of the party had ever followed the little river very far, but it +was known that some ten miles below the stream merged in a lovely +gem-like lake in a sort of crater in the mountains. From thence by a +series of waterfalls it descended through the foothills to the distant +plains beyond. The others had arranged to climb one especially dangerous +and ambition provoking peak which towered above them and which had never +before been surmounted so far as they knew. Enid enjoyed mountain +climbing. She liked the uplift in feeling that came from going higher +and higher till some crest was gained, but on this occasion they urged +her to accompany them in vain. + +When the fixity of her decision was established she had a number of +offers to accompany her, but declined them all, bidding the others go +their way. Mrs. Maitland, who was not feeling very well, old Kirkby, who +had climbed too many mountains to feel much interest in that game, and +Pete, the horse wrangler, who had to look after the stock, remained in +camp; the others, with the exception of Enid, started at daybreak for +their long ascent. She waited until the sun was about an hour high and +then bade good-by to the three and began the descent of the canyon. +Traveling light for she was going far--farther indeed than she knew--she +left her Winchester at home, but carried the revolver with the fishing +tackle and substantial luncheon. + +Now the river--a river by courtesy only--and the canyon turned sharply +back on themselves just beyond the little meadow where the camp was +pitched. Past the tents that had been their home for this joyous period +the river ran due east for a few hundred feet, after which it curved +sharply, doubled back and flowed westward for several miles before it +gradually swung around to the east on its proper course again. + +It had been Enid's purpose to cut across the hills and strike the river +where it turned eastward once more, avoiding the long detour back. In +fact she had declared her intention of doing that to Kirkby and he had +given her careful directions so that she should not get lost in the +mountains. + +But she had plenty of time and no excuse or reason for saving it; she +never tired of the charm of the canyon; therefore, instead of plunging +directly over the spur of the range, she followed the familiar trail +and after she had passed westward far beyond the limits of the camp to +the turning, she decided, in accordance with that utterly irresponsible +thing, a woman's will, that she would not go down the canyon that day +after all, but that she would cross back over the range and strike the +river a few miles above the camp and go up the canyon instead. + +She had been up in that direction a few times, but only for a short +distance, as the ascent above the camp was very sharp; in fact for a +little more than a mile the brook was only a succession of waterfalls; +the best fishing was below the camp and the finest woods were deeper in +the canyon. She suddenly concluded that she would like to see what was up +in that unexplored section of the country and so, with scarcely a +momentary hesitation, she abandoned her former plan and began the ascent +of the range. + +Upon decisions so lightly taken what momentous consequences depend? +Whether she should go up the stream or down the stream, whether she +should follow the rivulet to its source or descend it to its mouth, was +apparently a matter of little moment, yet her whole life turned +absolutely upon that decision. The idle and unconsidered choice of the +hour was fraught with gravest possibilities. Had that election been +made with any suspicion, with any foreknowledge, had it come as the +result of careful reasoning or far-seeing of probabilities, it might +have been understandable, but an impulse, a whim, the vagrant idea of an +idle hour, the careless chance of a moment, and behold! a life is +changed. On one side were youth and innocence, freedom and contentment, +a happy day, a good rest by the cheerful fire at night; on the other, +peril of life, struggle, love, jealousy, self-sacrifice, devotion, +suffering, knowledge--scarcely Eve herself when she stood apple in hand +with ignorance and pleasure around her and enlightenment and sorrow +before her, had greater choice to make. + +How fortunate we are that the future is veiled, that the psalmist's +prayer that he might know his end and be certified how long he had to +live is one that will not and cannot be granted; that it has been given +to but One to foresee His own future, for no power apparently could +enable us to stand up against what might be, because we are only human +beings not sufficiently alight with the spark divine. We wait for the +end because we must, but thank God we know it not until it comes. + +Nothing of this appeared to the girl that bright sunny morning. Fate hid +in those mountains under the guise of fancy. Lighthearted, carefree, +fitted with buoyant joy over every fact of life, she left the flowing +water and scaled the cliff beyond which in the wilderness she was to +find, after all, the world. + +The ascent was longer and more difficult and dangerous than she had +imagined when she first confronted it, perhaps it was typical and +foretold her progress. More than once she had to stop and carefully +examine the face of the canyon wall for a practicable trail; more than +once she had to exercise extremest care in her climb, but she was a bold +and fearless mountaineer by this time and at last surmounting every +difficulty she stood panting slightly, a little tired but triumphant, +upon the summit. + +The ground was rocky and broken, the timber line was close above her and +she judged that she must be several miles from the camp. The canyon was +very crooked, she could see only a few hundred yards of it in any +direction. She scanned her circumscribed limited horizon eagerly for the +smoke from the great fire that they always kept burning in the camp, but +not a sign of it was visible. She was evidently a thousand feet above +the river whence she had come. Her standing ground was a rocky ridge +which fell away more gently on the other side for perhaps two hundred +feet toward the same brook. She could see through vistas in the trees +the up-tossed peaks of the main range, bare, chaotic, snow covered, +lonely, majestic, terrible. + +The awe of the everlasting hills is greater than that of the heaving +sea. Save in the infrequent periods of calm, the latter always moves, +the mountains are the same for all time. The ocean is quick, noisy, +living; the mountains are calm, still--dead. + +The girl stood as it were on the roof of the world, a solitary human +being, so far as she knew, in the eye of God above her. Ah, but the Eyes +Divine look long and see far; things beyond the human ken are all +revealed. None of the party had ever come this far from the camp in this +direction she knew. And she was glad to be the first, as she fatuously +thought, to observe that majestic solitude. + +Surveying the great range she wondered where the peak climbers might be. +Keen sighted though she was she could not discover them. The crest that +they were attempting lay in another direction hidden by a nearer spur. +She was in the very heart of the mountains; peaks and ridges rose all +about her, so much so that the general direction of the great range was +lost. She was at the center of a far flung concavity of crest and +range. She marked one towering point to the right of her that rose +massively grand above all the others. To-morrow she would climb to that +high point and from its lofty elevation look upon the heavens above and +the earth beneath, aye and the waters under the earth far below. +To-morrow!--it is generally known that we do not usually attempt the +high points in life's range at once, content are we with lower altitudes +to-day. + +There was no sound above her, the rushing water over the rocks upon the +nearer side she could hear faintly beneath her, there was no wind about +her, to stir the long needles of the pines. It was very still, the kind +of a stillness of body which is the outward and visible complement of +that stillness of the soul in which men know God. There had been no +earthquake, no storm, the mountains had not heaved beneath her feet, the +great and strong wind had not passed by, the rocks had not been rent and +broken, yet Enid caught herself listening as if for a Voice. The thrall +of majesty, silence, loneliness was upon her. She stood--one stands when +there is a chance of meeting God on the way, one does not kneel until He +comes--with her raised hands clasped, her head uplifted in exultation +unspeakable, God-conquered with her face to heaven upturned. + +"I will lift up mine eyes to the hills whence cometh my salvation," her +heart sang voicelessly. "We praise Thee, O God, we magnify Thy Holy Name +forever," floated through her brain, in great appreciation of the +marvelous works of the Almighty Shaping Master Hand. Caught up as it +were into the heavens, her soul leaped to meet its maker. Thinking to +find God she waited there on the heaven-kissing hill. + +How long she stayed she did not realize; she took no note of time, it +did not occur to her even to look at the watch on her wrist; she had +swept the skyline cut off as it were by the peaks when first she came, +and when at last she turned away--even divinest moments must have an +end--she looked not backward. She saw not a little cloud hid on the +horizon behind the rampart of ages, as it were, no bigger than a man's +hand, a cloud full of portent and which would alarm greatly the veteran +Kirkby in the camp and Maitland on the mountain top. Both of them +unfortunately were unable to see it, one being on the other side of the +range, and the other deep in the canyon, and for both of them as for the +girl the sun still shone brightly. + +The declivity to the river on the upper side was comparatively easy and +Enid Maitland went slowly and thoughtfully down to it until she reached +the young torrent. She got her tackle ready, but did no casting as she +made her way slowly up the ever narrowing, ever rising canyon. She was +charmed and thrilled by the wild beauty of the way, the spell of the +mountains was deep upon her. Thoughtfully she wandered on until, +presently she came to another little amphitheater like that where the +camp was pitched, only smaller. Strange to say the brook, or river, here +broadened into a little pool perhaps twenty feet across; a turn had +thrown a full force of water against the huge boulder wall and in ages +of effort a giant cup had been hollowed out of the native rock. The pool +was perhaps four or five feet deep, the rocky bottom worn smooth, the +clearing was upon the opposite side and the banks were heavily wooded +beyond the spur of the rock which formed the back of the pool. She could +see the trout in it. She made ready to try her fortune, but before she +did so an idea came to her--daring, unconventional, extraordinary, begot +of innocence and inexperience. + +The water of course was very cold, but she had been accustomed all her +life to taking a bath at the natural temperature of the water at +whatever season. She knew that the only people in that wilderness were +the members of her own party; three of them were at the camp below, the +others were ascending a mountain miles away. The canyon was deep sunk, +and she satisfied herself by careful observation that the pool was not +overlooked by any elevations far or near. + +Her ablutions in common with those of the rest of the campers had been +by piecemeal of necessity. Here was an opportunity for a plunge in a +natural bath tub. She was as certain that she would be under no +observation as if she were in the privacy of her own chamber. Here again +impulse determined the end. In spite of her assurance there was some +little apprehension in the glance that she cast about her, but it soon +vanished. There was no one. She was absolutely alone. The pool and the +chance of the plunge had brought her down to earth again; the thought of +the enlivening exhilaration of the pure cold water dashing against her +own sweet warm young body changed the current of her thoughts--the +anticipation of it rather. + +Impulsively she dropped her rod upon the grass, unpinned her cap, threw +the fishing basket from her shoulder. She was wearing a stout sweater; +that too joined the rest. Nervous hands manipulated buttons and the +fastenings. In a few moments the sweet figure of youth, of beauty, of +purity and of innocence brightened the sod and shed a white luster upon +the green of the grass and moss and pines, reflecting light to the gray +brown rocks of the range. So Eve may have looked on some bright Eden +morning. A few steps forward and this nymph of the woods, this naiad of +the mountains, plunged into the clear, cold waters of the pool--a water +sprite and her fountain! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE BEAR, THE MAN AND THE FLOOD + + +The water was deep enough to receive her dive and the pool was long +enough to enable her to swim a few strokes. The first chill of the icy +water was soon lost in the vigorous motions in which she indulged, but +no mere human form however hardened and inured could long endure that +frigid bath. Reluctantly, yet with the knowledge that she must go, after +one more sweeping dive and a few magnificent strokes, she raised her +head from the water lapping her white shoulders, and shaking her face +clear from the drops of crystal, faced the shore. It was no longer +untenanted, she was no longer alone. + +What she saw startled and alarmed her beyond measure. Planted on her +clothes, looking straight at her, having come upon her in absolute +silence, nothing having given her the least warning of his approach, and +now gazing at her with red, hungry, evil, vicious eyes, the eyes of the +covetous filled with the cruel lust of desire and carnal possession, and +yet with a glint of surprise in them, too, as if he did not know quite +what to make of the white loveliness of this unwonted apparition +flashing so suddenly at him out of the water, this strange invader of +the domain of which he fancied he was sole master and lord paramount, +stood a great, monstrous frightful looking Grizzly Bear. _Ursus +Horribilis_, indeed. + +He was an aged monarch of the mountains, reddish brown in color +originally, but now a hoary dirty gray. His body was massive and burly, +his legs short, dark colored and immensely powerful. His broad square +head moved restlessly. His fanged mouth opened and a low hoarse growl +came from the red cavern of his throat. He was an old and terrible +monster who had tasted the blood of man and who would not hesitate to +attack even without provocation especially anything at once so harmless +and so whitely inviting as the girl in the pool. + +The girl forgot the chill of the water in the horror of that moment. +Alone, naked, defenseless, lost in the mountains, with the most +powerful, sanguinary and ferocious beast of the continent in front of +her, she could neither fight nor fly, she could only wait his pleasure. +He snuffed at her clothing a moment and stood with one fore foot +advanced for a second or two growling deeply, evidently, she thought +with almost superhuman keenness of perception, preparing to leap into +the pool and seize upon her. + +The rush of the current as it swirled about her caused her to sway +gently, otherwise she stood motionless and apprehensive, terribly +expectant. She had made no sound, and save for that low growl the great +beast had been equally silent. There was an awful fixity in the gaze she +turned upon him and he wavered under it. It annoyed him. It bespoke a +little of the dominance of the human. But she was too surprised, too +unnerved, too desperately frightened to put forth the full power of mind +over matter. There was piteous appeal in her gaze. The bear realized +this and mastered her sufficiently. + +She did not know whether she was in the water or in the air, there were +but two points upon which her consciousness was focussed in the vast +ellipse of her imagination. Another moment or two and all coherency of +thought would be gone. The grizzly, still unsettled and uneasy before +her awful glance, but not deterred by it, turned its great head sideways +a little to escape the direct immobile stare, brought his sharp clawed +foot down heavily and lurched forward. + +Scarcely had a minute elapsed in which all this happened. That huge +threatening heave of the great body toward her relieved the tension. +She found voice at last. Although it was absolutely futile she realized +as she cried, her released lips framed the loud appeal. + +"Help! for God's sake." + +Although she knew she cried but to the bleak walls of the canyon, the +drooping pines, the rushing river, the distant heaven, the appeal went +forth accompanied by the mightiest conjuration known to man. + +"For God's sake, Help!" + +How dare poor humanity so plead, the doubter cries. What is it to God if +one suffers, another bleeds, another dies. What answer could come out of +that silent sky? + +Sometimes the Lord speaks with the loud voice of men's fashioning, +instead of in that still whisper which is His own and the sound of which +we fail to catch because of our own ignoble babble! + +The answer to her prayer came with a roar in her nervous frightened ear +like a clap of thunder. Ere the first echo of it died away, it was +succeeded by another and another and another, echoing, rolling, +reverberating among the rocks in ever diminishing but long drawn out +peals. + +On the instant the bear rose to his feet, swayed slightly and struck as +at an imaginary enemy with his weighty paws. A hoarse, frightful +guttering roar burst from his red slavering jaws, then he lurched +sideways and fell forward, fighting the air madly for a moment, and lay +still. + +With staring eyes that missed no detail, she saw that the brute had been +shot in the head and shoulder three times, and that he was apparently +dead. The revulsion that came over her was bewildering; she swayed +again, this time not from the thrust of the water but with sick +faintness. The tension suddenly taken off, unstrung, the loose bow of +her spirit quivered helplessly; the arrow of her life almost fell into +the stream. + +And then a new and more appalling terror swept over her. Some man had +fired that shot. Actaeon had spied upon Diana. With this sudden +revelation of her shame, the red blood beat to the white surface in +spite of the chill water. The anguish of that moment was greater than +before. She could be killed, torn to pieces, devoured, that was a small +thing, but that she should be so outraged in her modesty was +unendurable. She wished the hunter had not come. She sunk lower in the +water for a moment fain to hide in its crystal clarity and realized as +she did how frightfully cold she was. Yet, although she froze where she +was and perished with cold she could not go out on the bank to dress, +and it would avail her little she saw swiftly, since the huge monster +had fallen a dead heap on her clothes. + +Now all this, although it takes minutes to tell, had happened in but a +few seconds. Seconds sometimes include hours, even a life time, in their +brief composition. She thought it would be just as well for her to sink +down and die in the water, when a sudden splashing below her caused her +to look down the stream. + +She was so agitated that she could make out little except that there was +a man crossing below her and making directly toward the body of the +bear. He was a tall black bearded man, she saw he carried a rifle, he +looked neither to the right nor to the left, he did not bestow a glance +upon her. She could have cried aloud in thanksgiving for his apparent +obliviousness to her as she crouched now neck deep in the benumbing +cold. The man stepped on the bank, shook himself like a great dog might +have done and marched over to the bear. He up-rooted a small near-by +pine, with the ease of a Hercules--and she had time to mark and marvel +at it in spite of everything--and then with that as a lever he +unconcernedly and easily heaved the body of the monster from off her +clothing. She was to learn later what a feat of strength it was to move +that inert carcass weighing much more than half a ton. + +Thereafter he dropped the pine tree by the side of the dead grizzly and +without a backward look tramped swiftly and steadily up the canyon +through the trees, turning at the point of it, and was instantly lost to +sight. His gentle and generous purpose was obvious even to the +frightened, agitated, excited girl. + +The woman watched him until he disappeared, a few seconds longer, and +then she hurled herself through the water and stepped out upon the +shore. Her sweater, which the bear had dragged forward in its advance, +lay on top of the rest of her clothes covered with blood. She threw it +aside and with nervous, frantic energy, wet, cold, though she was, she +jerked on in some fashion enough clothes to cover her nakedness and then +with more leisurely order and with necessary care she got the rest of +her apparel in its accustomed place upon her body, and then when it was +all over she sank down prone and prostrate upon the grass by the carcass +of the now harmless monster which had so nearly caused her undoing, and +shivered, cried and sobbed as if her heart would break. + +She was chilled to the bone by her motionless sojourn, albeit it had +been for scarcely more than a minute, in that icy water, and yet the +blood rushed to her brow and face, to every hidden part of her in waves +as she thought of it. It was a good thing that she cried, she was not a +weeping woman, her tears came slowly as a rule and then came hard. She +rather prided herself upon her stoicism, but in this instance the great +deeps of her nature had been undermined and the fountains thereof were +fain to break forth. + +How long she lay there, warmth coming gradually to her under the direct +rays of the sun, she did not know, and it was a strange thing that +caused her to arise. It grew suddenly dark over her head. She looked up +and a rim of frightful, black, dense clouds had suddenly blotted out the +sun. The clouds were lined with gold and silver and the long rays shot +from behind the somber blind over the yet uncovered portions of the +heaven, but the clouds moved with the irresistible swiftness and +steadiness of a great deluge. The wall of them lowered above her head +while they extended steadily and rapidly across the sky toward the other +side of the canyon and the mountain wall. + +A storm was brewing such as she had never seen, such as she had no +experience to enable her to realize its malign possibilities. Nay, it +was now at hand. She had no clew, however, of what was toward, how +terrible a danger overshadowed her. Frightened but unconscious of all +the menace of the hour her thoughts flew down the canyon to the camp. She +must hasten there. She looked for her watch which she had picked from +the grass and which she had not yet put on; the grizzly had stepped upon +it, it was irretrievably ruined. She judged from her last glimpse of the +sun that it must now be early afternoon. She rose to her feet and +staggered with weakness, she had eaten nothing since morning, and the +nervous shock and strain through which she had gone had reduced her to a +pitiable condition. + +Her luncheon had fortunately escaped unharmed. In a big pocket of her +short skirt there was a small flask of whiskey, which her Uncle Robert +had required her to take with her. She felt sick and faint, but she knew +that she must eat if she was to make the journey, difficult as it might +prove, back to the camp. She forced herself to take the first mouthful +of bread and meat she had brought with her, but when she had tasted she +needed no further incentive, she ate to the last crumb; she thought this +was the time she needed stimulants too, and mingling the cold water from +the brook with a little of the ardent spirit from the flask she drank. +Some of the chill had worn off, some of the fatigue had gone. + +She rose to her feet and started down the canyon; her bloody sweater +still lay on the ground with other things of which she was heedless. It +had grown colder but she realized that the climb down the canyon would +put her stagnant blood in circulation and all would be well. + +Before she began the descent of the pass, she cast one long glance +backward whither the man had gone. Whence came he, who was he, what had +he seen, where was he now? She thanked God for his interference in one +breath and hated him for his presence in the other. + +The whole sky was now black with drifting clouds, lightning flashed +above her head, muttered peals of thunder, terrifically ominous, rocked +through the silent hills. The noise was low and subdued but almost +continuous. With a singular and uneasy feeling that she was being +observed, she started down the canyon, plunging desperately through the +trees, leaping the brook from side to side where it narrowed, seeking +ever the easiest way. She struggled on, panting with sudden inexplicable +terror almost as bad as that which had overwhelmed her an hour +before--and growing more intense every moment, to such a tragic pass had +the day and its happenings brought her. + +Poor girl, awful experience really was to be hers that day. The Fates +sported with her--bodily fear, outraged modesty, mental anguish and now +the terror of the storm. + +The clouds seemed to sink lower, until they almost closed about her. +Long gray ghostly arms reached out toward her. It grew darker and darker +in the depths of the canyon. She screamed aloud--in vain. + +Suddenly the rolling thunder peals concentrated, balls of fire leaped +out of the heavens and struck the mountains where she could actually see +them. There are not words to describe the tremendous crashings which +seemed to splinter the hills, to be succeeded by brief periods of +silence, to be followed by louder and more terrific detonations. + +In one of those appalling alternations from sound to silence she heard a +human cry--an answering cry to her own! It came from the hills behind +her. It must proceed, she thought, from the man. She could not meet that +man; although she craved human companionship as never before, she did +not want his. She could not bear it. Better the wrath of God, the fury +of the tempest. + +Heedless of the sharp note of warning, of appeal, in the voice ere it +was drowned by another roll of thunder, she plunged on in the darkness. +The canyon narrowed here, she made her way down the ledges, leaping +recklessly from rock to rock, slipping, falling, grazing now one side, +now the other, hurling herself forward with white face and bruised body +and torn hands and throbbing heart that would fain burst its bonds. +There was once an ancient legend of a human creature, menaced by all the +furies, pitilessly pursued by every malefic spirit of earth and air; +like him this sweet young girl, innocent, lovely, erstwhile happy, fled +before the storm. + +And then the heavens opened, the fountains of the great deeps were +broken down, and with absolute literalness the floods descended. The +bursting clouds, torn asunder by the wild winds, riven by the pent up +lightning within their black and turgid breasts, disburdened themselves. +The water came down, as it did of old when God washed the face of the +world, in a flood. The narrow of the canyon was filled ten, twenty, +thirty feet in a moment by the cloud burst. The black water rolled and +foamed, surging like the rapids at Niagara. + +The body of the girl, utterly unprepared, was caught up in a moment and +flung like a bolt from a catapult down the seething sea filled with the +trunks of the trees and the debris of the mountains, tossing almost +humanly in the wild confusion. She struck out strongly, swimming more +because of the instinct of life than for any other reason. A helpless +atom in the boiling flood. Growing every minute greater and greater as +the angry skies disgorged themselves of their pent up torrents upon her +devoted head. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +DEATH, LIFE AND THE RESURRECTION + + +The man was coming back from one of his rare visits to the settlements. +Ahead of him he drove a train of burros who, well broken to their work, +followed with docility the wise old leader in the advance. The burros +were laden with his supplies for the approaching winter. The season was +late, the mountains would soon be impassable on account of the snow, +indeed he chose the late season always for his buying in order that he +might not be followed and it was his habit to buy in different places in +different years that his repeated and expected presence at one spot +might not arouse suspicion. + +Intercourse with his fellow men was limited to this yearly visit to a +settlement and even that was of the briefest nature, confined always to +the business in hand. Even when busy in the town he pitched a small tent +in the open on the outskirts and dwelt apart. No men there in those days +pried into the business of other men too closely. Curiosity was neither +safe nor necessary. If he aroused transient interest or speculation it +soon died away. He vanished into the mountains and as he came no more to +that place, he was soon forgotten. + +Withdrawing from his fellow men and avoiding their society, this man was +never so satisfied as when alone in the silent hills. His heart and +spirit rose with every step he made away from the main traveled roads or +the more difficult mountain trails. + +For several days he journeyed through the mountains, choosing the +wildest and most inaccessible parts for his going. Amid the canyons and +peaks he threaded his way with unerring accuracy, ascending higher and +higher until at last he reached the mountain aerie, the lonely +hermitage, where he made his home. There he reveled in his isolation. +What had been punishment, expiation, had at last become pleasure. + +Civilization was bursting through the hills in every direction, railways +were being pushed hither and thither, the precious metals were being +discovered at various places and after them came hoards of men and with +them--God save the mark--women; but his section of the country had +hitherto been unvisited even by hunters, explorers, miners or pleasure +seekers. He was glad, he had grown to love the spot where he had made +his home, and he had no wish to be forced, like little Joe, to move on. + +Once a man who loved the strife, noble or ignoble, of the madding crowd, +he had grown accustomed to silence, habituated to solitude. Winter and +summer alike he roamed the mountains, delving into every forest, +exploring every hidden canyon, surmounting every inaccessible peak; no +storm, no snow, no condition of wind or weather daunted him or stopped +him. He had no human companionship by which to try his mettle, but +nevertheless over the world of the material which lay about him he was a +master as he was a man. + +He found some occupation, too, in the following of old Adam's +inheritance, during the pleasant months of summer he made such garden as +he could. His profession of mining engineer gave him other employment. +Round about him lay treasures inestimable, precious metals abounded in +the hills. He had located them, tested, analyzed, estimated the wealth +that was his for the taking--it was as valueless to him as the doubloons +and golden guineas were to Selkirk on his island. Yet the knowledge that +it was there gave him an energizing sense of potential power, +unconsciously enormously flattering to his self esteem. + +Sometimes he wandered to the extreme verge of the range and on clear +days saw far beneath him the smoke of great cities of the plains. He +could be a master among men as he was a master among mountains, if he +chose. On such occasions he laughed cynically, scornfully, yet rarely +did he ever give way to such emotion. + +A great and terrible sorrow was upon him; cherishing a great passion he +had withdrawn himself from the common lot to dwell upon it. From a +perverted sense of expiation, in a madness of grief, horror and despair, +he had made himself a prisoner to his ideas in the desert of the +mountains. Back to his cabin he would hasten, and there surrounded by +his living memories--deathless yet of the dead!--he would recreate the +past until dejection drove him abroad on the hills to meet God if not +man--or woman. Night-day, sunshine-shadow, heat-cold, storm-calm; these +were his life. + +Having disburdened his faithful animals of their packs and having seen +them safely bestowed for the winter in the corral he had built near the +base of the cliff upon which his rude home was situated, he took his +rifle one morning for one of those lonely walks across the mountains +from which he drew such comfort because he fancied the absence of man +conduced to the nearness of God. It was a delusion as old nearly as the +Christian religion. Many had made themselves hermits in the past in +remorse for sin and for love toward God; this man had buried himself in +the wilderness in part for the first of these causes, in other part for +the love of woman. In these days of swift and sudden change he had been +constant to a remembrance and abiding in his determination for five +swift moving years. The world for him had stopped its progress in one +brief moment five years back--the rest was silence. What had happened +since then out yonder where people were mated he did not know and he did +not greatly care. + +In his visits to the settlements he asked no questions, he bought no +papers, he manifested no interest in the world; something in him had +died in one fell moment, and there had been, as yet, no resurrection. +Yet life, and hope, and ambition do not die, they are indeed eternal. +_Resurgam!_ + +Life with its tremendous activities, its awful anxieties, its wearing +strains, its rare triumphs, its opportunities for achievement, for +service; hope with its illuminations, its encouragements, its +expectations; ambition with its stimulus, its force, its power; and +greatest of all love, itself alone--all three were latent in him. In +touch with a woman these had gone. Something as powerful and as human +must bring them back. + +It was against nature that a man dowered as he should so live to himself +alone. Some voice should cry to his soul in its cerements of futile +remorse, vain expiations and benumbing recollection; some day he should +burst these grave clothes self-wound about him and be once more a man +and a master among men, rather than the hermit and the recluse of the +solitudes. + +He did not allow these thoughts to come into his life, indeed it is +quite likely that he scarcely realized them at all yet; such +possibilities did not present themselves to him; perhaps the man was a +little mad that morning, maybe he trembled on the verge of a +break--upward, downward I know not so it be away--unconsciously as he +strode along the range. + +He had been walking for some hours, and as he grew thirsty it occurred +to him to descend to the level of the brook which he heard below him and +of which he sometimes caught a flashing glimpse through the trees. He +scrambled down the rocks and found himself in a thick grove of pine. +Making his way slowly and with great difficulty through the tangle of +fallen timber which lay in every direction, the sound of a human voice, +the last thing on earth to be expected in that wilderness, smote upon +the fearful hollow of his ear. + +Any voice or any word then and there would have surprised him, but there +was a note of awful terror in this voice, a sound of frightened appeal. +The desperation in the cry left him no moment for thought, the demand +was for action. The cry was not addressed to him, apparently, but to +God, yet it was he who answered--sent doubtless by that Over-looking +Power who works in such mysterious ways His wonders to perform! + +He leaped over the intervening trees to the edge of the forest where the +rapid waters ran. To the right of him rose a huge rock, or cliff, in +front of him the canyon bent sharply to the north, and beneath him a few +rods away a speck of white gleamed above the water of a deep and still +pool that he knew. + +_There was a woman there!_ + +He had time for but the swiftest glance, he had surmised that the voice +was not that of a man's voice instantly he heard it, and now he was +sure. She stood white breast deep in the water staring ahead of her. The +next instant he saw what had alarmed her--a Grizzly Bear, the largest, +fiercest, most forbidding specimen he had ever seen. There were a few of +those monsters still left in the range, he himself had killed several. + +The woman had not seen him. He was a silent man by long habit; +accustomed to saying nothing, he said nothing now. But instantly aiming +from the hip with a wondrous skill and a perfect mastery of the weapon, +and indeed it was a short range for so huge a target, he pumped bullet +after bullet from his heavy Winchester into the evil monarch of the +mountains. The first shot did for him, but making assurance doubly and +trebly sure, he fired again and again. Satisfied at last that the bear +was dead, and observing that he had fallen upon the clothes of the +bather, he turned, descended the stream for a few yards until he came to +a place where it was easily fordable, stepped through it without a +glance toward the woman shivering in the water, whose sensation, so far +as a mere man could, he thoroughly understood and appreciated, and whose +modesty he fain would spare, having not forgotten to be a gentleman in +five years of his own society--high test of quality, that. + +He climbed out upon the bank, up-rooted a small tree, rolled the bear +clear of the heap of woman's clothing and marched straight ahead of him +up the canyon and around the bend. + +Thereafter, being a man, he did not faint or fall, but completely +unnerved he leaned against the canyon wall, dropped his gun at his feet +and stood there trembling mightily, sweat bedewing his forehead, and the +sweat had not come from his exertions. In one moment the whole even +tenor of his life was changed. The one glimpse he had got of those white +shoulders, that pallid face, that golden head raised from the water had +swept him back five years. He had seen once more in the solitude a +woman. + +Other women he had seen at a distance and avoided in his yearly visits +to the settlements of course; these had passed him by remotely, but here +he was brought in touch intimately with humanity. He who had taken life +had saved it. A woman had sent him forth, was a woman to call him back? + +He cursed himself for his weakness. He shut his eyes and summoned other +memories. How long he stood there he could not have told; he was +fighting a battle and it seemed to him at last that he triumphed. +Presently the consciousness came to him that perhaps he had no right to +stand there idle, it might be that the woman needed him, perhaps she had +fainted in the water, perhaps--He turned toward the bend which concealed +him from her and then he stopped. Had he any right to intrude upon her +privacy? He must of necessity be an unwelcome visitor to her, he had +surprised her at a frightful disadvantage; he knew instinctively, +although the fault was none of his, although he had saved her life +thereby, that she would hold him and him alone responsible for the +outrage to her modesty, and although he had seen little at first glance +and had resolutely kept his eyes away, the mere consciousness of her +absolute helplessness appealed to him--to what was best and noblest in +him, too. He must go to her. Stay, she might not yet be clothed, in +which event--But no, she must be dressed, or dead, by this time and in +either case he would have a duty to discharge. + +It devolved upon him to make sure of her safety, he was in a certain +sense responsible for it, until she got back to her friends wherever +they might be; but he persuaded himself that otherwise he did not want +to see her again, that he did not wish to know anything about her +future; that he did not care whether it was well or ill with her; and it +was only stern obligation which drove him toward her--oh fond and +foolish man! + +He compromised with himself at last by climbing the ridge that had shut +off a view of the pool, and looking down at the place so memorable to +him. He was prepared to withdraw instantly should circumstances warrant, +and he was careful so to conceal himself as to give no possible +opportunity for her to discover his scrutiny. + +With a beating heart and eager eyes he searched the spot. There lay the +bear and a little distance away prone on the grass, clothed but whether +in her right mind or not he could not tell, lay the woman. For a moment, +as he bent a concentrated eager gaze upon her, he thought she might have +fainted or that she might have died. In any event he reflected that she +had strength and nerve and will to have dressed herself before either of +these things had happened. She lay motionless under his gaze for so long +that he finally made up his mind that common humanity required him to go +to her assistance. + +He rose to his feet on the instant and saw the woman also lift herself +from the grass as if moved by a similar impulse. In his intense +preoccupation he had failed to observe the signs of the times. A sense +of the overcast sky came to him suddenly, as it did to her, but with a +difference. He knew what was about to happen, his experience told him +much more as to the awful potentialities of the tempest than she could +possibly imagine. She must be warned at once, she must leave the canyon +and get up on the higher ground without delay. His duty was plain and +yet he did it not. He could not. The pressure upon him was not yet +strong enough. + +A half dozen times as he watched her deliberately sitting there eating, +he opened his mouth to cry to her, yet he could not bring himself to +it. A strange timidity oppressed him, halted him, held him back. A man +cannot stay away five years from men and woman and be himself with them +in the twinkling of an eye. And when to that instinctive and acquired +reluctance against which he struggled in vain, he added the assurance +that whatever his message he would be unwelcome on account of what had +gone before, he could not force himself to go to her or even to call to +her, not yet. He would keep her under surveillance, however, and if the +worst came he could intervene in time to rescue her. He counted without +his cost, his usual judgment bewildered. So he followed her through the +trees and down the bank. + +Now he was so engrossed in her and so agitated that his caution slept, +his experience was forgotten. The storm in his own breast was so great +that it overshadowed the storm brewing above. Her way was easier than +his and he had fallen some distance behind when suddenly there rushed +upon him the fact that a frightful and unlooked for cloudburst was about +to occur above their heads. A lightning flash and a thunder clap at last +arrested his attention. Then, but not until then, he flung everything to +the winds and amid the sudden and almost continuous peals of thunder he +sent cry after cry toward her which were lost in the tremendous +diapason of sound that echoed and re-echoed through the rifts of the +mountains. + +"Wait," he cried again and again. "Come up higher. Get out of the canyon. +You'll be drowned." + +But he had waited too long, the storm had developed too rapidly, she was +too far ahead of and beneath him. She heard nothing but the sound of a +voice, shrill, menacing, fraught with terror for her, not a word +distinguishable; scarcely to her disturbed soul even a human voice, it +seemed like the weird cry of some wild spirit of the storm. It sounded +to her overwrought nerves so utterly inhuman that she only ran the +faster. + +The canyon swerved and then doubled back, but he knew its direction; +losing sight of her for the moment he plunged straight ahead through the +trees, cutting off the bend, leaping with superhuman agility and +strength over rocks and logs until he reached a point where the rift +narrowed between two walls and ran deeply. There and then the heavens +opened and the floods came and beat into that open maw of that vast +crevasse and filled it full in an instant. + +As the deluge came roaring down, bearing onward the sweepings and +scourings of the mountains, he caught a glimpse of her white desperate +face rising, falling, now disappearing, now coming into view again, in +the foamy midst of the torrent. He ran to the cliff bank and throwing +aside his gun he scrambled down the wall to a certain shelf of the rock +over which the rising water broke thinly. Ordinarily it was twenty feet +above the creek bed. Bracing himself against a jagged projection he +waited, praying. The canyon was here so narrow that he could have leaped +to the other side and yet it was too wide for him to reach her if the +water did not sweep her toward his feet. It was all done in a +second--fortunately a projection on the other side threw the force of +the torrent toward him and with it came the woman. + +She was almost spent; she had been struck by a log upheaved by some +mighty wave, her hands were moving feebly, her eyes were closed, she was +drowning, dying, but indomitably battling on. He stooped down and as a +surge lifted her he threw his arm around her waist and then braced +himself against the rock to sustain the full thrust of the mighty flood. +As he seized her she gave way suddenly, as if after having done all that +she could there was now nothing left but to trust herself to his hand +and God's. She hung a dead weight on his arm in the ravening water +which dragged and tore at her madly. + +He was a man of giant strength, but the struggle bade fair to be too +much even for him. It seemed as if the mountain behind him was giving +way. He set his teeth, he tried desperately to hold on, he thrust out +his right hand, holding her with the other one, and clawed at the +dripping rock in vain. In a moment the torrent mastered him and when it +did so it seized him with fury and threw him like a stone from a sling +into the seething vortex of the mid-stream. But in all this he did not, +he would not, release her. + +Such was the swiftness of the motion with which they were swept downward +that he had little need to swim; his only effort was to keep his head +above water and to keep from being dashed against the logs that tumbled +end over end, or whirled sideways, or were jammed into clusters only to +burst out on every hand. He struggled furiously to keep himself from +being overwhelmed in the seething madness, and what was harder, to keep +the lifeless woman in his arms from being stricken or wrenched away. He +knew that below the narrows where the canyon widened the water would +subside, the awful fury of the rain would presently cease. If he could +steer clear of the rocks in the broad he might win to land with her. + +The chances against him were thousands to nothing. But what are chances +in the eyes of God. The man in his solitude had not forgotten to pray, +his habits stood him in good stead now. He petitioned shortly, brokenly, +in brief unspoken words, as he battled through the long dragging +seconds. + +Fighting, clinging, struggling, praying, he was swept on. Heavier and +heavier the woman dragged in an unconscious heap. It would have been +easier for him if he had let her go; she would never know and he could +then escape. The idea never once occurred to him. He had indeed +withdrawn from his kind, but when one depended upon him all the old +appeal of weak humanity awoke quick response in the bosom of the strong. +He would die with the stranger rather than yield her to the torrent or +admit himself beaten and give up the fight. So the conscious and the +unconscious struggled through the narrow of the canyon. + +Presently with the rush and hurl of a bullet from the mouth of a gun, +they found themselves in a shallow lake through which the waters still +rushed mightily, breaking over rocks, digging away shallow rooted trees, +leaping, biting, snarling, tearing at the big walls spread away on +either side. He had husbanded some of his strength for this final +effort, this last chance of escape. Below them at the other end of this +open the walls came together again; there the descent was sharper than +before and the water ran to the opening with racing speed. Once again in +the torrent and they would be swept to death in spite of all. + +Shifting his grasp to the woman's hair, now unbound, he held her with +one hand and swam hard with the other. The current still ran swiftly, +but with no gigantic upheaving waves as before. It was more easy to +avoid floating timber and debris, and on one side where the ground +sloped somewhat gently the quick water flowed more slowly. He struck out +desperately for it, forcing himself away from the main stream into the +shallows and ever dragging the woman. Was it hours or minutes or seconds +after that he gained the battle and neared the shore at the lowest edge? + +He caught with his forearm, as the torrent swerved him around, a stout +young pine so deeply rooted as yet to have withstood the flood. +Summoning that last reserve of strength that is bestowed upon us in our +hour of need, and comes unless from God we know not whence, he drew +himself in front of the pine, got his back against it, and although the +water thundered against him still--only by comparison could it be called +quieter--and his foothold was most precarious, he reached down carefully +and grasped the woman under the shoulders. His position was a cramped +one, but by the power of his arms alone he lifted her up until he got +his left arm about her waist again. It was a mighty feat of strength +indeed. + +The pine stood in the midst of the water, for even on the farther side +the earth was overflowed but the water was stiller; he did not know what +might be there, but he had to chance it. Lifting her up he stepped out, +fortunately meeting firm ground; a few paces and he reached solid rock +above the flood. He raised her above his head and laid her upon the +shore, then with the very last atom of all his force, physical, mental +and spiritual, he drew himself up and fell panting and utterly exhausted +but triumphant by her side. + +The cloud burst was over, but the rain still beat down upon them, the +thunder still roared above them, the lightning still flashed about them, +but they were safe, alive if the woman had not died in his arms. He had +done a thing superhuman--no man knowing conditions would have believed +it. He himself would have declared a thousand times its patent +impossibility. + +For a few seconds he strove to recover himself; then he thought of the +flask he always carried in his pocket. It was gone; his clothes were +ragged and torn, they had been ruined by his battle with the waves. The +girl lay where he had placed her on her back. In the pocket of her +hunting skirt he noticed a little protuberance; the pocket was provided +with a flap and tightly buttoned. Without hesitation he unbuttoned it. +There was a flask there, a little silver mounted affair; by some miracle +it had not been broken. It was half full. With nervous hands he opened +it and poured some of its contents down her throat; then he bent over +her his soul in his glance, scarcely knowing what to do next. Presently +she opened her eyes. + +And there, in the rain, by that raging torrent whence he had drawn her +as it were from the jaws of death by the power of his arm, in the +presence of the God above them, this man and this woman looked at each +other and life for both of them was no longer the same. + + + + +BOOK III + +FORGETTING AND FORGOT + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A WILD DASH FOR THE HILLS + + +Old Kirkby, who had been lazily mending a saddle the greater part of the +morning, had eaten his dinner, smoked his pipe and was now stretched out +on the grass in the warm sun taking a nap. Mrs. Maitland was drowsing +over a book in the shadow of one of the big pines, when Pete, the horse +wrangler, who had been wandering rather far down the canyon rounding up +the ever straying stock, suddenly came bursting into the camp. + +"Heavens!" he cried, actually kicking the prostrate frontiersman as he +almost stumbled over him. "Wake up, old man, an'--" + +"What the--" began Kirkby fiercely, thus rudely aroused from slumber and +resentful of the daring and most unusual affront to his dignity and +station, since all men, and especially the younger ones, held him in +great honor. + +"Look there!" yelled Pete in growing excitement and entirely oblivious +to his _lese-majeste_, pointing at a black cloud rolling over the top of +the range. "It'll be a cloud burst sure, we'll have to git out o' here +an' in a hurry too. Oh, Mrs. Maitland." + +By this time Kirkby was on his feet. The storm had stolen upon him +sleeping and unaware, the configuration of the canyon having completely +hid its approach. At best the three in the camp could not have +discovered it until it was high in the heavens. Now the clouds were +already approaching the noonday sun. Kirkby was alive to the situation +at once; he had the rare ability of men of action, of awakening with all +his faculties at instant command; he did not have to rub his eyes and +wonder where he was, and speculate as to what was to be done. The moment +that his eyes, following Pete's outstretched arm, discovered the black +mass of clouds, he ran toward Mrs. Maitland, and standing on no ceremony +he shook her vigorously by the shoulder. + +"We'll have to run for our lives, ma'm," he said briefly. "Pete, drive +the stock up on the hills, fur as you kin, the hosses pertikler, they'll +be more to us an' them burros must take keer of themselves." + +Pete needed no urging, he was off like a shot in the direction of the +improvised corral. He loosed the horses from their pickets and started +them up the steep trail that led down from the hogback to the camp by +the water's edge. He also tried to start the burros he had just rounded +up in the same direction. Some of them would go and some of them would +not. He had his hands full in an instant. Meanwhile Kirkby did not +linger by the side of Mrs. Maitland; with incredible agility for so old +a man he ran over to the tent where the stores were kept and began +picking out such articles of provision as he could easiest carry. + +"Come over here, Mrs. Maitland," he cried. "We'll have to carry up on +the hill somethin' to keep us from starvin' till we git back to town. We +hadn't orter camped in this yere pocket noways, but who'd ever expected +anything like this now." + +"What do you fear?" asked the woman, joining him as she spoke and +waiting for his directions. + +"Looks to me like a cloud bust," was the answer. "Creek's pretty full +now, an' if she does break everything below yere'll go to hell on a +run." + +It was evidence of his perturbation and anxiety that he used such +language which, however, in the emergency did not seem unwarranted even +to the refined ear of Mrs. Maitland. + +"Is it possible?" she exclaimed. + +"Taint only possible, it's sartin. Now ma'm," he hastily bundled up a +lot of miscellaneous provisions in a small piece of canvas, tied it up +and handed it to her, "that'll be for you." Immediately after he made up +a much larger bundle in another tent fly, adding, "an' this is mine." + +"Oh, let us hurry," cried Mrs. Maitland, as a peal of thunder, low, +muttered, menacing, burst from the flying clouds now obscuring the sun, +and rolled over the camp. + +"We've got time enough yit," answered Kirkby coolly calculating their +chances. "Best git your slicker on, you'll need it in a few minutes." + +Mrs. Maitland ran to her own tent and soon came out with sou'wester and +yellow oil skins completely covering her. Kirkby meantime had donned his +own old battered soiled rain clothes and had grabbed up Pete's. + +"I brought the children's coats along," said Mrs. Maitland, extending +three others. + +"Good," said Kirkby, "now we'll take our packs an'--" + +"Do you think there is any danger to Robert?" + +"He'll git nothin' worse'n a wettin'," returned the old man confidently. +"If we'd pitched the tents up on the hogback, that's all we'd a been in +for." + +"I have to leave the tents and all the things," said Mrs. Maitland. + +"You can stay with them," answered Kirkby, dryly, "but if what I think's +goin' to happen comes off, you won't have no need of nothin' no +more--Here she comes." + +As he spoke there was a sudden swift downpour of rain, not in drops, but +in a torrent. Catching up his own pack and motioning the woman to do +likewise with her load, Kirkby caught her by the hand, and half led, +half dragged her up the steep trail from the brook to the ridge which +bordered the side of the canyon. The canyon was much wider here than +further up and there was much more room and much more space for the +water to spread. Yet, they had to hurry for their lives as it was. They +had gone up scarcely a hundred feet when the disgorgement of the heavens +took place. The water fell with such force, directness and +continuousness that it almost beat them down. It ran over the trail down +the side of the mountain in sheets like waterfalls. It required all the +old man's skill and address to keep himself and his companion from +losing their footing and falling down into the seething tumult below. + +The tents went down in an instant. Where there had been a pleasant bit +of meadow land was now a muddy tossing lake of black water. Some of the +horses and most of the burros which Pete had been unable to do anything +with were engulfed in a moment. The two on the mountain side could see +them swimming for dear life as they swept down the canyon. Pete himself, +with a few of the animals, was already scrambling up to safety. + +Speech was impossible between the noise of the falling rain and the +incessant peals of thunder, but by persistent gesture old Kirkby urged +the terrified trembling woman up the trail until they finally reached +the top of the hogback, where under the poor shelter of the stunted +pines they joined Pete with such of the horses as he had been able to +drive up. Kirkby taking a thought for the morrow, noted that there were +four of them, enough to pull the wagon if they could get back to it. + +After the first awful deluge of the cloud burst it moderated slightly, +but the hard rain came down steadily, the wind rose as well and in spite +of their oil skins they were soon wet and cold. It was impossible to +make a fire, there was no place for them to go, nothing to be done, they +could only remain where they were and wait. After a half hour of +exposure to the merciless fury of the storm, a thought came suddenly to +Mrs. Maitland; she leaned over and caught the frontiersman by his wet +sleeve. Seeing that she wished to speak to him he bent his head toward +her lips. + +"Enid," she cried, pointing down the canyon; she had not thought before +of the position of the girl. + +Kirkby, who had not forgotten her, but who had instantly realized that +he could do nothing for her, shook his head, lifted his eyes and +solemnly pointed his finger up to the gray skies. He had said nothing to +Mrs. Maitland before, what was the use of troubling her. + +"God only kin help her," he cried; "she's beyond the help of man." + +Ah, indeed, old trapper, whence came the confident assurance of that +dogmatic statement? For as it chanced at that very moment the woman for +whose peril your heart was wrung was being lifted out of the torrent by +a man's hand! And, yet, who shall say that the old hunter was not right, +and that the man himself, as men of old have been, was sent from God? + +"It can't be," began Mrs. Maitland in great anguish for the girl she had +grown to love. + +"Ef she seed the storm an' realized what it was, an' had sense enough +to climb up the canyon wall," answered the other, "she won't be no worse +off 'n we are; ef not--" + +Mrs. Maitland had only to look down into the seething caldron to +understand the possibility of that "if." + +"Oh," she cried, "let us pray for her that she sought the hills." + +"I've been a doin' it," said the old man gruffly. + +He had a deep vein of piety in him, but like other rich ores it had to +be mined for in the depths before it was apparent. + +By slow degrees the water subsided, and after a long while the rain +ceased, a heavy mist lay on the mountains and the night approached +without any further appearance of the veiled sun. Toward evening Robert +Maitland with the three men and the three children joined the wretched +trio above the camp. Maitland, wild with excitement and apprehension, +had pressed on ahead of the rest. It was a glad faced man indeed who ran +the last few steps of the rough way and clasped his wife in his arms, +but as he did so he noticed that one was missing. + +"Where is Enid?" he cried, releasing his wife. + +"She went down the canyon early this mornin' intendin' to stay all day," +slowly and reluctantly answered old Kirkby, "an'--" + +He paused there, it wasn't necessary for him to say anything more. + +Maitland walked to the edge of the trail and looked down into the +valley. It had been swept clean of the camp. Rocks had been rolled over +upon the meadow land, trunks of trees torn up by the roots had lodged +against them, it was a scene of desolate and miserable confusion and +disaster. + +"Oh, Robert, don't you think she may be safe?" asked Mrs. Maitland. + +"There's jest a chance, I think, that she may have suspicioned the storm +an' got out of the canyon," suggested the old frontiersman. + +"A slim chance," answered Maitland gloomily. "I wouldn't have had this +happen for anything on earth." + +"Nor me; I'd a heap ruther it had got me than her," said Kirkby simply. + +"I didn't see it coming," continued Maitland nodding as if Kirkby's +statement were to be accepted as a matter of course, as indeed it was. +"We were on the other slope of the mountain, until it was almost over +head." + +"Nuther did I. To tell the truth I was lyin' down nappin' w'en Pete, +yere, who'd been down the canyon rounding up some of the critters, came +bustin' in on us." + +"I ain't saved but four hosses," said Pete mournfully, "and there's only +one burro on the hogback." + +"We came back as fast as we could," said Maitland. "I pushed on ahead. +George, Bradshaw and Phillips are bringing Bob and the girls. We must +search the canyon." + +"It can't be done to-night, old man," said Kirkby. + +"I tell you we can't wait, Jack!" + +"We've got to. I'm as willin' to lay down my life for that young gal as +anybody on earth, but in this yere mist an' as black a night as it's +goin' to be, we couldn't go ten rod without killin' ourselves an' we +couldn't see nothin' noways." + +"But she may be in the canyon." + +"If she's in the canyon 'twon't make no difference to her w'ether we +finds her to-morrer or next day or next year, Bob." + +Maitland groaned in anguish. + +"I can't stay here inactive," he persisted stubbornly. + +"It's a hard thing, but we got to wait till mornin'. Ef she got out of +the canyon and climbed up on the hogback she'll be all right; she'll soon +find out she can't make no progress in this mist and darkness. No, old +friend, we're up agin it hard; we jest got to stay the night w'ere we +are an' as long as we got to wait we might as well make ourselves as +comfortable as possible. For the wimmen an' children anyway. I fetched +up some ham and some canned goods and other eatin's in these yere canvas +sacks, we might kindle a fire--" + +"It's hardly possible," said Maitland, "we shall have to eat it cold." + +"Oh, Robert," pleaded his wife, "isn't it possible that she may have +escaped?" + +"Possible, yes, but--" + +"We won't give up hope, ma'am," said Kirkby, "until to-morrer w'en we've +had a look at the canyon." + +By this time the others joined the party. Phillips and Bradshaw showed +the stuff that was in them; they immediately volunteered to go down the +canyon at once, knowing little or nothing of its dangers and indifferent +to what they did know, but as Kirkby had pointed out the attempt was +clearly impossible. Maitland bitterly reproached himself for having +allowed the girl to go alone, and in those self reproaches old Kirkby +joined. + +They were too wet and cold to sleep, there was no shelter and it was not +until early in the morning they succeeded in kindling a fire. Meanwhile +the men talked the situation over very carefully. They were two days' +journey from the wagons. It was necessary that the woman and children +should be taken back at once. Kirkby hadn't been able to save much more +than enough to eat to get them back to a ranch or settlement, and on +very short rations at best. It was finally decided that George and Pete +with Mrs. Maitland, the two girls and the youngster should go back to +the wagon, drive to the nearest settlement, leave the women and then +return on horseback with all speed to meet Maitland and Kirkby who would +meanwhile search the canyon. + +The two men from the east had to go back with the others although they +pleaded gallantly to be allowed to remain with the two who were to take +up the hunt for Enid. Maitland might have kept them with him, but that +meant retaining a larger portion of the scanty supplies that had been +saved, and he was compelled against his will to refuse their requests. +Leaving barely enough to subsist Maitland and Kirkby for three or four +days, or until the return of the relief party, the groups separated at +daybreak. + +"Oh, Robert," pleaded his wife, as he kissed her good-by, "take care of +yourself, but find Enid." + +"Yes," answered her husband, "I shall, never fear, but I must find the +dear girl or discover what has become of her." + +There was not time for further leave taking. A few hand clasps from man +to man and then Robert Maitland standing in the midst of the group bowed +his head in the sunny morning, for the sky again was clear, and poured +out a brief prayer that God would prosper them, that they would find the +child and that they would all be together again in health and happiness. +And without another word, he and Kirkby plunged down the side of the +canyon, the others taking up their weary march homeward with sad hearts +and in great dismay. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A TELEGRAM AND A CALLER + + +"You say," asked Maitland, as they surveyed the canyon, "that she went +down the stream?" + +"She said she was goin' down. I showed her how to cut across the +mountains an' avoid the big bend, I've got no reason to suspicion that +she didn't go w'ere she said." + +"Nevertheless," said Maitland, "it is barely possible that she may have +changed her mind and gone up the canyon." + +"Yep, the female mind does often change unexpected like," returned the +other, "but w'ether she went up or down, the only place for us to look, +I take it, is down, for if she's alive, if she got out of the canyon and +is above us, nacherly she'd follow it down yere an' we'd a seed her by +this time. If she didn't git out of the canyon, why, all that's left of +her is bound to be down stream." + +Maitland nodded, he understood. + +"We'd better go down then," continued Kirkby, whose reasoning was +flawless except that it made no allowance for the human-divine +interposition that had been Enid Maitland's salvation. "An' if we don't +find no traces of her down stream, we kin come back here an' go up." + +It was a hard desperate journey the two men took. One of them followed +the stream at its level, the other tramped along in the mountains high +above the high water mark of the day before. If they had needed any +evidence of the power of that cloud burst and storm, they found it in +the canyon. In some places where it was narrow and rocky, the pass had +been fearfully scoured; at other places the whole aspect of it was +changed. The place was a welter of up-rooted trees, logs jammed together +in fantastic shapes; it was as if some wanton besom of destruction had +swept the narrow rift. + +Ever as they went they called and called. The broken obstructions of the +way made their progress slow; what they would have passed over +ordinarily in half a day, they had not traversed by nightfall and they +had seen nothing. They camped that night far down the canyon and in the +morning with hearts growing heavier every hour they resumed their +search. + +About noon of the second day they came to an immense log jam where the +stream now broadened and made a sudden turn before it plunged over a +fall of perhaps two hundred feet into the lake. It was the end of their +quest. If they did not find her there, they would never find her +anywhere, they thought. With still hearts and bated breath they climbed +out over the log jam and scrutinized it. A brownish gray patch concealed +beneath the great pines caught their eyes. They made their way to it. + +"It's a b'ar, a big grizzly," exclaimed Kirkby. + +The huge brute was battered out of all semblance of life, but that it +was a grizzly bear was clearly evident. Further on the two men caught +sight suddenly of a dash of blue. Kirkby stepped over to it, lifted it +in his hand and silently extended it to Maitland. It was a sweater, a +woman's sweater. They recognized it at once. The old man shook his head. +Maitland groaned aloud. + +"See yere," said Kirkby, pointing to the ragged and torn garment where +evidences of discoloration still remained, "looks like there'd bin blood +on it." + +"Heavens!" cried Maitland, "not that bear, I'd rather anything than +that." + +"W'atever it is, she's gone," said the old man with solemn finality. + +"Her body may be in these logs here--" + +"Or in the lake," answered Kirkby gloomily; "but w'erever she is we +can't git to her now." + +"We must come back with dynamite to break up this jam and--" + +"Yep," nodded the old man, "we'll do all that, of course, but now, arter +we search this jam o' logs I guess there's nothin' to do but go back, +an' the quicker we git back to the settlement, the quicker we can git +back here. I think we kin strike acrost the mountains an' save a day an' +a half. There's no need of us goin' back up the canyon now, I take it." + +"No," answered the other. "The quicker the better, as you say, and we +can head off George and the others that way." + +They searched the pile eagerly, prying under it, peering into it, +upsetting it, so far as they could with their naked hands, but with +little result, for they found nothing else. They had to camp another day +and next morning they hurried straight over the mountains, reaching the +settlement almost as soon as the others. Maitland with furious energy at +once organized a relief party. They hurried back to the logs, tore the +jam to pieces, searched it carefully and found nothing. To drag the lake +was impossible; it was hundreds of feet deep and while they worked it +froze. The weather had changed some days before, heavy snows had already +fallen, they had to get out of the mountains without further delay or +else be frozen up to die. Then and not till then did Maitland give up +hope. He had refrained from wiring to Philadelphia, but when he reached +a telegraph line some ten days after the cloud burst, he sent a long +message east, breaking to his brother the awful tidings. + +And in all that they did he and Kirkby, two of the shrewdest and most +experienced of men, showed with singular exactitude how easy it is for +the wisest and most capable of men to make mistakes, to leave the plain +trail, to fail to deduce the truth from the facts presented. Yet it is +difficult to point to a fault in their reasoning, or to find anything +left undone in the search. + +Enid had started down the canyon, near the end of it they had discovered +one of her garments which they could not conceive any reason for her +taking off. It was near the battered body of one of the biggest +grizzlies that either man had ever seen, it held evidence of blood +stains upon it still, they had found no body, but they were as +profoundly sure that the mangled remains of the poor girl lay within the +depths of that mountain lake as if they had actually seen her there. The +logic was all flawless. + +It so happened that on that November morning, when the telegram was +approaching him, Mr. Stephen Maitland had a caller. He came at an +unusually early hour. Mr. Stephen Maitland, who was no longer an early +riser, had indeed just finished his breakfast when the card of Mr. James +Armstrong of Colorado was handed to him. + +"This, I suppose," he thought testily, "is one of the results of Enid's +wanderings into that God-forsaken land. Did you ask the man his +business, James?" he said aloud to the footman. + +"Yes, sir; he said he wanted to see you on important business, and when +I made bold to ask him what business, he said it was none of mine, and +for me to take the message to you, sir." + +"Impudent," growled Mr. Maitland. + +"Yes, sir; but he is the kind of a gentleman you don't talk back to, +sir." + +"Well, you go back and tell him that you have given me his card, and I +should like to know what he wishes to see me about, that I am very busy +this morning and unless it is a matter of importance--you understand?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I suppose now I shall have the whole west unloaded upon me; every +vagabond friend of Robert's and people who meet Enid," he thought, but +his reveries were shortly interrupted by the return of the man. + +"If you please, sir," began James hesitatingly, as he re-entered the +room, "he says his business is about the young lady, sir." + +"Confound his impudence!" exclaimed Mr. Maitland, more and more annoyed +at what he was pleased to characterize mentally as western assurance. +"Where is he?" + +"In the hall, sir." + +"Show him into the library and say I shall be down in a moment." + +"Very good, sir." + +It was a decidedly wrathful individual who confronted Stephen Maitland a +few moments afterwards in the library, for Armstrong was not accustomed +to such cavalier treatment, and had Maitland been other than Enid's +father he would have given more outward expression of his indignation +over the discourtesy in his reception. + +"Mr. James Armstrong, I believe," began Mr. Maitland, looking at the +card in his hand. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Er--from Colorado?" + +"And proud of it." + +"Ah, I dare say. I believe you wished to see me about--" + +"Your daughter, sir." + +"And in what way are you concerned about her, sir?" + +"I wish to make her my wife." + +"What!" exclaimed the older man in a voice equally divided between +horror and astonishment. "How dare you, sir? You amaze, me beyond +measure with your infernal impudence." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Maitland," interposed Armstrong quickly and with great +spirit and determination, "but where I come from we don't allow anybody +to talk to us in this way. You are Enid's father and a much older man +than I, but I can't permit you to--" + +"Sir," said the astounded Maitland, drawing himself up at this bold +flouting, "you may be a very worthy young man, I have no doubt of it, +but it is out of the question. My daughter--" + +Again a less excited hearer might have noticed the emphasis on the +pronoun. + +"Why, she is half way engaged to me now," interrupted the younger man +with a certain contemptuous amusement in his voice. "Look here, Mr. +Maitland, I've knocked around the world a good deal, I know what's what, +I know all about you Eastern people, and I don't fancy you any more than +you fancy me. Miss Enid is quite unspoiled yet and that is why I want +her. I'm well able to take care of her too; I don't know what you've got +or how you got it, but I can come near laying down dollar for dollar +with you and mine's all clean money, mines, cattle, lumber, and it's +all good money. I made it myself. I left her in the mountains three +weeks ago with her promise that she would think very seriously of my +suit. After I came back to Denver--I was called east--I made up my mind +that I'd come here when I'd finished my business and have it out with +you. Now you can treat me like a dog if you want to, but if you expect +to keep peace in the family you'd better not, for I tell you plainly +whether you give your consent or not I mean to win her. All I want is +her consent, and I've pretty nearly got that." + +Mr. Stephen Maitland was black with wrath at this clear, unequivocal, +determined statement of the case from Armstrong's point of view. + +"I would rather see her dead," he exclaimed with angry stubbornness, +"than married to a man like you. How dare you force yourself into my +house and insult me in this way? Were I not so old a man I would show +you, I would give you a taste of your own manner." + +The old man's white mustache fairly quivered with what he believed to be +righteous indignation. He stepped over to the other and looked hard at +him, his eyes blazing, his ruddy cheeks redder than ever. The two men +confronted each other unblenchingly for a moment, then Mr. Maitland +touched a bell button in the wall by his side. Instantly the footman +made his appearance. + +"James," said the old man, his voice shaking and his knees trembling +with passion, which he did not quite succeed in controlling despite a +desperate effort, "show this--er--gentleman the door. Good morning, sir, +our first and last interview is over." + +He bowed with ceremonious politeness as he spoke, becoming more and more +composed as he felt himself mastering the situation. And Armstrong, to +do him justice, knew a gentleman when he saw him, and secretly admired +the older man and began to feel a touch of shame at his own rude way of +putting things. + +"Beg pardon, sir," said the footman, breaking the awkward silence, "but +here is a telegram that has just come, sir." + +There was nothing for Armstrong to do or say. Indeed, having expressed +himself so unrestrainedly to his rapidly increasing regret, as the old +man took the telegram he turned away in considerable discomfiture, James +bowing before him at the door opening into the hall and following him as +he slowly passed out. Mr. Stephen Maitland mechanically and with great +deliberation and with no premonition of evil tidings, tore open the +yellow envelope and glanced at the dispatch. Neither the visitor nor +the footman had got out of sight or hearing when they heard the old man +groan and fall back helplessly into a chair. Both men turned and ran +back to the door, for there was that in the exclamation which gave rise +to instant apprehension. Stephen Maitland now as white as death sat +collapsed in the chair gasping for breath, his hand on his heart. The +telegram lay open on the floor. Armstrong recognized the seriousness of +the situation, and in three steps was by the other's side. + +"What is it?" he asked eagerly, his hatred and resentment vanished at +the sight of the old man's ghastly, stricken countenance. + +"Enid!" gasped her father. "I said I would rather see her--dead, but--it +is not true--I--" + +James Armstrong was a man of prompt decision. Without a moment's +hesitation he picked up the telegram; it was full and explicit, thus it +read: + + "We were encamped last week in the mountains. Enid went down the + canyon for a day's fishing alone. A sudden cloud burst filled the + canyon, washed away the camp. Enid undoubtedly got caught in the + torrent and was drowned. We have found some of her clothing but not + her body. Have searched every foot of the canyon. Think body has got + into the lake now frozen. Snow falling, mountains impassable, will + search for her in the spring when the winter breaks. I am following + this telegram in person by first train. Would rather have died a + thousand deaths than had this happen. God help us." + + "ROBERT MAITLAND." + +Armstrong read it, stared at it a moment frowning heavily, passed it +over to the footman and turned to the stricken father. + +"Old man, I loved her," he said simply. "I love her still, I believe +that she loves me. They haven't found her body, clothes mean nothing, +I'll find her, I'll search the mountains until I do. Don't give way, +something tells me that she's alive, and I'll find her." + +"If you do," said the broken old man, crushed by the swift and awful +response to his thoughtless exclamation, "and she loves you, you shall +have her for your wife." + +"It doesn't need that to make me find her," answered Armstrong grimly. +"She is a woman, lost in the mountains in the winter, alone. They +shouldn't have given up the search; I'll find her as there is a God +above me whether she's for me or not." + +A good deal of a man this James Armstrong of Colorado, in spite of many +things in his past of which he thought so little that he lacked the +grace to be ashamed of them. Stephen Maitland looked at him with a +certain respect and a growing hope, as he stood there in the library +stern, resolute, strong. + +Perhaps-- + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY" + + +Recognition--or some other more potent instantaneous force--brought the +woman to a sitting position. The man drew back to give her freedom of +action, as she lifted herself on her hands. It was moments before +complete consciousness of her situation came to her; the surprise was +yet too great. She saw things dimly through a whirl of driving rain, of +a rushing mighty wind, of a seething sea of water, but presently it was +all plain to her again. She had caught no fair view of the man who had +shot the bear as he splashed through the creek and tramped, across the +rocks and trees down the canyon, at least she had not seen his front +face, but she recognized him immediately. The thought tinged with color +for a moment, her pallid cheek. + +"I fell into the torrent," she said feebly, putting her hand to her head +and striving by speech to put aside that awful remembrance. + +"You didn't fall in," was the answer. "It was a cloud burst, you were +caught in it." + +"I didn't know." + +"Of course not, how should you." + +"And how came I here?" + +"I was lucky enough to pull you out." + +"Did you jump into the flood for me?" + +The man nodded. + +"That's twice you have saved my life this day," said the girl, forcing +herself woman-like to the topic that she hated. + +"It's nothing," deprecated the other. + +"It may be nothing to you, but it is a great deal to me," was the +answer. "And now what is to be done?" + +"We must get out of here at once," said the man. "You need shelter, +food, a fire. Can you walk?" + +"I don't know." + +"Let me help you." He rose to his feet, reached down to her, took her +hands in the strong grasp of his own and raised her lightly to her feet +in an effortless way which showed his great strength. She did not more +than put the weight of her body slightly on her left foot when a spasm +of pain shot through her, she swerved and would have fallen had he not +caught her. He sat her gently on the rock. + +"My foot," she said piteously. "I don't know what's the matter with it." + +Her high boots were tightly laced of course, but he could see that her +left foot had been badly mauled or sprained, already the slender ankle +was swelling visibly. He examined it swiftly a moment. It might be a +sprain, it might be the result of some violent thrust against the rocks, +some whirling tree trunks might have caught and crushed her foot, but +there was no good in speculating as to causes; the present patent fact +was that she could not walk, all the rest was at that moment +unimportant. This unfortunate accident made him the more anxious to get +her to a place of shelter without delay. It would be necessary to take +off her boot and give the wounded member proper treatment. For the +present the tight shoe acted as a bandage, which was well. + +When the man had withdrawn himself from the world, he had inwardly +resolved that no human being should ever invade his domain or share his +solitude, and during his long sojourn in the wilderness his +determination had not weakened. Now his consuming desire was to get this +woman, whom fortune--good or ill!--had thrown upon his hands, to his +house without delay. There was nothing he could do for her out there in +the rain. Every drop of whiskey was gone; they were just two +half-drowned, sodden bits of humanity cast up on that rocky shore, and +one was a helpless woman. + +"Do you know where your camp is?" he asked at last. + +He did not wish to take her to her own camp, he had a strange instinct +of possession in her. In some way he felt he had obtained a right to +deal with her as he would; he had saved her life twice, once by chance, +the other as the result of deliberate and heroic endeavor, and yet his +honor and his manhood obliged him to offer to take her to her own people +if he could. Hence the question, the answer to which he waited so +eagerly. + +"It's down the canyon. I am one of Mr. Robert Maitland's party." + +The man nodded. He didn't know Robert Maitland from Adam, and he cared +nothing about him. + +"How far down?" he asked. + +"I don't know; how far is it from here to where you--where--where we--" + +"About a mile," he replied quickly, fully understanding her reason for +faltering. + +"Then I think I must have come at least five miles from the camp this +morning." + +"It will be four miles away then," said the man. + +The girl nodded. + +"I couldn't carry you that far," he murmured half to himself. "I +question if there is any camp left there anyway. Where was it, down by +the water's edge?" + +"Yes." + +"Every vestige will have been swept away by that, look at it," he +pointed over to the lake. + +"What must we do?" she asked instantly, depending upon his greater +strength, his larger experience, his masculine force. + +"I shall have to take you to my camp." + +"Is it far?" + +"About a mile or a mile and a half from here." + +"I can't walk that far." + +"No, I suppose not. You wouldn't be willing to stay here while I went +down and hunted for your camp?" + +The girl clutched at him. + +"I couldn't be left here for a moment alone," she said in sudden fever +of alarm. "I never was afraid before, but now--" + +"All right," he said, gently patting her as he would a child, "we'll go +up to my camp and then I will try to find your people and--" + +"But I tell you I can't walk!" + +"You don't have to walk," said the man. + +He did not make any apology for his next action, he just stooped down +and disregarding her faint protests and objections, picked her up in +his arms. She was by no means a light burden, and he did not run away +with her as the heroes of romances do. But he was a man far beyond the +average in strength, and with a stout heart and a resolute courage that +had always carried him successfully through whatever he attempted, and +he had need of all his qualities, physical and mental, before he +finished that awful journey. + +The woman struggled a little at first, then finally resigned herself to +the situation; indeed, she thought swiftly, there was nothing else to +do; she had no choice, she could not have been left alone there in the +rocks in that rain, she could not walk. He was doing the only thing +possible. The compulsion of the inevitable was upon them both. + +They went slowly. The man often stopped for rest, at which times he +would seat her carefully upon some prostrate tree, or some rounded +boulder, until he was ready to resume his task. He did not bother her +with explanation, discussion or other conversation, for which she was +most thankful. Once or twice during the slow progress she tried to walk, +but the slightest pressure on her wounded foot nearly caused her to +faint. He made no complaint about his burden and she found it after all +pleasant to be upheld by such powerful arms; she was so sick, so tired, +so worn out, and there was such assurance of strength and safety in his +firm hold of her. + +By and by, in the last stage of their journey, her head dropped on his +shoulder and she actually fell into an uneasy troubled sleep. He did not +know whether she slumbered or whether she had fainted again. He did not +dare to stop to find out, his strength was almost spent; in this last +effort the strain upon his muscles was almost as great as it had been in +the whirlpool. For the second time that day the sweat stood out on his +forehead, his legs trembled under him. How he made the last five hundred +feet up the steep wall to a certain broad shelf perhaps an acre in +extent where he had built his hut among the mountains, he never knew; +but the last remnant of his force was spent when he finally opened the +unlatched door with his foot, carried her into the log hut and laid her +upon the bed or bunk built against one wall of the cabin. + +Yet the way he put her down was characteristic of the man. That last +vestige of strength had served him well. He did not drop her as a less +thoughtful and less determined man might have done; he laid her there as +gently and as tenderly as if she weighed nothing, and as if he had +carried her nowhere. So quiet and easy was his handling of her that she +did not wake up at once. + +So soon as she was out of his arms, he stood up and stared at her in +great alarm which soon gave way to reassurance. She had not fainted; +there was a little tinge of color in her cheek that had rubbed up +against his rough wet shoulder; she was asleep, her regular breathing +told him that. Sleep was of course the very best medicine for her and +yet she should not be allowed to sleep until she had got rid of her wet +clothing and until something had been done for her wounded foot. It was +indeed an embarrassing situation. + +He surveyed her for a few moments wondering how best to begin. Then +realizing the necessity for immediate action, he bent over and woke her +up. Again she stared at him in bewilderment until he spoke. + +"This is my house," he said, "we are home." + +"Home!" sobbed the girl. + +"Under shelter, then," said the man. "You are very tired and very +sleepy, but there is something to be done. You must take off those wet +clothes at once, you must have something to eat, and I must have a look +at that foot, and then you can have your sleep out." + +The girl stared at him; his program, if a radical one under the +circumstances, was nevertheless a rational one, indeed the only one. How +was it to be carried out? The man easily divined her thoughts. + +[Illustration: "Wait! I am a woman, absolutely alone, entirely at your +mercy"] + +"There is another room in this house, a store room, I cook in there," he +said. "I am going in there now to get you something to eat, meanwhile +you must undress yourself and go to bed." + +He went to a rude set of box-like shelves draped with a curtain, +apparently his own handiwork, against the wall, and brought from it a +long and somewhat shapeless woolen gown. + +"You can wear this to sleep in," he continued. "First of all, though, I +am going to have a look at that foot." + +He bent down to where her wounded foot lay extended on the bed. + +"Wait!" said the girl, lifting herself on her arm and as she did so he +lifted his head and answered her direct gaze with his own. "I am a +woman, absolutely alone, entirely at your mercy, you are stronger than +I, I have no choice but to do what you bid me. And in addition to the +natural weakness of my sex I am the more helpless from this foot. What +do you intend to do with me? How do you mean to treat me?" + +It was a bold, a splendid question and it evoked the answer it merited. + +"As God is my judge," said the man quietly, "just as you ought to be +treated, as I would want another to treat my mother, or my sister, or +my wife--" she noticed how curiously his lips suddenly tightened at that +word--"if I had one. I never harmed a woman in my life," he continued +more earnestly, "only one, that is," he corrected himself, and once +again she marked that peculiar contraction of the lips. "And I could not +help that," he added. + +"I trust you," said the girl at last after gazing at him long and hard +as if to search out the secrets of his very soul. "You have saved my +life and things dearer will be safe with you. I have to trust you." + +"I hope," came the quick comment, "that it is not only for that. I don't +want to be trusted upon compulsion." + +"You must have fought terribly for my life in the flood," was the +answer. "I can remember what it was now, and you carried me over the +rocks and the mountains without faltering. Only a man could do what you +have done. I trust you anyway." + +"Thank you," said the man briefly as he bent over the injured foot +again. + +The boot laced up the front, the short skirt left all plainly visible. +With deft fingers he undid the sodden knot and unlaced it, then stood +hesitatingly for a moment. + +"I don't like to cut your only pair of shoes," he said as he made a +slight motion to draw it off, and then observing the spasm of pain, he +stopped. "Needs must," he continued, taking out his knife and slitting +the leather. + +He did it very carefully so as not to ruin the boot beyond repair, and +finally succeeded in getting it off without giving her too much pain. +And she was not so tired or so miserable as to be unaware of his +gentleness. His manner, matter-of-fact, business-like, if he had been a +doctor one would have called it professional, distinctly pleased her in +this trying and unusual position. Her stocking was stained with blood. +The man rose to his feet, took from a rude home-made chair a light +Mexican blanket and laid it considerately across the girl. + +"Now if you can manage to get off your stocking, yourself, I will see +what can be done," he said turning away. + +It was the work of a few seconds for her to comply with his request. +Hanging the wet stocking carefully over a chair back, he drew back the +blanket a little and carefully inspected the poor little foot. He saw at +once that it was not an ordinary sprained ankle, but it seemed to him +that her foot had been caught between two tossing logs, and had been +badly bruised. It was very painful, but would not take so long to heal +as a sprain. The little foot, normally so white, was now black and blue +and the skin had been roughly torn and broken. He brought a basin of +cold water and a towel and washed off the blood, the girl fighting down +the pain and successfully stifling any outcry. + +"Now," he said, "you must put on this gown and get into bed. By the time +you are ready for it I will have some broth for you and then we will +bandage that foot. I shall not come in here for some time, you will be +quite alone and safe." + +He turned and left the room, shutting the door after him as he went out. +For a second time that day Enid Maitland undressed herself and this time +nervously and in great haste. She was almost too excited and +apprehensive to recall the painful circumstances attendant upon her +first disrobing. She said she trusted the man absolutely, yet she would +not have been human if she had not looked most anxiously toward that +closed door. He made plenty of noise in the other room, bustling about +as if to reassure her. + +She could not rest the weight of her body on her left foot and getting +rid of her wet clothes was a somewhat slow process in spite of her +hurry, made more so by her extreme nervousness. The gown he gave her was +far too big for her, but soft and warm and exquisitely clean. It draped +her slight figure completely. Leaving her sodden garments where they had +fallen, for she was not equal to anything else, she wrapped herself in +the folds of the big gown and managed to get into bed. For all its rude +appearance it was a very comfortable sleeping place, there were springs +and a good mattress. The unbleached sheets were clean; although they had +been rough dried, there was a delicious sense of comfort and rest in her +position. She had scarcely composed herself when he knocked loudly upon +her door. + +"May I come in?" he asked. + +When she bade him enter she saw he had in his hand a saucepan full of +some steaming broth. She wondered how he had made it in such a hurry, +but after he poured it into a granite ware cup and offered it to her, +she took it without question. It was thick, warming and nourishing. He +stood by her and insisted that she take more and more. Finally she +rebelled. + +"Well, perhaps that will do for to-night," he said, "now let's have a +look at your foot." + +She observed that he had laid on the table a long roll of white cloth; +she could not know that he had torn up one of his sheets to make +bandages, but so it was. He took the little foot tenderly in his hands. + +"I am going to hurt you," he said, "I am going to find out if there is +anything more than a bruise, any bones broken." + +There was no denying that he did pain her exquisitely. + +"I can't help it," he said as she cried aloud. "I have got to see what's +the matter, I am almost through now." + +"Go on, I can bear it," she said faintly. "I feel so much better anyway +now that I am dry and warm." + +"So far as I can determine," said the man at last, "it is only a bad +ugly bruise; the skin is torn, it has been battered, but it is neither +sprained nor broken and I don't think it is going to be very serious. +Now I am going to bathe it in the hottest water you can bear, and then I +will bandage it and let you go to sleep." + +He went out and came back with a kettle of boiling water, with which he +laved again and again, the poor, torn, battered little member. Never in +her life had anything been so grateful as these repeated applications of +hot water. After awhile he applied a healing lotion of some kind, then +he took his long roll of bandage and wound it dexterously around her +foot, not drawing it too close to prevent circulation, but just tight +enough for support, then as he finished she drew it back beneath the +cover. + +"Now," said he, "there is nothing more I can do for you to-night, is +there?" + +"Nothing." + +"I want you to go to sleep now, you will be perfectly safe here. I am +going down the canyon to search--" + +"No," said the girl apprehensively. "I dare not be left alone here; +besides I know how dangerous it would be for you to try to descend the +canyon in this rain. You have risked enough for me, you must wait until +the morning. I shall feel better then." + +"But think of the anxiety of your friends." + +"I can't help it," was the nervous reply. "I am afraid to be left alone +here at night." + +Her voice trembled, he was fearful she would have a nervous breakdown. + +"Very well," he said soothingly, "I will not leave you till the +morning." + +"Where will you stay?" + +"I'll make a shakedown for myself in the store room," he answered. "I +shall be right within call at any time." + +It had grown dark outside by this time and the two in the log hut could +barely see each other. + +"I think I shall light the fire," continued the man; "it will be sort of +company for you and it gets cold up here of nights at this season. I +shouldn't wonder if this rain turned into snow. Besides, it will dry +your clothes for you." + +Then he went over to the fireplace, struck a match, touched it to the +kindling under the huge logs already prepared, and in a moment a +cheerful blaze was roaring up through the chimney. Then he picked up +from the floor where she had cast them in a heap, her bedraggled +garments. He straightened them out as best he could, hung them over the +backs of chairs and the table which he drew as near to the fire as was +safe. Having completed this unwonted task he turned to the woman who had +watched him curiously and nervously the while. + +"Is there anything more that I can do for you?" + +"Nothing; you have been as kind and as gentle as you were strong and +brave." + +He threw his hand out with a deprecating gesture. + +"Are you quite comfortable?" + +"Yes." + +"And your foot?" + +"Seems very much better." + +"Good night then, I will call you in the morning." + +"Good night," said the girl gratefully, "and God bless you for a true +and noble man." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +ON THE TWO SIDES OF THE DOOR + + +The cabin contained a large and a small room. In the wall between them +there was a doorway closed by an ordinary batten door with a wooden +latch and no lock. Closed it served to hide the occupant of one room +from the view of the other, otherwise it was but a feeble barrier. Even +had it possessed a lock, a vigorous man could have burst it through in a +moment. + +These thoughts did not come very clearly to Enid Maitland. Few thoughts +of any kind came to her. Where she lay she could see plainly the dancing +light of the glorious fire. She was warm; the deftly wrapped bandage, +the healing lotion upon her foot, had greatly relieved the pain in that +wounded member. The bed was hard but comfortable, much more so than the +sleeping bags to which of late she had been accustomed. + +Few women had gone through such experiences mental and physical as had +befallen her within the last few hours and lived to tell the story. Had +it not been for the exhaustive strains of body and spirit to which she +had been subjected, her mental faculties would have been on the alert +and the strangeness of her unique position would have made her so +nervous that she could not have slept. + +For the time being, however, the physical demands upon her entity were +paramount. She was dry, she was warm, she was fed, she was free from +anxiety and she was absolutely unutterably weary. Her thoughts were +vague, inchoate, unconcentrated. The fire wavered before her eyes, she +closed them in a few moments and did not open them. + +Without a thought, without a care, she fell asleep. Her repose was +complete, not a dream even disturbed the profound slumber into which she +sank. Pretty picture she made; her head thrown backward, her golden hair +roughly dried and quickly plaited in long braids, one of which fell +along the pillow while the other curled lovingly around her neck. Her +face in the natural light would have looked pallid from what she had +gone through, but the fire cast red glows upon it; the fitful light +flickered across her countenance and sometimes the color wavered, it +came and went as if in consciousness; and sometimes deep shadows +unrelieved accentuated the paleness born of her sufferings. + +There is no light that plays so many tricks with the imagination, or +that so stimulates the fancy as the light of an open fire. In its sudden +outbursts it sometimes seems to add life touches to the sleeping and the +dead. Had there been any eye to see this girl, she would have made a +delightful picture in the warm glow from the stone hearth. There were no +eyes to look, however, save those which belonged to the man on the other +side of the door. + +On the hither side of that door in the room where the fire burned on the +hearth, there was rest in the heart of the woman, on the farther side +where the fire only burned in the heart of the man, there was tumult. +Not outward and visible, but inward and spiritual, and yet there was no +lack of apparent manifestation of the turmoil in the man's soul. + +Albeit the room was smaller than the other, it was still of a good size. +He walked nervously up and down from one end to the other as ceaselessly +as a wild animal impatient of captivity stalks the narrow limits of his +contracted cage. The even tenor of his life had suddenly been diverted. +The ordinary sequence of his days had been abruptly changed. The privacy +of five years, which he had hoped and dreamed might exist as long as he, +had been rudely broken in upon. Humanity, which he had avoided, from +which he had fled, which he had cast away forever, had found him. +_Abiit, excessit, evasit, erupit!_ And, lo, his departures were all in +vain! The world, with all its grandeur and its insignificance, with all +its powers and its weaknesses, with all its opportunities and its +obligations, with all its joys and its sorrows, had knocked at his door; +and that the knocking hand was that of a woman, but added to his +perplexity and to his dismay. + +He had cherished a dream that he could live to himself alone with but a +memory to bear him company, and from that dream he had been thunderously +awakened. Everything was changed. What had once been easy had now become +impossible. He might send her away, but though he swore her to secrecy +she would have to tell her story and something of his; the world would +learn some of it and seek him out with insatiable curiosity to know the +rest. + +Eyes as keen as his would presently search and scrutinize the mountains +where he had roamed alone. They would see what he had seen, find what he +had found. Mankind, gold-lusting, would swarm and hive upon the hills +and fight and love and breed and die. + +He would of course move on, but where? And went he whithersoever he +might, he would now of necessity carry with him another memory which +would not dwell within his mind in harmony with the memory which until +that day had been paramount there alone. + +Slowly, laboriously, painfully, he had built his house upon the sand, +and the winds had blown and the floods had come, not only in a literal +but in a spiritual significance, and in one day that house had fallen. +He stood amid the wrecked remains of it trying to recreate it, to endow +once more with the fitted precision of the past the shapeless broken +units of the fabric of his fond imagination. + +Whiles he resented with fierce, savage, passionate intensity the +interruption of this woman into his life. Whiles he throbbed with equal +intensity and almost as much passion at the thought of her. + +Have you ever climbed a mountain early in the morning while it was yet +dark and having gained some dominant crest stood staring at the far +horizon, the empurpled east, while the "dawn came up like thunder?" Or, +better still, have you ever stood within the cold dark recesses of some +deep valley of river or pass and watched the clear light spread its bars +athwart the heavens, like nebulous mighty pinions, along the light +touched crest of a towering range until all of a sudden, with a leap +almost of joy, the great sun blazed in the high horizon? + +You might be born a child of the dark, and light might sear and burn +your eyeballs accustomed to cooler, deeper shades, yet you could no more +turn away from this glory, though you might hate it, than by mere effort +of will you could cease to breathe the air. The shock that you might +feel, the sudden surprise, is only faintly suggestive of the emotions in +the breast of this man. + +Once long ago the gentlest and tenderest of voices called from the dark +to the light, the blind. And it is given to modern science and to modern +skill sometimes to emulate that godlike achievement. Perhaps the +surprise, the amazement, the bewilderment, of him who having been blind +doth now see, if we can imagine it, not having been in the case +ourselves, will be a better guide to the understanding of this man's +emotion when this woman came suddenly into his lonely orbit. His eyes +were opened although he would not know it. He fought down his new +consciousness and would have none of it. Yet it was there. He loved her! + +With what joy did Selkirk welcome the savage sharer of his solitude! +Suppose she had been a woman of his own race; had she been old, +withered, hideous, he must have loved her on the instant, much more if +she were young and beautiful. The thing was inevitable. Such passions +are born. God forbid that we should deny it. Even in the busy haunts of +men where women are as plenty as blackberries, to use Falstaff's simile, +and where a man may sometimes choose between a hundred, or a thousand, +often such loves are born, forever. + +A voice in the night, a face in the street, a whispered word, the touch +of a hand, the answering throb of another heart--and behold! two walk +together where before each walked alone. Sometimes the man or the woman +who is born again of love knows it not, declines to admit it, refuses to +recognize it. Some birth pain must awake the consciousness of the new +life. + +If those things are true and possible under every day conditions and to +ordinary men and women, how much more to this solitary. He had seen this +woman, white breasted like the foam, rising as the ancient goddess from +the Paphian Sea. Over that recollection, as he was a gentleman and a +Christian, he would fain draw a curtain, before it erect a wall. He must +not dwell upon that fact, he would not linger over that moment. Yet he +could not forget it. + +Then he had seen her lying prone, yet unconsciously graceful in her +abandonment, on the sward; he had caught a glimpse of her white face +desperately up-tossed by the rolling water; he had looked into the +unfathomable depths of her eyes at that moment when she had awakened in +his arms after such a struggle as had taxed his manhood and almost +broken his heart; he had carried her unconsciously, ghastly white with +her pain-drawn face, stumbling desperately over the rocks in the beating +rain to this his home. There he had held that poor, bruised slender +little foot in his hand, gently, skillfully treating it, when he longed +to press his lips passionately upon it. Last of all he had looked into +her face warmed with the red light of the fire, searched her weary eyes +almost like blue pools, in whose depths there yet lurked life and light, +while her golden hair tinged crimson by the blaze lay on the white +pillow--and he loved her. God pity him, fighting against fact and +admission of it, yet how could he help it? + +He had loved once before in his life with the fire of youth and spring, +but it was not like this; he did not recognize this new passion in any +light from the past, therefore he would not admit it, hence he did not +understand it. But he saw and admitted and understood enough to know +that the past was no longer the supreme subject in his life, that the +present rose higher, bulked larger and hid more and more of his far-off +horizon. + +He felt like a knave and a traitor, as if he had been base, disloyal, +false to his ideal, recreant to his remembrance. Was he indeed a true +man? Did he have that rugged strength, that abiding faith, that eternal +consciousness, that lasting affection beside which the rocky paths he +often trod were things transient, perishable, evanescent? Was he a +weakling that he fell at the first sight of another woman? + +He stopped his ceaseless pace forward and backward, and stopped near +that frail and futile door. She was there and there was none to prevent. +His hand sought the latch. + +What was he about to do? God forbid that a thought he could not freely +share with humanity should enter his brain then. He held all women +sacred, and so he had ever done, and this woman in her loveliness, in +her helplessness, in her weakness, trebly appealed to him. But he would +look upon her, he would fain see if she were there, if it were all not a +dream, the creation of his disordered imagination. + +Men had gone mad in hermitages in the mountains, they had been driven +insane in lonely oases in vast deserts; and they had peopled their +solitudes with men and women. Was this same working of a disordered +brain too much turned upon itself and with too tremendous a pressure +upon it producing an illusion? Was there in truth any woman there? He +would raise the latch and open the door and look. Once more the hand +went stealthily to the latch. + +The woman slept quietly on. No thin barricade easily unlocked or easily +broken protected her. Something intangible yet stronger than the +thickest, the most rigid, bars of steel guarded her; something unseen, +indescribable, but so unmistakable when it throbs in the breast that +those who depend on it feel that their dependence is not in vain, +watched over her. + +Cherishing no evil thought, the man had power to gratify his desire +which might yet bear a sinister construction should his action be +observed. It was her privacy he was invading; she had trusted to him, +she had said so, to his honor and that stood her in good stead. His +honor! Not in five years had he heard the word or thought the thing, but +he had not forgotten it. She had not appealed to an unreal thing. Upon a +rock her trust was based. His hand left the latch, it fell gently, he +drew back and turned away trembling, a conqueror who mastered himself. +He was awake to the truth again. + +What had he been about to do? Profane, uninvited, the sanctity of her +chamber, violate the hospitality of his own house. Even with a proper +motive imperil his self-respect, shatter her trust, endanger that honor +which so suddenly became a part of him on demand. She would not probably +know, she could never know unless she awoke. What of that? That ancient +honor of his life and race rose like a mountain whose scarped face +cannot be scaled. + +He fell back with a swift turn, a feeling almost womanly--and more men +perhaps if they lived in feminine isolation, as self-centered as women +are so often by necessity, would be as feminine as their +sisters--influenced him, overcame him. His hand went to his hunting +shirt; nervously he tore it open, he grasped a bright object that hung +against his breast; as he did so, the thought came to him that not +before in five years had he been for a moment unconscious of the +pressure of that locket over his heart, but now that this other had +come, he had to seek for it to find it. + +The man dragged it out, held it in his hand and opened it. He held it so +tightly that it almost gave beneath the strong grasp of his strong hand. +From a near-by box he drew another object with his other hand; he took +the two to the light, the soft light of the candle upon the table, and +stared from one to the other with eyes brimming. + +Like crystal gazers he saw other things than those presented to the +casual vision, he heard other sounds than the beat of the rain upon the +roof, the roar of the wind down the canyon. A voice that he had sworn he +would never forget, but which, God forgive him, had not now the +clearness that it might have had yesterday, whispered awful words to +him. + +Anon he looked into another face, red too, but with no hue from the +hearth or leaping flame, but red with the blood of ghastly wounds. He +heard again that report, the roar louder and more terrible than any peal +of thunder that rived the clouds above his head and made the mountains +quake and tremble. He was conscious again of the awful stillness of +death that supervened. He dropped on his knees, buried his face in his +hands where they rested on picture and locket on the rude table. + +Ah, the past died hard; for a moment he was the lover of old--remorse, +passionate expiation, solitude--he and the dead together--the world and +the living forgot! He would not be false, he would be true; there was no +power in any feeble woman's tender hand to drive him off his course, to +shake his purpose, to make him a new, another man. _O, Vanitas, +Vanitatum!_ + +On the other side of the door the unconscious woman slept quietly on. +The red fire light died away, the glowing coals sank into gray ash. +Within the smaller room the cold dawn stealing through the unshaded +window looked upon a field of battle--deaths, wounds, triumphs, +defeats--portrayed upon one poor human face, upturned as sometimes +victors and vanquished alike upturn stark faces from the field to the +God above who may pity but who has not intervened. + +So Jacob may have looked after that awful night when he wrestled until +the day broke with the angel and would not let him go until he blessed +him, walking, forever after, with halting step as memorial but with his +blessing earned. Hath, this man blessing won or not? And must he pay for +it if he hath achieved it? + +And all the while the woman slept quietly on upon the other side of that +door. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE LOG HUT IN THE MOUNTAINS + + +What awakened the woman she did not know; in all probability it was the +bright sunlight streaming through the narrow window before her. The +cabin was so placed that the sun did not strike fairly into the room +until it was some hours high, consequently she had her long sleep out +entirely undisturbed. The man had made no effort whatever to awaken her. +Whatever tasks he had performed since daybreak had been so silently +accomplished that she had not been aware of them. + +So soon as he could do so, he had left the cabin and was now busily +engaged in his daily duties outside the cabin and beyond earshot. He +knew that sleep was the very best medicine for her and it was best that +she should not be disturbed until in her own good time she awoke. + +The clouds had emptied themselves during the night and the wind had at +last died away toward morning and now there was a great calm abroad in +the land. The sunlight was dazzling. Outside, where the untempered rays +beat full upon the crests of the mountains, it was doubtless warm, but +within the cabin it was chilly--the fire had long since burned +completely away and he had not entered the room to replenish it. Yet +Enid Maitland had lain snug and warm under her blankets. She presently +tested her wounded foot by moving it gently and discovered agreeably +that it was much less painful than she had anticipated. The treatment of +the night before had been very successful. + +She did not get up immediately, but the coldness of the room struck her +so soon as she got out of bed. Upon her first awakening she was hardly +conscious of her situation; her sleep had been too long and too heavy +and her awakening too gradual for any sudden appreciation of the new +condition. It was not until she had stared around the walls of the rude +cabin for some time that she realized where she was and what had +happened. When she did so she arose at once. + +Her first impulse was to call. Never in her life had she felt such +death-like stillness. Even in the camp almost always there had been a +whisper of breeze through the pine trees, or the chatter of water over +the rocks. But here there were no pine trees and no sound of rushing +brook came to her. It was almost painful. She was keen to dress and go +out of the house. She stood upon the rude puncheon floor on one foot +scarcely able yet to bear even the lightest pressure upon the other. +There were her clothes on chairs and tables before the fireplace. Such +had been the heat thrown out by that huge blaze that a brief inspection +convinced her that everything was thoroughly dry. Dry or wet she must +needs put them on since they were all she had. She noticed that there +were no locks on the doors and she realized that the only protection she +had was the sense of decency and the honor of the man. That she had been +allowed her sleep unmolested made her the more confident on that +account. + +She dressed hastily, although it was the work of some difficulty in view +of her wounded foot and of the stiff condition of her rough dried +apparel. Presently she was completely clothed save for that disabled +foot. With the big clumsy bandages upon it she could not draw her +stocking over it and even if she succeeded in that she could in no way +make shift to put on her boot. + +The situation was awkward, the predicament annoying; she was wearing +bloomers and a short skirt for her mountain climbing and she did not +know quite what to do. She thought of tearing up one of the rough +unbleached sheets and wrapping it around her leg, but she hesitated as +to that. It was very trying. Otherwise she would have opened the door +and stepped out into the open air, now she felt herself virtually a +prisoner. + +She had been thankful that no one had disturbed her, but now she wished +for the man. In her helplessness she thought of his resourcefulness with +eagerness. The man however did not appear and there was nothing for her +to do but to wait for him. Taking one of the blankets from the bed, she +sat down and drew it across her knees and took stock of the room. + +The cabin was built of logs, the room was large, perhaps twelve by +twenty feet, with one side completely taken up by the stone fireplace; +there were two windows, one on either side of the outer door which +opened toward the southwest. The walls were unplastered save in the +chinks between the rough hewn logs of which it was made. Over the +fireplace and around on one side ran a rude shelf covered with books. +She had no opportunity to examine them, although later she would become +familiar with every one of them. + +Into the walls on the other side were driven wooden pegs; from some of +them hung a pair of snow shoes, a heavy Winchester rifle, fishing tackle +and other necessary wilderness paraphernalia. On the puncheon floor wolf +and bear skins were spread. In one corner against the wall again were +piled several splendid pairs of horns from the mountain sheep. + +The furniture consisted of the single bed or berth in which she had +slept, built against the wall in one of the corners, a rude table on +which were writing materials and some books. A row of curtained shelves, +evidently made of small boxes and surmounted by a mirror, occupied +another space. There were two or three chairs, the handiwork of the +owner, comfortable enough in spite of their rude construction. On some +other pegs hung a slicker and a sou'wester, a fur overcoat, a fur cap +and other rough clothes; a pair of heavy boots stood by the fireplace. +On another shelf there were a number of scientific instruments the +nature of which she could not determine, although she could see that +they were all in a beautiful state of preservation. + +There was plenty of rude comfort in the room which was excessively +mannish. In fact there was nothing anywhere which in any way spoke of +the existence of woman--except a picture in a small rough wooden frame +which stood on the table before which she sat down. The picture was of a +handsome woman--naturally Enid Maitland saw that before anything else; +she would not have been a woman if that had not engaged her attention +more forcibly than any other fact in the room. She picked it up and +studied it long and earnestly, quite unconscious of the reason for her +interest, and yet a certain uneasy feeling might have warned her of what +was toward in her bosom. + +This young woman had not yet had time to get her bearings, she had not +been able to realize all the circumstances of her adventure; so soon as +she did so she would know that into her life a man had come and whatever +the course of that life might be in the future, he would never again be +out of it. + +It was therefore with mingled and untranslatable emotions that she +studied this picture. She marked with a certain resentment the bold +beauty quite apparent despite the dim fading outlines of a photograph +never very good. So far as she could discern the woman was dark haired +and dark eyed--her direct antithesis! The casual viewer would have found +little to find fault with in the presentment, but Enid Maitland's eyes +were sharpened by--what, pray? At any rate she decided that the woman +was of a rather coarse fiber, that in things finer and higher she would +be found wanting. She was such a woman, so the girl reasoned acutely, as +might inspire a passionate affection in a strong hearted, reckless +youth, but whose charms being largely physical would pall in longer and +more intimate association; a dangerous rival in a charge, but not so +formidable in a steady campaign. + +These thoughts were the result of long and earnest inspection and it was +with some reluctance that the girl at last put the photograph aside and +looked toward the door. She was hungry, ravenously so. She began to be a +little alarmed and had just about made up her mind to rise and stumble +out as she was, when she heard steps outside and a knock on the door. + +"What is it?" she asked in response. + +"May I come in?" + +"Yes," was the quick answer. + +The man opened the door, left it ajar and entered the room. + +"Have you been awake long?" he began abruptly. + +"Not very." + +"I didn't disturb you because you needed sleep more than anything else. +How do you feel?" + +"Greatly refreshed, thank you." + +"And hungry, I suppose?" + +"Very." + +"I will soon remedy that. Your foot?" + +"It seems much better, but I--" + +The girl hesitated, blushing. "I can't get my shoe on and--" + +"Shall I have another look at it?" + +"No, I don't believe it will be necessary. If I may have some of that +liniment, or whatever it was you put on it, and more of that bandage, I +think I can attend to it myself, but you see my stocking and my boot--" + +The man nodded, he seemed to understand; he went to his cracker box +chiffonier and drew from it a long coarse woolen stocking. + +"That is the best that I can do for you," he said, extending it toward +her somewhat diffidently. + +"And that will do very nicely," said the girl. "It will cover the +bandage and that is the main thing." + +The man laid on the table by the side of the stocking another strip of +bandage torn from the same sheet; as he did so he noticed the picture. +He caught it up quickly, a dark flush spreading over his face, and +holding it in his hand he turned abruptly away. + +"I will go and cook you some breakfast while you get yourself ready. If +you have not washed, you'll find a bucket of water and a basin and towel +outside the door." + +He went through the inner door as suddenly as he had come through the +outer one. He was a man of few words and whatever of social grace he +might once have possessed and in more favorable circumstances exhibited, +was not noticeable now; the tenderness with which he had cared for her +the night before had also vanished. + +His bearing had been cool almost harsh and forbidding and his manner was +as grim as his appearance. The conversation had been a brief one and her +opportunity for inspection of him consequently limited, yet she had +taken him in. She saw a tall splendid man, no longer very young, +perhaps, but in the prime of life and vigor. His complexion was dark and +burned browner by long exposure to sun and wind, winter and summer. In +spite of the brown there was a certain color, a hue of health in his +cheeks. His eyes were hazel, sometimes brown, sometimes gray, and +sometimes blue, she afterward learned. A short thick closely cut beard +and mustache covered the lower part of his face, disguising but not +hiding the squareness of his jaw and the firmness, of his lips. + +He had worn his cap when he entered and when he took it off she noticed +that his dark hair was tinged with white. He was dressed in a leather +hunting suit, somewhat the worse for wear, but fitting him in a way to +give free play to all his muscles. His movements were swift, energetic +and graceful; she did not wonder that he had so easily hurled the bear +to one side and had managed to carry her--no light weight, indeed!--over +what she dimly recognized must have been a horrible trail, which +burdened as he was would have been impossible to a man of less splendid +vigor than he. + +The cabin was low ceiled and as she had sat looking up at him he had +towered above her until he seemed to fill it. Naturally she had +scrutinized his every action, as she had hung upon his every word. His +swift and somewhat startled movement, his frowning as he had seized the +picture on which she had gazed with such interest aroused the liveliest +surprise and curiosity in her heart. + +Who was this woman? Why was he so quick to remove the picture from her +gaze? Thoughts rushed tumultuously through her brain, but she realized +at once that she lacked time to indulge them. She could hear him moving +about in the other room, she threw aside the blanket with which she had +draped herself, changed the bandage on her foot, drew on the heavy +woolen stocking which of course was miles too big for her, but which +easily took in her foot and ankle encumbered as they were by the rude, +heavy but effective wrapping. Thereafter she hobbled to the door and +stood for a moment almost aghast at the splendor and magnificence before +her. + +He had built his cabin on a level shelf of rock perhaps fifty by a +hundred feet in area. It was backed up against an overtowering cliff, +otherwise the rock fell away in every direction. She divined that the +descent from the shelf into the pocket or valley spread before her was +sheer, except off to the right where a somewhat gentler acclivity of +huge and broken boulders gave a practicable ascent--a sort of titantic +stairs--to the place perched on the mountain side. The shelf was +absolutely bare save for the cabin and a few huge boulders. There were a +few sparse, stunted trees further up on the mountain side above; a few +hundred feet beyond them, however, came the timber line, after which +there was nothing but the naked rock. + +Below several hundred feet lay a clear emerald pool, whose edges were +bordered by pines where it was not dominated by high cliffs. Already the +lakelet was rimmed with ice on the shaded side. This enchanting little +body of water was fed by the melting snow from the crest and peaks, +which in the clear pure sunshine and rarefied air of the mountains +seemed to rise and confront her within a stone's throw of the place +where she stood. + +On one side of the lake in the valley or pocket beneath there was a +little grassy clearing, and there this dweller in the wilderness had +built a rude corral for the burros. On a rough bench by the side of the +door she saw the primitive conveniences to which he had alluded. The +water was delightfully soft and as it had stood exposed to the sun's +direct rays for some time, although the air was exceedingly crisp and +cold, it was tempered sufficiently to be merely cool and agreeable. She +luxuriated in it for a few moments and while she had her face buried in +the towel, rough, coarse, but clean, she heard a step. She looked up in +time to see the man lay down upon the bench a small mirror and a clean +comb. He said nothing as he did so and she had no opportunity to thank +him before he was gone. The thoughtfulness of the act affected her +strangely and she was very glad of a chance to unbraid her hair, comb it +out and plait it again. She had not a hair pin left of course, and all +she could do with it was to replait it and let it hang upon her +shoulders; her coiffure would have looked very strange to civilization, +but out there in the mountains, it was eminently appropriate. + +Without noticing details the man felt the general effect as she limped +back into the room toward the table. Her breakfast was ready for her; it +was a coarse fare, bacon, a baked potato hard tack crisped before the +fire, coffee black and strong, with sugar but no cream. The dishes +matched the fare, too, yet she noticed that the fork was of silver and +by her plate there was a napkin, rough dried but of fine linen. The man +had just set the brimming smoking coffee pot on the table when she +appeared. + +"I am sorry I have no cream," he said, and then before she could make +comment or reply, he turned and walked out of the door, his purpose +evidently being not to embarrass her by his presence while she ate. + +Enid Maitland had grown to relish the camp fare, bringing to it the +appetite of good health and exertion. She had never eaten anything that +tasted so good to her as that rude meal that morning, yet she would have +enjoyed it better, she thought, if he had only shared it with her, if +she had not been compelled to eat it alone. She hastened her meal on +that account, determined as soon as she had finished her breakfast to +seek the man and have some definite understanding with him. + +And after all she reflected that she was better alone than in his +presence, for there would come stealing into her thoughts the +distressing episode of the morning before, try as she would to put it +out of her mind. Well, she was a fairly sensible girl, the matter was +passed, it could not be helped now, she would forget it as much as was +possible. She would recur to it with mortification later on, but the +present was so full of grave problems that there was not any room for +the past. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A TOUR OF INSPECTION + + +The first thing necessary, she decided, when she had satisfied her +hunger and finished her meal, was to get word of her plight and her +resting place to her uncle and the men of the party; and the next thing +was to get away, where she would never see this man again and perhaps be +able to forget what had transpired--yet there was a strange pang of pain +in her heart at that thought! + +No man on earth had ever so stimulated her curiosity as this one. Who +was he? Why was he there? Who was the woman whose picture he had so +quickly taken from her gaze? Why had so splendid a man buried himself +alone in that wilderness? These reflections were presently interrupted +by the reappearance of the man himself. + +"Have you finished?" he asked unceremoniously, standing in the doorway +as he spoke. + +"Yes, thank you, and it was very good indeed." + +Dismissing this politeness with a wave of his hand but taking no other +notice, he spoke again. + +"If you will tell me your name--" + +"Maitland, Enid Maitland." + +"Miss Maitland?" + +The girl nodded. + +"And where you came from, I will endeavor to find your party and see +what can be done to restore you to them." + +"We were camped down that canyon at a place where another brook, a large +one, flows into it, several miles I should think below the place +where--" + +She was going to say "where you found me," but the thought of the way in +which he had found her rushed over her again; and this time with his +glance directly upon her, although it was as cold and dispassionate and +indifferent as a man's look could well be, the recollection of the +meeting to which she had been about to allude rushed over her with an +accompanying wave of color which heightened her beauty as it covered her +with shame. + +She could not realize that beneath his mask of indifference so +deliberately worn, the man was as agitated as she, not so much at the +remembrance of anything that had transpired, but at the sight, the +splendid picture, of the woman as she stood, there in the little cabin +then. It seemed to him as if she gathered up in her own person all the +radiance and light and beauty, all the purity and freshness and +splendor of the morning, to shine and dazzle in his face. As she +hesitated in confusion, perhaps comprehending its causes he helped out +her lame and halting sentence. + +"I know the canyon well," he said. "I think I know the place to which you +refer; is it just about where the river makes an enormous bend upon +itself?" + +"Yes, that is it. In that clearing we have been camped for ten days. My +uncle must be crazy with anxiety to know what has become of me and--" + +The man interposed. + +"I will go there directly," he said. "It is now half after ten. That +place is about seven miles or more from here across the range, fifteen +or twenty by the river; I shall be back by nightfall. The cabin is your +own." + +He turned away without another word. + +"Wait," said the woman, "I am afraid to stay here." + +She had been fearless enough before in these mountains but her recent +experiences had somehow unsettled her nerves. + +"There is nothing on earth to hurt you, I think," returned the man. +"There isn't a human being, so far as I know, in these mountains." + +"Except my uncle's party." + +He nodded. + +"But there might be another--bear," she added desperately, forcing +herself. + +"Not likely, and they wouldn't come here if there were any. That's the +first grizzly I have seen in years," he went on unconcernedly, +studiously looking away from her, not to add to her confusion at the +remembrance of that awful episode which would obtrude itself on every +occasion. "You can use a rifle or gun?" + +She nodded; he stepped over to the wall and took down the Winchester +which he handed her. + +"This one is ready for service, and you will find a revolver on the +shelf. There is only one possible way of access to this cabin, that's +down those rock stairs; one man, one woman, a child even, with these +weapons could hold it against an army." + +"Couldn't I go with you?" + +"On that foot?" + +Enid pressed her wounded foot upon the ground; it was not so painful +when resting, but she found she could not walk a step on it without +great suffering. + +"I might carry you part of the way," said the man. "I carried you last +night, but it would be impossible, all of it." + +"Promise me that you will be back by nightfall with Uncle Bob and--" + +"I shall be back by nightfall, but I can't promise that I will bring +anybody with me." + +"You mean?" + +"You saw what the cloud burst nearly did for you," was the quick answer. +"If they did not get out of that pocket there is nothing left of them +now." + +"But they must have escaped," persisted the girl, fighting down her +alarm at this blunt statement of possible peril. "Besides, Uncle Robert +and most of the rest were climbing one of the peaks and--" + +"They will be all right then, but if I am to find the place and tell +them your story, I must go now." + +He turned and without another word or a backward glance scrambled down +the hill. The girl limped to the brink of the cliff over which he had +plunged and stared after him. She watched him as long as she could see +him until he was lost among the trees. If she had anybody else to depend +upon she would certainly have felt differently toward him. When Uncle +Robert and her Aunt and the children and old Kirkby and the rest +surrounded her again she could hate that man in spite of all he had done +for her, but now, as she stared after him determinedly making his way +down the mountain and through the trees, it was with difficulty she +could restrain herself from calling him back. + +The silence was most oppressive, the loneliness was frightful; she had +been alone before in these mountains, but from choice; now the fact that +there was no escape from them made the sensation a very different one. + +She sat down and brooded over her situation until she felt that if she +did not do something and in some way divert her thoughts she would break +down again. He had said that the cabin and its contents were hers. She +resolved to inspect them more closely. She hobbled back into the great +room and looked about her again. There was nothing that demanded careful +scrutiny; she wasn't quite sure whether she was within the proprieties +or not, but she seized the oldest and most worn of the volumes on the +shelf. It was a text book on mining and metallurgy she observed, and +opening it at the fly leaf, across the page she saw written in a firm +vigorous masculine hand a name, "William Berkeley Newbold," and beneath +these words, "Thayer Hall, Harvard," and a date some seven years back. + +The owner of that book, whether the present possessor or not, had been a +college man. Say that he had graduated at twenty-one or twenty-two, he +would be twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old now, but if so, why that +white hair? Perhaps though the book did not belong to the man of the +cabin. + +She turned to other books on the shelf. Many of them were technical +books which she had sufficient general culture to realize could be only +available to a man highly educated and a special student of mines and +mining--a mining engineer, she decided, with a glance at those +instruments and appliances of a scientific character plainly, but of +whose actual use she was ignorant. + +A rapid inspection of the other books confirmed her in the conclusion +that the man of the mountains was indeed the owner of the collection. +There were a few well worn volumes of poetry and essays. A Bible, +Shakespeare, Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, Tennyson, Keats, a small +dictionary, a compendious encyclopedia, just the books, she thought, +smiling at her conceit, that a man of education and culture would want +to have upon a desert island where his supply of literature would be +limited. + +The old ones were autographed as the first book she had looked in; +others, newer editions to the little library if she could judge by their +condition, were unsigned. + +Into the corner cupboard and the drawers of course she did not look. +There was nothing else in the room to attract her attention, save some +piles of manuscript neatly arranged on one of the shelves, each one +covered with a square of board and kept in place by pieces of glistening +quartz. There were four of these piles and another half the size of the +first four on the table. These of course she did not examine, further +than to note that the writing was in the same bold free hand as the +signature in the books. If she had been an expert she might have deduced +much from the writing; as it was she fancied it was strong, direct, +manly. + +Having completed her inspection of this room, she opened the door and +went into the other; it was smaller and less inviting. It had only one +window and a door opening outside. There was a cook stove here and +shelves with cooking utensils and granite ware, and more rude box +receptacles on the walls which were filled with a bountiful and well +selected store of canned goods and provisions of various kinds. This was +evidently the kitchen, supply room, china closet. She saw no sign of a +bed in it and wondered where and how the man had spent the night. + +By rights her mind should have been filled with her uncle and his party +and in their alarm she should have shared, but she was so extremely +comfortable, except for her foot, which did not greatly trouble her so +long as she kept it quiet, that she felt a certain degree of contentment +not to say happiness. The Adventure was so romantic and thrilling--save +for those awful moments in the pool--especially to the soul of a +conventional woman who had been brought up in the most humdrum and +stereotyped fashion of the earth's ways, and with never an opportunity +for the development of the spirit of romance which all of us exhibit +some time in our life and which thank God some of us never lose, that +she found herself reveling in it. + +She lost herself in pleasing imaginations of the tales of her adventures +that she could tell when she got back to her uncle and when she got +further back to staid old Philadelphia. How shocked everybody would be +with it all there! Of course she resolved that she would never mention +one episode of that terrible day, and she had somehow absolute +confidence that this man, in spite of his grim, gruff taciturnity, who +had shown himself so exceedingly considerate of her feelings would never +mention it either. + +She had so much food for thought, that not even in the late afternoon of +the long day, could she force her mind to the printed pages of the book +she had taken at random from the shelf which lay open before her, where +she sat in the sun, her head covered by an old "Stetson" that she had +ventured to appropriate. She had dragged a bear skin out on the rocks in +the sun and sat curled up on it half reclining against a boulder +watching the trail, the Winchester by her side. She had eaten so late a +breakfast that she had made a rather frugal lunch out of whatever had +taken her fancy in the store room, and she was waiting most anxiously +now for the return of the man. + +The season was late and the sun sank behind the peaks quite early in the +afternoon, and it grew dark and chill long before the shadows fell upon +the dwellers of the lowlands. + +Enid drew the bear skin around her and waited with an ever growing +apprehension. If she should be compelled to spend the night alone in +that cabin, she felt that she could not endure it. She was never so glad +of anything in her life as when she saw him suddenly break out of the +woods and start up the steep trail, and for a moment her gladness was +not tempered by the fact, which she was presently to realize with great +dismay, that as he had gone, so he now returned, alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE CASTAWAYS OF THE MOUNTAINS + + +The man was evidently seeking her, for so soon as he caught sight of her +he broke into a run and came bounding up the steep ascent with the speed +and agility of a chamois or a mountain sheep. As he approached the girl +rose to her feet and supported herself upon the boulder against which +she had been leaning, at the same time extending her hand to greet him. + +"Oh," she cried, her voice rising nervously as he drew near, "I am so +glad you are back, another hour of loneliness and I believe I should +have gone crazy." + +Now whether that joy in his return was for him, personally or for him +abstractly, he could not tell; whether she was glad that he had come +back simply because he was a human being who would relieve her +loneliness or whether she rejoiced to see him individually, was a matter +not yet to be determined. He hoped the latter, he believed the former. +At any rate he caught and held her outstretched hand in the warm clasp +of both his own. Burning words of greeting rushed to his lips +torrentially, what he said, however, was quite commonplace; as is so +often the case, thought and outward speech did not correspond. + +"It's too cold for you out here, you must go into the house at once," he +declared masterfully and she obeyed with unwonted meekness. + +The sun had set and the night air had grown suddenly chill. Still +holding her hand they started toward the cabin a few rods away. Her +wounded foot was of little support to her and the excitement had +unnerved her; in spite of his hand she swayed; without a thought he +caught her about the waist and half lifted, half led her to the door. It +seemed as natural as it was inevitable for him to assist her in this way +and in her weakness and bewilderment she suffered it without comment or +resistance. Indeed there was such strength and power in his arm, she was +so secure there, that she liked it. As for him his pulses were bounding +at the contact; but for that matter even to look at her quickened his +heart beat. + +Entering the main room he led her gently to one of the chairs near the +table and immediately thereafter lighted the fire which he had taken the +precaution to lay before his departure. It had been dark in the cabin, +but the fire soon filled it with glorious light. She watched him at his +task and as he rose from the hearth questioned him. + +"Now tell me," she began, "you found--" + +"First your supper, and then the story," he answered, turning toward the +door of the other room. + +"No," pleaded the girl, "can't you see that nothing is of any importance +to me but the story? Did you find the camp?" + +"I found the place where it had been." + +"Where it had been!" + +"There wasn't a single vestige of it left. That whole pocket, I knew it +well, had been swept clean by the flood." + +"But Kirkby, and Mrs. Maitland and--" + +"They weren't there." + +"Did you search for them?" + +"Certainly." + +"But they can't have been drowned," she exclaimed piteously. + +"Of course not," he began reassuringly. "Kirkby is a veteran of these +mountains and--" + +"But do you know him?" queried the girl in great surprise. + +"I did once," said the man, flushing darkly at his admission. "I haven't +seen him for five years." + +So that was the measure of his isolation, thought the woman, keen for +the slightest evidence as to her companion's history, of which, by the +way, he meant to tell her nothing. + +"Well?" she asked, breaking the pause. + +"Kirkby would certainly see the cloudburst coming and he would take the +people with him in the camp up on the hogback near it. It is far above +the flood line, they would be quite safe there." + +"And did you look for them there?" + +"I did. The trail had been washed out, but I scrambled up and found +undisputed evidence that my surmise was correct. I haven't a doubt that +all who were in the camp were saved." + +"Thank God for that," said the girl, greatly relieved and comforted by +his reassuring words. "And my uncle, Mr. Robert Maitland, and the rest +on the mountain, what do you think of them?" + +"I am sure that they must have escaped too. I don't think any of them +have suffered more than a thorough drenching in the downpour and that +they are all safe and perhaps on their way to the settlements now." + +"But they wouldn't go back without searching for me, would they?" cried +the girl. + +"Certainly not, I suppose they are searching for you now." + +"Well then--" + +"Wait," said the man. "You started down the canyon, you told everybody +that you were going that way. They naturally searched in that direction; +they hadn't the faintest idea that you were going up the river." + +"No," admitted Enid, "that is true. I did not tell anyone. I didn't +dream of going up the canyon when I started out in the morning; it was +the result of a sudden impulse." + +"God bless that--" burst out the man and then he checked himself, +flushing again, darkly. + +What had he been about to say? The question flashed into his own mind +and into the woman's mind at the same time when she heard, the +incompleted sentence; but she, too, checked the question that rose to +her lips. + +"This is the way I figure it," continued the man hurriedly to cover up +his confusion. "They fancy themselves alone in these mountains, which +save for me they are; they believe you to have gone down the canyon. +Kirkby with Mrs. Maitland and the others waited on the ridge until Mr. +Maitland and his party joined them. They couldn't have saved very much +to eat or wear from the camp, they were miles from a settlement, they +probably divided into two parties; the larger with the woman and +children started for home, the second went down the canyon searching for +your dead body!" + +"And had it not been for you," cried the girl impulsively, "they had +found it." + +"God permitted me to be of service to you," answered the man simply. "I +can follow their speculations exactly; up or down, they believed you to +have been in the canyon when the storm broke, therefore there was only +one place and one direction to search for you." + +"And that was?" + +"Down the canyon." + +"What did you do then?" + +"I went down the canyon myself. I think I saw evidences that someone had +preceded me, too." + +"Did you overtake them!" + +"Certainly not; they traveled as rapidly as I, they must have started +early in the morning and they had several hours the advantage of me." + +"But they must have stopped somewhere for the night and--" + +"Yes," answered the man. "If I had had only myself to consider, I should +have pressed on through the night and overtaken them when they camped." + +"Only yourself?" + +"You made me promise to return here by nightfall. I don't know whether I +should have obeyed you or not. I kept on as long as I dared and still +leave myself time to get back to you by dark." + +She had no idea of the desperate speed he had made to reach her while it +was still daylight. + +"If you hadn't come when you did, I should have died," cried the girl +impetuously. "You did perfectly right. I don't think I am a coward, I +hope not, I never was afraid before, but--" + +"Don't apologize or explain to me, it's not necessary; I understand +everything you feel. It was only because I had given you my word to be +back by sunset that I left off following their trail. I was afraid that +you might think me dead or that something had happened and--" + +"I should, I did," admitted the girl. "It wasn't so bad during the day +time, but when the sun went down and you did not come I began to imagine +everything. I saw myself left alone here in these mountains, helpless, +wounded, without a human being to speak to. I could not bear it." + +"But I have been here alone for five years," said the man grimly. + +"That's different. I don't know why you have chosen solitude, but I--" + +"You are a woman," returned the other gently, "and you have suffered, +that accounts for everything." + +"Thank you," said Enid gratefully. "And I am so glad you came back to +me." + +"Back to you," reiterated the man and then he stopped. If he had allowed +his heart to speak he would have said, back to you from the very ends of +the world--"But I want you to believe that I honestly did not leave the +trail until the ultimate moment," he added. + +"I do believe it," she extended her hand to him. "You have been very +good to me, I trust you absolutely." + +And for the second time he took that graceful, dainty, aristocratic hand +in his own larger, stronger, firmer grasp. His face flushed again; under +other circumstances and in other days perhaps he might have kissed that +hand; as it was he only held it for a moment and then gently released +it. + +"And you think they are searching for me?" she asked. + +"I know it. I am sure of what I myself would do for one I love--I loved +I mean, and they--" + +"And they will find me?" + +The man shook his head. + +"I am afraid they will be convinced that you have gone down with the +flood. Didn't you have a cap or--" + +"Yes," said the woman, "and a sweater. The bear you shot covered the +sweater with blood. I could not put it on again." + +As she spoke she flushed a glorious crimson at the remembrance of that +meeting, but the man was looking away with studied care. She thanked him +in her heart for such generous and kindly consideration. + +"They will have gone down the stream with the rest, and it's just +possible that the searchers may find them, the body of the bear too. +This river ends in a deep mountain lake and I think it is going to snow, +it will be frozen hard to-morrow." + +"And they will think me--there?" + +"I am afraid so." + +"And they won't come up here?" + +"It is scarcely possible." + +"Oh!" exclaimed the woman faintly at the dire possibility that she might +not be found. + +"I took an empty bottle with me," said the man, breaking the silence, +"in which I had enclosed a paper saying that you were here and safe, +save for your wounded foot, and giving directions how to reach the +place. I built a cairn of rocks in a sheltered nook in the valley where +your camp had been pitched and left the tightly corked bottle wedged on +top of it. If they return to the camp they can scarcely fail to see it." + +"But if they don't go back there." + +"Well, it was just a chance." + +"And if they don't find me?" + +"You will have to stay here for a while; until your foot gets well +enough to travel," returned the man evasively. + +"But winter is coming on, you said the lake would freeze to-night, and +if it snows?" + +"It will snow." + +The woman stared at him, appalled. + +"And in that case--" + +"I am afraid," was the slow reply, "that you will have to stay here"--he +hesitated in the face of her white still face--"all winter," he added +desperately. + +"Alone!" exclaimed the girl faintly. "With you?" + +"Miss Maitland," said the man resolutely, "I might as well tell you the +truth. I can make my way to the settlements now or later, but it will be +a journey of perhaps a week. There will be no danger to me, but you will +have to stay here. You could not go with me. If I am any judge you +couldn't possibly use your foot for a mountain journey for at least +three weeks, and by that time we shall be snowed in as effectually as if +we were within the Arctic Circle. But if you will let me go alone to the +settlement I can bring back your uncle, and a woman to keep you company, +before the trails are impassable. Or enough men to make it practicable +to take you through the canyons and down the trails to your home again. I +could not do that alone even if you were well, in the depth of the +winter." + +The girl shook her head stubbornly. + +"A week alone in these mountains and I should be mad," she said +decisively. "It isn't to be thought of." + +"It must be thought of," urged the man. "You don't understand. It is +either that or spend the winter here--with me." + +The woman looked at him steadily. + +"And what have I to fear from you?" she asked. + +"Nothing, nothing," protested the other, "but the world?" + +"The world," said the woman reflectively. "I don't mean to say that it +means nothing to me, but it has cause enough for what it would fain say +now." She came to her decision swiftly. "There is no help for it," she +continued; "we are marooned together." She smiled faintly as she used +the old word of tropic island and southern sea. "You have shown me that +you are a man and a gentleman, in God and you I put my trust. When my +foot gets well, if you can teach me to walk on snow shoes and it is +possible to get through the passes, we will try to go back; if not, we +must wait." + +"The decision is yours," said the man, "yet I feel that I ought to point +out to you how--" + +"I see all that you see," she interrupted. "I know what is in your mind, +it is entirely clear to me, we can do nothing else." + +"So be it. You need have no apprehension as to your material comfort; I +have lived in these mountains for a long time, I am prepared for any +emergency, I pass my time in the summer getting ready for the winter. +There is a cave, or recess rather, behind the house which, as you see, +is built against the rock wall, and it is filled with wood enough to +keep us warm for two or three winters; I have an ample supply of +provisions and clothing for my own needs, but you will need something +warmer than that you wear," he continued. + +"Have you needle and thread and cloth?" she asked. + +"Everything," was the prompt answer. + +"Then I shall not suffer." + +"Are you that wonder of wonders," asked the man, smiling slightly, "an +educated woman who knows how to sew?" + +"It is a tradition of Philadelphia," answered the girl, "that her +daughters should be expert needlewomen." + +"Oh, you are from Philadelphia." + +"Yes, and you?" + +She threw the question at him so deftly and so quickly that she caught +him unaware and off his guard a second time within the hour. + +"Baltimore," he answered before he thought and then bit his lip. + +He had determined to vouchsafe her no information regarding himself and +here she had surprised him into an admission in the first blush of their +acquaintance, and she knew that she had triumphed for she smiled in +recognition of it. + +She tried another tack. + +"Mr. Newbold," she began at a venture, and as it was five years since he +had heard that name, his surprise at her knowledge, which after all was +very simple, betrayed him a third time. "We are like stories I have +read, people who have been cast away on desert islands and--" + +"Yes," said the man, "but no castaways that I have ever read of have +been so bountifully provided with everything necessary to the comfort +of life as we are. I told you I lacked nothing for your material +welfare, and even your mind need not stagnate." + +"I have looked at your books already," said the woman, answering his +glance. + +This was where she had found his name he realized. + +"You will have this room for your own use and I will take the other for +mine," he continued. + +"I am loath to dispossess you." + +"I shall be quite comfortable there, and this shall be your room +exclusively except when you bid me enter, as when I bring you your +meals; otherwise I shall hold it inviolate." + +"But," said the woman, "there must be an equal division of labor, I must +do my share." + +"There isn't much to do in the winter, except to take care of the +burros, keep up the fire and prepare what we have to eat." + +"I am afraid I should be unequal to outdoor work, but in the rest I must +do my part." + +He recognized at once that idleness would be irksome. + +"So you shall," he assented heartily, "when your foot is well enough to +make you an efficient member of our little society." + +"Thank you, and now--" + +"Is there anything else before I get supper?" + +"You think there is no hope of their searching for me here?" + +The man shook his head. + +"If James Armstrong had been in the party," she said reflectively, "I am +sure he would never have given up." + +"And who is James Armstrong, may I ask?" burst forth the other bluntly. + +"Why he--I--he is a friend of my uncle's and an--acquaintance of my +own." + +"Oh," said the man shortly and gloomily, as he turned away. + +Enid Maitland had been very brave in his presence, but when he went out +she put her head down on her arms on the table and cried softly to +herself. Was ever a woman in such a predicament, thrown into the arms of +a man who had established every conceivable claim upon her gratitude, +forced to live with him shut up in a two-room log cabin upon a lonely +mountain range, surrounded by lofty and inaccessible peaks, pierced by +terrific gorges soon to be impassable from the snows? She had read many +stories of castaways from Charles Reade's famous "Foul Play" down to +more modern instances, but in those cases there had always been an +island comparatively large over which to range, with privacy, +seclusion, opportunity for withdrawal; bright heavens, balmy breezes, +idyllic conditions. Here were two uplifted from the earth upon a +sky-piercing mountain; they would have had more range of action and more +liberty of motion if they had been upon a derelict in the ocean. + +And she realized at the same time that in all those stories the two +castaways always loved each other. Would it be so with them? Was it so! +And again the hot flame within outvied the fire on the hearth as the +blood rushed to the smooth surface of her cheek again. + +What would her father say if he could know her position, what would the +world say, and above all what would Armstrong say? It cannot be denied +that her thoughts were terribly and overwhelmingly dismayed, and yet +that despair was not without a certain relief. No man had ever so +interested her as this one. What was the mystery of his life, why was he +there, what had he meant when he had blessed the idle impulse that had +sent her into his arms? + +Her heart throbbed again. She lifted her face from her hands and dried +her tears, a warm glow stole over her and once again not altogether from +the fire. Who and what was this man? Who was that woman whose picture he +had taken from her? Well, she would have time to find out. And meantime +the world outside could think and do what it pleased. She sat staring +into the firelight, seeing pictures there, dreaming dreams. She was as +lovely as an angel to the man when he came back into the room. + + + + +BOOK IV + +OH YE ICE AND SNOW, PRAISE YE THE LORD + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE WOMAN'S HEART + + +That upper earth on which they lived was covered with a thick blanket of +snow. The lakes and pools were frozen from shore to shore. The mountain +brooks, if they flowed at all, ran under thick arches of ice. The +deepest canyons were well nigh impassable from huge drifts that sometimes +almost rose level with the tops of the walls. In every sheltered spot +great banks of white were massed. The spreading branches of the tall +pine trees in the valleys drooped under heavy burdens of snow. Only here +and there sharp gaunt peaks were swept clean by the fierce winter winds +and thrust themselves upward in the icy air, naked and bare. The cold +was polar in its bitter intensity. + +The little shelf, or plateau, jutting out from the mountain side upon +which the lonely cabin stood was sheltered from the prevailing winds, +but the house itself was almost covered with the drifts. The constant +fire roaring up the huge stone chimney had melted some of the snow at +the top and it had run down the slanting roof and formed huge icicles +on what had been the eaves of the house. The man had cut away the drifts +from doors and windows for light and liberty. At first every stormy +night would fill his laborious clearings with drifting snow, but as it +became packed down and frozen solid he was able to keep his various ways +open without a great deal of difficulty. A little work every morning and +evening sufficed. + +Every day he had to go down the mountain stairway to the bottom of the +pocket to feed and water the burros. What was a quick and simple task in +milder, warmer seasons, sometimes took him half a day under the present +rigorous conditions. And the woman never saw him start out in the storm +without a sinking heart and grave apprehension. On his return to the +cabin half frozen, almost spent and exhausted, she ever welcomed him +with eager gratitude and satisfaction which would shine in her eyes, +throb in her heart and tremble upon her lips, control it as she might. +And he thought it was well worth all the trouble and hardships of his +task to be so greeted when he came back to her. + +Winter had set in unusually early and with unprecedented severity. Any +kind of winter in the mountains would have amazed the girl, but even the +man with his larger experiences declared he had never before known such +sharp and sudden cold, or such deep and lasting snow. His daily records +had never shown such low temperatures, nor had his observation ever +noted such wild and furious storms as raged then and there. It seemed as +if Nature were in a conspiracy to seal up the mountains and all they +contained, to make ingress and egress alike impossible. + +A month had elapsed and Enid's foot was now quite well. The man had +managed to sew up her boot where his knife had cut it, and although the +job was a clumsy one the result was a usable shoe. It is astonishing the +comfort she took when she first put it on and discarded for good the +shapeless woolen stocking which had covered the clumsy bandage, happily +no longer necessary. Although the torn and bruised member had healed and +she could use it with care, her foot was still very tender and capable +of sustaining no violent or long continued strain. Of necessity she had +been largely confined to the house, but whenever it had been possible he +had wrapped her in his great bear skin coat and had helped her out to +the edge of the cliff for a breath of fresh air. + +Sometimes he would leave her there alone, would perhaps have left her +alone there always had she not imperiously required his company. + +Insensibly she had acquired the habit--not a difficult one for a woman +to fall into--of taking the lead in the small affairs of their +circumscribed existence, and he had acquiesced in her dominance without +hesitation or remonstrance. It was she who ordered their daily walk and +conversation. Her wishes were consulted about everything; to be sure no +great range of choice was allowed them, or liberty of action, or +freedom, in the constraints with which nature bound them, but whenever +there was any selection she made it. + +The man yielded everything to her and yet he did it without in any way +derogating from his self respect or without surrendering his natural +independence. The woman instinctively realized that in any great crisis, +in any large matter, the determination of which would naturally affect +their present or their future, their happiness, welfare, life, he would +assert himself, and his assertion would be unquestioned and +unquestionable by her. + +There was a delightful satisfaction to the woman in the whole situation. +She had a woman's desire to lead in the smaller things of life and yet +craved the woman's consciousness that in the great emergencies she would +be led, in the great battles she would be fought for, in the great +dangers she would be protected, in the great perils she would be saved. +There was rest, comfort, joy and satisfaction in these thoughts. + +The strength of the man she mastered was evidence of her own power and +charm. There was a sweet, voiceless, unconscious flattery in his +deference of which she could not be unaware. + +Having little else to do, she studied the man and she studied him with a +warm desire and an enthusiastic predisposition to find the best in him. +She would not have been a human girl if she had not been thrilled to the +very heart of her by what the man had done for her. She recognized that +whether he asserted it or not, he had established an everlasting and +indisputable claim upon her. + +The circumstances of their first meeting, which as the days passed did +not seem quite so horrible to her, and yet a thought of which would +bring the blood to her cheek still on the instant, had in some way +turned her over to him. His consideration of her, his gracious +tenderness toward her, his absolute abnegation, his evident overwhelming +desire to please her, to make the anomalous situation in which they +stood to each other bearable in spite of their lonely and unobserved +intimacy, by an absolute lack of presumption on his part--all those +things touched her profoundly. + +Although she did not recognize the fact then, perhaps, she loved him +from the moment her eyes had opened in the mist and rain after that +awful battle in the torrent to see him bending over her. + +No sight that had ever met Enid Maitland's eyes was so glorious, so awe +inspiring, so uplifting and magnificent as the view from the verge of +the cliff in the sunlight of some bright winter morning. Few women had +ever enjoyed such privileges as hers. She did not know whether she liked +the winter crowned range best that way, or whether she preferred the +snowy world, glittering cold in the moonlight; or even whether it was +more attractive when it was dark and the peaks and drifts were only +lighted by the stars which shone never so brightly as just above her +head. + +When he allowed her she loved to stand sometimes in the full fury of the +gale with the wind shrieking and sobbing, like lost souls in some icy +inferno, through the hills and over the pines, the snow beating upon +her, the sleet cutting her face if she dared to turn toward the storm. +Generally he left her alone in the quieter moments, but in the tempest +he stood watchful, on guard by her side, buttressing her, protecting +her, sheltering her. Indeed, his presence then was necessary; without +him she could scarce have maintained a footing. The force of the wind +might have hurled her down the mountain but for his strong arm. When +the cold grew too great he led her back carefully to the hut and the +warm fire. + +Ah, yes, life and the world were both beautiful to her then, in night, +in day, by sunlight, by moonlight, in calm and storm. Yet it made no +difference what was spread before the woman's eyes, what glorious +picture was exhibited to her gaze, she could not look at it more than a +moment without thinking of the man. With the most fascinating panorama +that the earth's surface could spread before human vision to engage her +attention she looked into her own heart and saw there this man! + +Oh, she had fought against it at first, but lately she had luxuriated in +it. She loved him, she loved him! And why not? What is it that women +love in men? Strength of body? She could remember yet how he had carried +her over the mountains in the midst of the storm, how she had been so +bravely upborne by his arms to his heart. She realized later what a task +that had been, what a feat of strength. The uprooting of that sapling, +and the overturning of that huge grizzly were child's play to the long +portage up the almost impassable canyon and mountain side which had +brought her to this dear haven. + +Was it strength of character she sought, resolution, determination? This +man had deliberately withdrawn from the world, buried himself in this +mountain; and had stayed there deaf to the alluring call of man or +woman; he had had the courage to do that. + +Was it strength of mind she admired? Enid Maitland was no mean judge of +the mental powers of her acquaintance. She was just as full of life and +spirit and the joy of them as any young woman should be, but she had not +been trained by and thrown with the best for nothing. _Noblesse oblige!_ +That his was a mind well stored with knowledge of the most varied sort +she easily and at once perceived. Of course the popular books of the +last five years had passed him by, and of such he knew nothing, but he +could talk intelligently, interestingly, entertainingly upon the great +classics. Keats and Shakespeare were his most thumbed volumes. He had +graduated from Harvard as a Civil Engineer with the highest honors of +his class and school and the youngest man to get his sheepskin! Enid +Maitland herself was a woman of broad culture and wide reading and she +deliberately set herself to fathom this man's capabilities. Not +infrequently, much to her surprise, sometimes to her dismay, but +generally to her satisfaction, she found that she had no plummet with +which to sound his greater depths. + +Did she seek in him that fine flower of good breeding, gentleness and +consideration? Where could she find these qualities better displayed? +She was absolutely alone with this man, entirely in his power, shut off +from the world and its interference as effectually as if they had both +been abandoned on an ice floe at the North Pole or cast away on some +lonely island in the South Seas, yet she felt as safe as if she had been +in her own house, or her uncle's, with every protection that human power +could give. He had never presumed upon the situation in the least +degree, he never once referred to the circumstances of their meeting in +the remotest way, he never even discussed her rescue from the flood, he +never told her how he had borne her through the rain to the lonely +shelter of the hills, and in no way did he say anything that the most +keenly scrutinizing mind would torture into an allusion to the pool and +the bear and the woman. The fineness of his breeding was never so well +exhibited as in this reticence. More often than not it is what he does +not rather than what he does that indicates the man. + +It would be folly to deny that he never thought of these things. Had he +forgotten them there would be no merit in his silence; but to remember +them and to keep still--aye, that showed the man! He would close his +eyes in that little room on the other side of the door and see again the +dark pool, her white shoulders, her graceful arms, the lovely face with +its crown of sunny hair rising above the rushing water. He had listened +to the roar of the wind through the long nights, when she thought him +asleep if she thought of him at all, and heard again the scream of the +storm that had brought her to his arms. No snow drop that touched his +cheek when he was abroad but reminded him of that night in the cold rain +when he had held her close and carried her on. He could not sit and mend +her boot without remembering that white foot before which he would fain +have prostrated himself and upon which he would have pressed passionate +kisses if he had given way to his desires. But he kept all these things +in his heart, pondered them and made no sign. + +Did she ask beauty in her lover? Ah, there at last he failed. According +to the canyons of perfection he did not measure up to the standard. His +features were irregular, his chin a trifle too square, his mouth a +thought too firm, his brow wrinkled a little; but he was good to look +at, for he looked strong, he looked clean and he looked true. There was +about him, too, that stamp of practical efficiency that men who can do +things always have. You looked at him and you felt sure that what he +undertook, that he would accomplish; that decision and capability were +incarnate in him. + +But after all the things are said, love goes where it is sent, and I, at +least, am not the sender. This woman loved this man neither because nor +in spite of these qualities. That they were might account for her +affection, but if they had not been, it may be that that affection, that +that passion, would have sprung up in her heart still. No one can say, +no one can tell how or why those things are. She had loved him while she +raged against him and hated him. She did neither the one nor the other +of those two last things, now, and she loved him the more. + +Mystery is a great mover, there is nothing so attractive as a problem we +cannot solve. The very situation of the man, how he came there, what he +did there, why he remained there, questions to which she had yet no +answer, stimulated her profoundly. Because she did not know she +questioned in secret; interest was aroused and the transition to love +was easy. + +Propinquity, too, is responsible for many an affection. "The ivy clings +to the first met tree." Given a man and woman heart free and throw them +together and let there be decent kindness on both sides, and it is +almost inevitable that each shall love the other. Isolate them from the +world, let them see no other companions but the one man and the one +woman and the result becomes more inevitable. + +Yes, this woman loved this man. She said in her heart--and I am not one +to dispute her conclusions--that she would have loved him had he been +one among millions to stand before her, and it was true. He was the +complement of her nature. They differed in temperament as much as in +complexion, and yet in such differences as must always be to make +perfect love and perfect union, there were striking resemblances, +necessary points of contact. + +There was no reason whatever why Enid Maitland should not love this man. +The only possible check upon her feelings would have been her rather +anomalous relation to Armstrong, but she reflected that she had promised +him definitely nothing. When she had met him she had been heart whole, +he had made some impression upon her fancy and might have made more with +greater opportunity, but unfortunately for him, luckily for her, he had +not enjoyed that privilege. She scarcely thought of him longer. + +She would not have been human if her mind had not dwelt upon the world +beyond the skyline on the other side of the range. She knew how those +who loved her must be suffering on account of her disappearance, but +knowing herself safe and realizing that within a short time, when the +spring came again, she would go back to them and that their mourning +would be turned into joy by her arrival, she could not concern herself +very greatly over their present feelings and emotions; and besides, what +would be the use of worrying over those things. There was subject more +attractive for her thoughts close at hand. And she was too blissfully +happy to entertain for more than a moment any sorrow. + +She pictured her return and never by any chance did she think of going +back to civilization alone. The man she loved would be by her side, the +church's blessing would make them one. To do her justice in the +simplicity and purity of her thoughts she never once thought of what the +world might say about that long winter sojourn alone with this man. She +was so conscious of her own innocence and of his delicate forbearance, +she never once thought how humanity would elevate its brows and fairly +cry upon her from the house tops. She did not realize that were she ever +so pure and so innocent she could not now or ever reach the high +position which Caesar, who was none too reputable himself, would fain +have had his wife enjoy? + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE MAN'S HEART + + +Now love produces both happiness and unhappiness, dependent upon +conditions, but on the whole I think the happiness predominates, for +love itself if it be true and high is its own reward. Love may feel +itself unworthy and may shrink even from the unlatching of the shoe lace +of the beloved, yet it joys in its own existence nevertheless. Of course +its greatest satisfaction is in the return, but there is a sweetness +even in the despair of the truly loving. + +Enid Maitland, however, did not have to endure indifference, or fight +against a passion which met with no response, for this man loved her +with a love that was greater even than her own. The moon, in the trite +aphorism, looks on many brooks, the brook sees no moon but the one above +him in the heavens. In one sense his merit in winning her affection for +himself from the hundreds of men she knew was the greater; in many years +he had only seen this one woman. Naturally she should be everything to +him. She represented to him not only the woman but womankind. He had +been a boy practically when he had buried himself in those mountains, +and in all that time he had seen nobody like Enid Maitland. Every +argument which has been exploited to show why she should love him could +be turned about to account for his passion for her. Those arguments are +not necessary, they are all supererogatory, like idle words. To him also +love had been born in an hour. It had flashed into existence as if from +the fiat of the Divine. + +Oh, he had fought against it. Like the eremites of old he had been +scourged into the desert by remorse and another passion, but time had +done its work. The woman he first loved had ministered not to the +spiritual side of the man, or if she had so ministered in any degree it +was because he had looked at her with a glamour of inexperience and +youth. During those five years of solitude, of study and of reflection, +the truth had gradually unrolled itself before him. Conclusions vastly +at variance with what he had ever believed possible as to the woman upon +whom he had first bestowed his heart had got into his being and were in +solution there, this present woman was the precipitant which brought +them to life. He knew now what the old appeal of his wife had been. He +knew now what the new appeal of this woman was. + +In humanity two things in life are inextricably intermingled, body and +soul. Where the function of one begins and the function of the other +ends no one is able to say. In all human passions there are admixtures +of the earth earthy. We are born the sons of the Old Adam as we are +re-born the sons of the New. Passions are complex. As in harvest wheat +and tares grow together until the end, so in love earth and heaven +mingle ever. He remembered a clause from an ancient marriage service he +had read. "With my body I thee worship," and with every fiber of his +physical being, he loved this woman. + +It would be idle to deny that, impossible to disguise the facts, but in +the melting pot of passion the preponderant ingredients were mental and +spiritual; and just because higher and holier things predominated, he +held her in his heart a sacred thing. Love is like a rose: the material +part is the beautiful blossom, the spiritual factor is the fragrance +which abides in the rose jar even after every leaf has faded away, or +which may be expressed from the soft petals by the hard circumstances of +pain and sorrow until there is left nothing but the lingering perfume of +the flower. + +His body trembled if she laid a hand upon him, his soul thirsted for +her; present or absent he conjured before his tortured brain the +sweetness that inhabited her breast. He had been clear-sighted enough +in analyzing the past, he was neither clear-sighted nor coherent in +thinking of the present. He worshiped her, he could have thrown himself +upon his knees to her; if it would have added to her happiness she could +have killed him, smiling at her. Rode she in the Juggernaut car of the +ancient idol, with his body would he have unhesitatingly paved the way +and have been glad of the privilege. He longed to compass her with sweet +observances. The world revenged itself upon him for his long neglect, it +had summed up in this one woman all its charm, its beauty, its romance, +and had thrust her into his very arms. His was one of those great +passions which illuminate the records of the past. Paolo had not loved +Francesca more. + +Oh, yes, the woman knew he loved her. It was not in the power of mortal +man, no matter how iron his restraint, how absolute the imposition of +his will, to keep his heart hidden, his passion undisclosed. No one +could keep such things secret. His love for her cried aloud in a +thousand ways: even his look when he dared to turn his eyes upon her was +eloquent of his feeling. He never said a word, however; he held his lips +at least fettered and bound for he believed that honor and its +obligations weighed down the balance upon the contrary side to which +his inclinations lay. + +He was not worthy of this woman. In the first place all he had to offer +her was a blood-stained hand. That might have been overcome in his mind; +but pride in his self-punishment, his resolution to withdraw himself +from man and woman until such time as God completed his expiation and +signified His acceptance of the penitent by taking away his life, held +him inexorably. + +The dark face of his wife rose before him. He forced himself to think +upon her; she had loved him, she had given him all that she could. He +remembered how she had pleaded with him that he take her on that last +and most dangerous of journeys, her devotion to him had been so great +she could not let him go out of her sight a moment, he thought +fatuously! And he had killed her. In the queer turmoil of his brain he +blamed himself for everything. He could not be false to his purpose, +false to her memory, unworthy of the passion in which he believed she +had held him and which he believed he had inspired. + +If he had gone out in the world, after her death, he might have +forgotten most of these things, he might have lived them down. Saner, +clearer views would have come to him. His morbid self-reproach and +self-consciousness would have been changed. But he had lived with them +alone for five years and now there was no putting them aside. Honor and +pride, the only things that may successfully fight against love, +overcame him. He could not give way. He wanted to, every time he was in +her presence he longed to, sweep her to his heart and crush her in his +arms and bend her head back and press kisses of fire on her lips. + +But honor and pride held him back. How long would they continue to +exercise dominion over him? Would the time come when his passion rising +like a sea would thunder upon these artificial embankments of his soul, +beat them down and sweep them away? + +At first the disparity between their situations, not so much on account +of family or of property--the treasures of the mountains, hidden since +creation, he had discovered and let lie--but because of the youth and +position of the woman compared to his own maturer years, his desperate +experience, and his social withdrawal, had reinforced his determination +to live and love without a sign. But he had long since got beyond this. +Had he been free he would have taken her like a viking of old, if he had +to pluck her from amid a thousand swords and carry her to a beggar's hut +which love would have turned to a palace. And she would have come with +him on the same conditions. + +He did not know that. Women have learned through centuries of weakness +that fine art of concealment which man has never mastered. She never let +him see what she thought of him. Yet he was not without suspicion; if +that suspicion grew to certainty, would he control himself then? + +At first he had sought to keep out of her way, but she had compelled him +to come in. The room that was kitchen and bedroom and store-room for him +was cheerless and somewhat cold. Save at night or when he was busy with +other tasks outside they lived together in the great room. It was always +warm, it was always bright, it was always cheerful, there. + +The little piles of manuscript she had noted were books he had written. +He made no effort to conceal such things from her. He talked frankly +enough about his life in the hills, indeed there was no possibility of +avoiding the discussion of such topics. On but two subjects was he +inexorably silent. One was the present state of his affections and the +other was the why and wherefore of his lonely life. She knew beyond +peradventure that he loved her, but she had no faint suspicion even as +to the reason why he had become a recluse. He had never given her the +slightest clew to his past save that admission that he had known Kirkby, +which was in itself nothing definite and which she never connected with +that package of letters which she still kept with her. + +The man's mind was too active and fertile to be satisfied with manual +labor alone, the books that he had written were scientific treatises in +the main. One was a learned discussion of the fauna and flora of the +mountains. Another was an exhaustive account of the mineral resources +and geological formations of the range. He had only to allow a whisper, +a suspicion of his discovery of gold and silver in the mountains to +escape him and the canyons and crests alike would be filled with eager +prospectors. Still a third work was a scientific analysis of the water +powers in the canyons. + +He had willingly allowed her to read them all. Much of them she found +technical and, aside from the fact that he had written them, +uninteresting. But there was one book remaining in which he simply +discussed the mountains in the various seasons of the year; when the +snows covered them, when the grass and the moss came again, when the +flowers bloomed, when autumn touched the trees. There was the soul of +the man, poetry expressed in prose, man-like but none the less poetry +for that. This book she pored over, she questioned him about it, they +discussed it as they discussed Keats and the other poets. + +Those were happy evenings. She on one side of the fire sewing, her +finger wound with cloth to hold his giant thimble, fashioning for +herself some winter garments out of a gay colored, red, white and black +ancient and exquisitely woven Navajo blanket, soft and pliable almost as +an old fashioned piece of satin--priceless if she had but known +it--which he put at her disposal. While on the other side of the same +homely blaze he made her out of the skins of some of the animals that he +had killed, shapeless foot coverings, half moccasin and wholly legging, +which she could wear over her shoes in her short excursions around the +plateau and which would keep her feet warm and comfortable. + +By her permission he smoked as he worked, enjoying the hour, putting +aside the past and the future and for a few moments blissfully content. +Sometimes he laid aside his pipe and whatever work he was engaged upon +and read to her from some immortal noble number. Sometimes the +entertainment fell to her and she sang to him in her glorious contralto +voice, music that made him mad. Once he could stand it no longer. At +the end of a burst of song which filled the little room--he had risen +to his feet while she sang, compelled to the erect position by the +magnificent melody--as the last notes died away and she smiled at him, +triumphant and expectant of his praise and his approval, he hurled +himself out of the room and into the night; wrestling for hours with the +storm which after all was but a trifle to that which raged in his bosom. +While she, left alone and deserted, quaked within the silent room till +she heard him come back. + +Often and often when she slept quietly on one side the thin partition, +he lay awake on the other, and sometimes his passion drove him forth to +cool the fever, the fire in his soul, in the icy, wintry air. The +struggle within him preyed upon him, the keen loving eye of the woman +searched his face, scrutinized him, looked into his heart, saw what was +there. + +She determined to end it, deciding that he must confess his affections. +She had no premonition of the truth and no consideration of any evil +consequences held her back. She could give free range to her love and +her devotion. She had the ordering of their lives and she had the power +to end the situation growing more and more impossible. She fancied the +matter easily terminable. She thought she had only to let him see her +heart in such ways as a maiden may, to bring joy to his own, to make +him speak. She did not dream of the reality. + +One night, therefore, a month or more after she had come, she resolved +to end the uncertainty. She believed the easiest and the quickest way +would be to get him to tell her why he was there. She naturally surmised +that the woman of the picture, which she had never seen since the first +day of her arrival, was in some measure the cause of it; and the only +pain she had in the situation was the keen jealousy that would obtrude +itself at the thought of that woman. She remembered everything that he +had said to her and she recalled that he had once made the remark that +he would treat her as he would have his wife treated if he had one; +therefore whoever and whatever the picture of this woman was, she was +not his wife. She might have been someone he had loved, who had not +loved him. She might have died. She was jealous of her, but she did not +fear her. + +After a long and painful effort the woman had completed the winter suit +she had made for herself. He had advised her and had helped her. It was +a belted tunic that fell to her knees, the red and black stripes ran +around it, edged the broad collar, cuffed the warm sleeves and marked +the graceful waist line. It was excessively becoming to her. He had been +down into the valley, or the pocket, for a final inspection of the +burros before the night, which promised to be severe, fell, and she had +taken advantage of the opportunity to put it on. + +She knew that she was beautiful; her determination to make this evening +count had brought an unusual color to her cheeks, an unwonted sparkle to +her eye. She stood up as she heard him enter the other room, she was +standing erect as he came through the door and faced her. He had only +seen her in the now somewhat shabby blue of her ordinary camp dress +before, and her beauty fairly smote him in his face. He stood before +her, wrapped in his great fur coat, snow and ice clinging to it, +entranced. The woman smiled at the effect she produced. + +"Take off your coat," she said gently, approaching him. "Here, let me +help you. Do you realize that I have been here over a month now? I want +to have a little talk with you. I want you to tell me something." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE KISS ON THE HAND + + +"Did it ever occur to you," began Enid Maitland gravely enough, for she +quite realized the serious nature of the impending conversation, "did it +ever occur to you that you know practically all about me, while I know +practically nothing about you?" + +The man bowed his head. + +"You may have fancied that I was not aware of it, but in one way or +another you have possessed yourself of pretty nearly all of my short +and, until I met you, most uneventful life," she continued. + +Newbold might have answered that there was one subject which had been +casually introduced by her upon one occasion and to which she had never +again referred, but which was to him the most important of all subjects +connected with her; and that was the nature of her relationship to one +James Armstrong whose name, although he had heard it but once, he had +not forgotten. The girl had been frankness itself in following his deft +leads when he talked with her about herself, but she had shown the same +reticence in recurring to Armstrong that he had displayed in questioning +her about him. The statement she had just made as to his acquaintance +with her history was therefore sufficiently near the truth to pass +unchallenged and once again he gravely bowed in acquiescence. + +"I have withheld nothing from you," went on the girl; "whatever you +wanted to know, I have told you. I had nothing to conceal, as you have +found out. Why you wanted to know about me, I am not quite sure." + +"It was because--" burst out the man impetuously, and then he stopped +abruptly and just in time. + +Enid Maitland smiled at him in a way that indicated she knew what was +behind the sudden check he had imposed upon himself. + +"Whatever your reason, your curiosity--" + +"Don't call it that, please." + +"Your desire, then, has been gratified. Now it is my turn. I am not even +sure about your name. I have seen it in these books and naturally I have +imagined that it is yours." + +"It is mine." + +"Well, that is really all that I know about you. And now I shall be +quite frank. I want to know more. You evidently have something to +conceal or you would not be living here in this way. I have never asked +you about yourself, or manifested the least curiosity to solve the +problem you present, to find the solution of the mystery of your life." + +"Perhaps," said the man, "you didn't care enough about it to take the +trouble to inquire." + +"You know," answered the girl, "that is not true. I have been consumed +with desire to know?" + +"A woman's curiosity?" + +"Not that," was the soft answer that turned away his wrath. + +She was indeed frank. There was that in her way of uttering those two +simple words that set his pulses bounding. He was not altogether and +absolutely blind. + +"Come," said the girl, extending her hand to him, "we are alone here +together. We must help each other. You have helped me, you have been of +the greatest service to me. I can't begin to count all that you have +done for me; my gratitude--" + +"Only that?" + +"But that is all that you have ever asked or expected," answered the +young woman in a low voice, whose gentle tones did not at all accord +with the boldness and courage of the speech. + +"You mean?" asked the man, staring at her, his face aflame. + +"I mean," answered the girl swiftly, willfully misinterpreting and +turning his half-spoken question another way, "I mean that I am sure +that some trouble has brought you here. I do not wish to force your +confidence--I have no right to do so--yet I should like to enjoy it. +Can't you give it to me? I want to help you. I want to do my best to +make some return for what you have been to me and have done for me." + +"I ask but one thing," he said quickly. + +"And what is that?" + +But again he checked himself. + +"No," he said, "I am not free to ask anything of you." + +And that answer to Enid Maitland was like a knife thrust in the heart. +The two had been standing, confronting each other. Her heart grew faint +within her. She stretched out her hand vaguely, as if for support. He +stepped toward her, but before he reached her she caught the back of the +chair and sank down weakly. That he should be bound and not free, had +never once occurred to her. She had quite misinterpreted the meaning of +his remark. + +The man did not help her; he could not help her. He just stood and +looked at her. She fought valiantly for self-control a moment or two +and then utterly oblivious to the betrayal of her feelings involved in +the question--the moments were too great for consideration of such +trivial matters--she faltered: + +"You mean there is some other woman?" + +He shook his head in negation. + +"I don't understand." + +"There was some other woman?" + +"Where is she now?" + +"Dead." + +"But you said you were not free." + +He nodded. + +"Did you care so much for her that now--that now--" + +"Enid," he cried desperately. "Believe me, I never knew what love was +until I met you." + +The secret was out now, it had been known to her long since, but now it +was publicly proclaimed. Even a man as blind, as obsessed, as he could +not mistake the joy that illuminated her face at this announcement. That +very joy and satisfaction produced upon him, however, a very different +effect than might have been anticipated. Had he been free indeed he +would have swept her to his breast and covered her sweet face with +kisses broken by whispered words of passionate endearment. Instead of +that he shrank back from her and it was she who was forced to take up +the burden of the conversation. + +"You say that she is dead," she began in sweet appealing bewilderment, +"and that you care so much for me and yet you--" + +"I am a murderer," he broke out harshly. "There is blood upon my hands, +the blood of a woman who loved me and whom, boy as I was, I thought that +I loved. She was my wife, I killed her." + +"Great Heaven!" cried the girl, amazed beyond measure or expectation by +this sudden avowal which she had never once suspected, and her hand +instinctively went to the bosom of her dress where she kept that soiled, +water-stained packet of letters, "are you that man?" + +"I am that man that did that thing, but what do you know?" he asked +quickly, amazed in his turn. + +"Old Kirkby, my uncle Robert Maitland, told me your story. They said +that you had disappeared from the haunts of men--" + +"And they were right. What else was there for me to do? Although +innocent of crime, I was blood guilty. I was mad. No punishment could be +visited upon me like that imposed by the stern, awful, appalling fact. I +swore to prison myself, to have nothing more forever to do with mankind +or womankind with whom I was unworthy to associate, to live alone until +God took me. To cherish my memories, to make such expiation as I could, +to pray daily for forgiveness. I came here to the wildest, the most +inaccessible, the loneliest, spot in the range. No one ever would come +here I fancied, no one ever did come here but you. I was happy after a +fashion, or at least content. I had chosen the better part. I had work, +I could read, write, remember and dream. But you came and since that +time life has been heaven and hell. Heaven because I love you, hell +because to love you means disloyalty to the past, to a woman who loved +me. Heaven because you are here, I can hear your voice, I can see you, +your soul is spread out before me in its sweetness, in its purity; hell +because I am false to my determination, to my vow, to the love of the +past." + +"And did you love her so much, then?" asked the girl, now fiercely +jealous and forgetful of other things for the moment. + +"It's not that," said the man. "I was not much more than a boy, a year +or two out of college. I had been in the mountains a year. This woman +lived in a mining camp, she was a fresh, clean, healthy girl, her father +died and the whole camp fathered her, looked after her, and all the +young men in the range for miles on either side were in love with her. +I supposed that I was, too, and--well, I won her from the others. We had +been married but a few months and a part of the time my business as a +mining engineer had called me away from her. I can remember the day +before we started on the last journey. I was going alone again, but she +was so unhappy over my departure, she clung to me, pleaded with me, +implored me to take her with me, insisted on going wherever I went, +would not be left behind. She couldn't bear me out of her sight, it +seemed. I don't know what there was in me to have inspired such +devotion, but I must speak the truth, however it may sound. She seemed +wild, crazy about me. I didn't understand it; frankly, I didn't know +what such love was--then--but I took her along. Shall I not be honest +with you? In spite of the attraction physical, I had begun to feel even +then that she was not the mate for me. I don't deserve it, and it shames +me to say it of course, but I wanted a better mind, a higher soul. That +made it harder--what I had to do, you know." + +"Yes, I know." + +"The only thing I could do when I came to my senses was to sacrifice +myself to her memory because she had loved me so; as it were, she gave +up her life for me, I could do no less than be true and loyal to the +remembrance. It wasn't a sacrifice either until you came, but as soon as +you opened your eyes and looked into mine in the rain and the storm upon +the rock to which I had carried you after I had fought for you, I knew +that I loved you. I knew that the love that had come into my heart was +the love of which I had dreamed, that everything that had gone before +was nothing, that I had found the one woman whose soul should mate with +mine." + +"And this before I had said a word to you?" + +"What are words? The heart speaks to the heart, the soul whispers to the +soul. And so it was with us. I had fought for you, you were mine, mine. +My heart sang it as I panted and struggled over the rocks carrying you. +It said the words again and again as I laid you down here in this cabin. +It repeated them over and over; mine, mine! It says that every day and +hour. And yet honor and fidelity bid me stay. I am free, yet bound; free +to love you, but not to take you. My heart says yes, my conscience no. I +should despise myself if I were false to the love which my wife bore me, +and how could I offer you a blood stained hand?" + +He had drawn very near her while he spoke; she had risen again and the +two confronted each other. He stretched out his hand as he asked that +last question, almost as if he had offered it to her. She made the best +answer possible to his demand, for before he could divine what she would +be at, she had seized his hand and kissed it, and this time it was the +man whose knees gave way. He sank down in the chair and buried his face +in his hands. + +"Oh, God! Oh, God!" he cried in his humiliation and shame. "If I had +only met you first, or if my wife had died as others die, and not by my +hand in that awful hour. I can see her now, broken, bruised, bleeding, +torn. I can hear the report of that weapon. Her last glance at me in the +midst of her indescribable agony was one of thankfulness and gratitude. +I can't stand it, I am unworthy even of her." + +"But you could not help it, it was not your fault. And you can't +help--caring--for me--" + +"I ought to help it, I ought not love you, I ought to have known that I +was not fit to love any woman, that I had no right, that I was pledged +like a monk to the past. I have been weak, a fool. I love you and my +honor goes, I love you and my self respect goes, I love you and my pride +goes. Would God I could say I love you and my life goes and end it all." +He stared at her a little space. "There is only one ray of satisfaction +in it at all, one gleam of comfort," he added. + +"And what is that?" + +"You don't know what the suffering is, you don't understand, you don't +comprehend." + +"And why not?" + +"Because you do not love me." + +"But I do," said the woman quite simply, as if it were a matter of +course not only that she should love him, but that she should also tell +him so. + +The man stared at her, amazed. Such fierce surges of joy throbbed +through him as he had not thought the human frame could sustain. This +woman loved him, in some strange way he had gained her affection. It was +impossible, yet she had said so! He had been a blind fool. He could see +that now. She stood before him and smiled up at him, looking at him +through eyes misted with tears, with lips parted, with color coming and +going in her cheek and with her bosom rising and falling. She loved him, +he had but to step nearer to her to take her in his arms. There was +trust, devotion, surrender, everything, in her attitude and between +them, like that great gulf which lay between the rich man and the +beggar, that separated heaven and hell, was that he could not cross. + +"I never dreamed, I never hoped--oh," he exclaimed as if he had got his +death wound, "this cannot be borne." + +He turned away, but in two swift steps she caught him. + +"Where do you go?" + +"Out, out into the night." + +"You cannot go now, it is dark; hark to the storm, you will miss your +footing; you would fall, you would freeze, you would die." + +"What matters that?" + +"I cannot have it." + +"It would be better so." + +He strove again to wrench himself away, but she would not be denied. She +clung to him tenaciously. + +"I will not let you go unless you give me your word of honor that you +will not leave the plateau, and that you will come back to me." + +"I tell you that the quicker and more surely I go out of your life, the +happier and better it will be for you." + +"And I tell you," said the woman resolutely, "that you can never go out +of my life again, living or dead," she released him with one hand and +laid it upon her heart, "you are here." + +"Enid," cried the man. + +"No," she thrust him gently away with one hand yet detained him with the +other--that was emblematic of the situation between them. "Not now, not +yet, let me think, but promise me you will do yourself no harm, you will +let nothing imperil your life." + +"As you will," said the man regretfully. "I had purposed to end it now +and forever, but I promise." + +"Your word of honor?" + +"My word of honor." + +"And you won't break it?" + +"I never broke it to a human being, much less will I do so to you?" + +She released him. He went into the other room and she heard him cross +the floor and open the door and go out into the night, into the storm +again. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE FACE IN THE LOCKET + + +Left alone in the room she sat down again before the fire and drew from +her pocket the packet of letters. She knew them by heart, she had read +and re-read them often when she had been alone. They had fascinated her. +They were letters from some other man to this man's wife. They were +signed by an initial only and the identity of the writer was quite +unknown to her. The woman's replies were not with the others, but it was +easy enough to see what those replies had been. All the passion of which +the woman had been capable had evidently been bestowed upon the writer +of the letters she had treasured. + +Her story was quite plain. She had married Newbold in a fit of pique. He +was an Eastern man, the best educated, the most fascinating and +interesting of the men who frequented the camp. There had been a quarrel +between the letter writer and the woman, there were always quarrels, +apparently, but this had been a serious one and the man had savagely +flung away and left her. He had not come back as he usually did. She +had waited for him and then she had married Newbold and then he had +come back--too late! + +He had wanted to kill the other, but she had prevented, and while +Newbold was away he had made desperate love to her. He had besought her +to leave her husband, to go away with him. He had used every argument +that he could to that end and the woman had hesitated and wavered, but +she had not consented; she had not denied her love for him any more than +she had denied her respect and a certain admiration for her gallant +trusting husband. She had refused again and again the requests of her +lover. She could not control her heart, nevertheless she had kept to her +marriage vows. But the force of her resistance had grown weaker and she +had realized that alone she would perhaps inevitably succumb. + +Her lover had been away when her husband returned prior to that last +fateful journey. Enid Maitland saw now why she had besought him to take +her with him. She had been afraid to be left alone! She had not dared to +depend upon her own powers any more, her only salvation had been to go +with this man whom she did not love, whom at times she almost hated, to +keep from falling into the arms of the man she did love. She had been +more or less afraid of Newbold. She had soon realized, because she was +not blinded by any passion as he, that they had been utterly mismated. +She had come to understand that when the same knowledge of the truth +came to him, as it inevitably must some day, nothing but unhappiness +would be their portion. + +Every kind of an argument in addition to those so passionately adduced +in these letters urging her to break away from her husband and to seek +happiness for herself while yet there was time, had besieged her heart, +had seconded her lover's plea and had assailed her will, and yet she had +not given way. + +Now Enid Maitland hated the woman who had enjoyed the first young love +of the man she herself loved. She hated her because of her priority of +possession, because her memory yet came between her and that man. She +hated her because Newbold was still true to her memory, because Newbold, +believing in the greatness of her passion for him, thought it shame and +dishonor to his manhood to be false to her, no matter what love and +longing drew him on. + +Yet there was a stern sense of justice in the bosom of this young woman. +She exulted in the successful battle the poor woman had waged for the +preservation of her honor and her good name, against such odds. It was a +sex triumph for which she was glad. She was proud of her for the stern +rigor with which she had refused to take the easiest way and the +desperation with which she had clung to him she did not love, but to +whom she was bound by the laws of God and man, in order that she might +not fall into the arms of the man she did love, in defiance of right. + +Enid Maitland and this woman were as far removed from each other as the +opposite poles of the earth, but there was yet a common quality in each +one, of virtuous womanhood, of lofty morality. Natural, perhaps, in the +one and to be expected; unnatural, perhaps, and to be unexpected in the +other, but there! Now that she knew what love was and what its power and +what its force--for all that she had felt and experienced and dreamed +about before were as nothing to what it was since he had spoken--she +could understand what the struggle must have been in that woman's heart. +She could honor her, reverence her, pity her. + +She could understand the feeling of the man, too, she could think much +more clearly than he. He was distracted by two passions, for his pride +and his honor and for her; she had as yet but one, for him. And as there +was less turmoil and confusion in her mind, she was the more capable of +looking the facts in the face and making the right deduction from them. + +She could understand how in the first frightful rush of his grief and +remorse and love the very fact that Newbold had been compelled to kill +his wife, of whom she guessed he was beginning to grow a little weary, +under such circumstances had added immensely to his remorse and +quickened his determination to expiate his guilt and cherish her memory. +She could understand why he would do just as he had done, go into the +wilderness to be alone in horror of himself and in horror of his fellow +men, to think only, mistakenly, of her. + +Now he was paying the penalty of that isolation. Men were made to live +with one another, and no one could violate that law natural, or by so +long an inheritance as to have so become, without paying that penalty. +His ideas of loyalty and fidelity were warped, his conceptions of his +duty were narrow. There was something noble in his determination, it is +true, but there was something also very foolish. The dividing line +between wisdom and folly is sometimes as indefinite as that between +comedy and tragedy, between laughter and tears. If the woman he had +married and killed had only hated him and he had known, it would have +been different, but since he believed so in her love he could do nothing +else. + +At that period in her reflections Enid Maitland saw a great light. The +woman had not loved her husband after all, she had loved another. That +passion of which he had dreamed had not been for him. By a strange chain +of circumstances Enid Maitland held in her hand the solution of the +problem. She had but to give him these letters to show him that his +golden image had stood upon feet of clay, that the love upon which he +had dwelt was not his. Once convinced of that he would come quickly to +her arms. She cried a prayer of blessing on old Kirkby and started to +her feet, the letters in hand, to call Newbold back to her and tell him, +and then she stopped. + +Woman as she was, she had respect for the binding conditions and laws of +honor as well as he. Chance, nay, Providence, had put the honor of this +woman, her rival, in her hands. The world had long since forgotten this +poor unfortunate; in no heart was her memory cherished save in that of +her husband. His idea of her was a false one, to be sure, but not even +to procure her own happiness could Enid Maitland overthrow that ideal, +shatter that memory. + +She sat down again with the letters in her hand. It had been very simple +a moment since, but it was not so now. She had but to show him those +letters to remove the great barrier between them. She could not do it. +It was clearly impossible. The reputation of her dead sister who had +struggled so bravely to the end was in her hands, she could not +sacrifice her even for her own happiness. + +Quixotic, you say? I do not think so. She had blundered unwittingly, +unwillingly, upon the heart secret of the other woman, she could not +betray it. Even if the other woman had been really unfaithful in deed as +well as in thought to her husband, Enid could hardly have destroyed his +recollection of her. How much more impossible it was since the other +woman had fought so heroically and so successfully for her honor. +Womanhood demanded her silence. Loyalty, honor, compelled her silence. + +A dead hand grasped his heart and the same dead hand grasped hers. She +could see no way out of the difficulty. So far as she knew, no human +soul except old Kirkby and herself knew this woman's story. She could +not tell Newbold and she would have to impose upon Kirkby the same +silence as she herself exercised. There was absolutely no way in which +the man could find out. He must cherish his dream as he would. She would +not enlighten him, she would not disabuse his mind, she could not +shatter his ideal, she could not betray his wife. They might love as +the angels of heaven and yet be kept forever apart--by a scruple, an +idea, a principle, an abstraction, honor, a name. + +Her mind told her these things were idle and foolish, but her soul would +not hear of it. And in spite of her resolutions she felt that eventually +there would be some way. She would not have been a human woman if she +had not hoped and prayed that. She believed that God had created them +for each other, that He had thrown them together. She was enough of a +fatalist in this instance at least to accept their intimacy as the +result of His ordination. There must be some way out of the dilemma. + +Yet she knew that he would be true to his belief, and she felt that she +would not be false to her obligation. What of that? There would be some +way. Perhaps somebody else knew, and then there flashed into her mind +the writer of the letters. Who was he? Was he yet alive? Had he any part +to play in this strange tragedy aside from that he had already essayed? + +Sometimes an answer to a secret query is made openly. At this juncture +Newbold came back. He stopped before her unsteadily, his face now marked +not only by the fierceness of the storm outside, but by the fiercer +grapple of the storm in his heart. + +"You have a right," he began, "to know everything now. I can withhold +nothing from you." + +He had in his hand a picture and something yellow that gleamed in the +light. "There," he continued, extending them toward her, "is the picture +of the poor woman, who loved me and whom I killed, you saw it once +before." + +"Yes," she nodded, taking it from him carefully and looking again in a +strange commixture of pride, resentment and pity at the bold, somewhat +coarse, entirely uncultured, yet handsome face which gave no evidence of +the moral purpose which she had displayed. + +"And here," said the man, offering the other article, "is something that +no human eye but mine has ever seen since that day. It is a locket I +took from her neck. Until you came I wore it next my heart." + +"And since then?" + +"Since then I have been unworthy her as I am unworthy you, and I have +put it aside." + +"Does it contain another picture?" + +"Yes." + +"Of her?" + +"A man's face." + +"Yours?" + +He shook his head. + +"Look and see," he answered. "Press the spring." + +Suiting action to word the next second Enid Maitland found herself +gazing upon the pictured semblance of Mr. James Armstrong! + +She was utterly unable to suppress an exclamation and a start of +surprise at the astonishing revelation. The man looked at her curiously, +he opened his mouth to question her, but she recovered herself in part +at least and swiftly interrupted him in a panic of terror lest she +should betray her knowledge. + +"And what is the picture of another man doing in your wife's locket?" +she asked to gain time, for she very well knew the reply; knew it, +indeed, better than Newbold himself; who, as it happened, was equally in +the dark both as to the man and the reason. + +"I don't know," answered the other. + +"Did you know this man?" + +"I never saw him in my life that I can recall." + +"And have you--did you--" + +"Did I suspect my wife?" he asked. "Never. I had too many evidences that +she loved me and me alone for a ghost of suspicion to enter my mind. It +may have been a brother, or her father in his youth." + +"And why did you wear it?" + +"Because I took it from her dead heart. Some day I shall find out who +the man is, and when I shall I know there will be nothing to her +discredit in the knowledge." + +Enid Maitland nodded her head. She closed the locket, laid it on the +table and pushed it away from her. So this was the man the woman had +loved, who had begged her to go away with him, this handsome Armstrong +who had come within an ace of winning her own affection, to whom she was +in some measure pledged! + +How strangely does fate work out its purposes. Enid had come from the +Atlantic seaboard to be the second woman that both these two men loved! + +If she ever saw Mr. James Armstrong again, and she had no doubt that she +would, she would have some strange things to say to him. She held in her +hands now all the threads of the mystery, she was master of all the +solutions, and each thread was as a chain that bound her. + +"My friend," she said at last with a deep sigh, "you must forget this +night and go on as before. You love me, thank God for that, but honor +and respect interpose between us. And I love you, and I thank God for +that, too, but for me as well the same barrier rises. Whether we shall +ever surmount these barriers God alone knows. He brought us together, He +put that love in our hearts, we will have to leave it to Him to do as +He will with us both. Meanwhile we must go on as before." + +"No," cried the man, "you impose upon me tasks beyond my strength; you +don't know what love like mine is, you don't know the heart hunger, the +awful madness I feel. Think, I have been alone with a recollection for +all these years, a man in the dark, in the night, and the light comes, +you are here. The first night I brought you here I walked that room on +the other side of that narrow door like a lion pent up in bars of steel. +I had only my own love, my own passionate adoration to move me then, but +now that I know you love me, that I see it in your eyes, that I hear it +from your lips, that I mark it in the beat of your heart, can I keep +silent? Can I live on and on? Can I see you, touch you, breathe the same +air with you, be shut up in the same room with you hour after hour, day +after day, and go on as before? I can't do it; it is an impossibility. +What keeps me now from taking you in my arms and from kissing the color +into your cheeks, from making your lips my own, from drinking the light +from your eyes?" He swayed near to her, his voice rose, "What restrains +me?" he demanded. + +"Nothing," said the woman, never shrinking back an inch, facing him with +all the courage and daring with which a goddess might look upon a man. +"Nothing but my weakness and your strength." + +"Yes, that's it; but do not count too much upon the one or the other. +Great God, how can I keep away from you. Life on the old terms is +insupportable. I must go." + +"And where?" + +"Anywhere, so it be away." + +"And when?" + +"Now." + +"It would be death in the snow and in the mountains to-night. No, no, +you can not go." + +"Well, to-morrow then. It will be fair, I can't take you with me, but I +must go alone to the settlements, I must tell your friends you are here, +alive, well. I shall find men to come back and get you. What I cannot do +alone numbers together may effect. They can carry you over the worst of +the trails, you shall be restored to your people, to your world again. +You can forget me." + +"And do you think?" asked the woman, "that I could ever forget you?" + +"I don't know." + +"And will you forget me?" + +"Not as long as life throbs in my veins, and beyond." + +"And I too," was the return. + +"So be it. You won't be afraid to stay here alone, now." + +"No, not since you love me," was the noble answer. "I suppose I must, +there is no other way, we could not go on as before. And you will come +back to me as quickly as you can with the others?" + +"I shall not come back. I will give them the direction, they can find +you without me. When I say good-by to you to-morrow it shall be +forever." + +"And I swear to you," asserted the woman in quick desperation, "if you +do not come back, they shall have nothing to carry from here but my dead +body. You do not alone know what love is," she cried resolutely, "and I +will not let you go unless I have your word to return." + +"And how will you prevent my going?" + +"I can't. But I will follow you on my hands and knees in the snow until +I freeze and die unless I have your promise." + +"You have beaten me," said the man hopelessly. "You always do. Honor, +what is it? Pride, what is it? Self respect, what is it? Say the word +and I am at your feet, I put the past behind me." + +"I don't say the word," answered the woman bravely, white faced, pale +lipped, but resolute. "To be yours, to have you mine, is the greatest +desire of my heart, but not in the coward's way, not at the expense of +honor, of self respect--no not that way. Courage, my friend, God will +show us the way, and meantime good night." + +"I shall start in the morning." + +"Yes," she nodded reluctantly but knowing it had to be, "but you won't +go without bidding me good-bye." + +"No." + +"Good night then," she said extending her hand. + +"Good night," he whispered hoarsely and refused it backing away. "I +don't dare to take it. I don't dare to touch you again. I love you so, +my only salvation is to keep away." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE STRENGTH OF THE WEAK + + +Although Enid Maitland had spoken bravely enough while he was there, +when she was alone her heart sank into the depths as she contemplated +the dreadful and unsolvable dilemma in which these two lovers found +themselves so unwittingly and inextricably involved. It was indeed a +curious and bewildering situation. Passionate adoration for the other +rose in each breast like the surging tide of a mighty sea and like that +tide upon the shore it broke upon conventions, ideas, ideals and +obligations intangible to the naked eye but as real as those iron coasts +that have withstood the waves' assaults since the world's morning. + +The man had shaped his life upon a mistake. He believed absolutely in +the unquestioned devotion of a woman to whom he had been forced to mete +out death in an unprecedented and terrible manner. His unwillingness to +derogate by his own conduct from the standard of devotion which he +believed had inhabited his wife's bosom, made it impossible for him to +allow the real love that had come into his heart for this new woman to +have free course; honor, pride and self respect scourged him just in +proportion to his passion for Enid Maitland. + +The more he loved her, the more ashamed he was. By a curious combination +of circumstances, Enid Maitland knew the truth, she knew that from one +point of view the woman had been entirely unworthy the reverence in +which her husband held her memory. She knew that his wife had not loved +him at all, that her whole heart had been given to another man, that +what Newbold had mistaken for a passionate desire for his society +because there was no satisfaction in life for the wife away from him was +due to a fear lest without his protection she should be unable to resist +the appeal of the other man which her heart seconded so powerfully. If +it were only that Newbold would not be false to the obligation of the +other woman's devotion, Enid might have solved the problem in a moment. + +It was not so simple, however. The fact that Newbold cherished this +memory, the fact that this other woman had fought so desperately, had +tried so hard not to give way, entitled her to Enid Maitland's +admiration and demanded her highest consideration as well. Chance, or +Providence, had put her in possession of this woman's secret. It was as +if she had been caught inadvertently eavesdropping. She could not in +honor make use of what she had overheard, as it were; she could not +blacken the other woman's memory, she could not enlighten this man at +the expense of his dead wife's reputation. + +Although she longed for him as much as he longed for her, although her +love for him amazed her by its depth and intensity, even to bring her +happiness commensurate with her feelings she could not betray her dead +sister. The imposts of honor, how hard they are to sustain when they +conflict with love and longing. + +Enid Maitland was naturally not a little thrown off her balance by the +situation and the power that was hers. What she could not do herself she +could not allow anyone else to do. The obligation upon her must be +extended to others. Old Kirkby had no right to the woman's secret any +more than she, he must be silenced. Armstrong, the only other being +privy to the truth, must be silenced too. + +One thing at least arose out of the sea of trouble in a tangible way, +she was done with Armstrong. Even if she had not so loved Newbold that +she could scarcely give a thought to any other human being, she was done +with Armstrong. + +A singular situation! Armstrong had loved another woman, so had Newbold, +and the latter had even married this other woman, yet she was quite +willing to forgive Newbold, she made every excuse for him, she made none +for Armstrong. She was an eminently sane, just person, yet as she +thought of the situation her anger against Armstrong grew hotter and +hotter. It was a safety valve to her feelings, although she did not +realize it. After all, Armstrong's actions rendered her a certain +service; if she could get over the objection in her soul, if she could +ever satisfy her sense of honor and duty, and obligation, she could +settle the question at once. She had only to show the letters to Newbold +and to say, "These were written by the man of the picture; it was he and +not you your wife loved," and Newbold would take her to his heart +instantly. + +These thoughts were not without a certain comfort to her. All the +compensation of self-sacrifice is in its realization. That she could do +and yet did not somehow ennobled her love for him. Even women are +alloyed with base metal. In the powerful and universal appeal of this +man to her, she rejoiced at whatever was of the soul rather than of the +body. To possess power, to refrain from using it in obedience to some +higher law is perhaps to pay oneself the most flattering of +compliments. There was a satisfaction to her soul in this which was yet +denied him. + +Her action was quite different from his. She was putting away happiness +which she might have had in compliance with a higher law than that which +bids humanity enjoy. It was flattering to her mind. In his case it was +otherwise: he had no consciousness that he was a victim of misplaced +trust, of misinterpreted action; he thought the woman for whom he was +putting away happiness was almost as worthy, if infinitely less +desirable, as the woman whom he now loved. + +Every sting of conscious weakness, every feeling of realized shame, +every fear of ultimate disloyalty, scourged him. She could glory in it; +he was ashamed, humiliated, broken. + +She heard him savagely walking up and down the other room, restlessly +impelled by the same Erinnyes who of old scourged Orestes, the violater +of the laws of moral being, drove him on. These malign Eumenides held +him in their hands. He was bound and helpless; rage as he might in one +moment, pray as he did in another, no light came into the whirling +darkness of his torn, tempest tossed, driven soul. The irresistible +impulse and the immovable body the philosophers puzzled over were +exemplified in him. While he almost hated the new woman, while he +almost loved the old, yet that he did neither the one thing nor the +other absolutely was significant. + +Indeed he knew that he was glad Enid Maitland had come into his life. No +life is complete until it is touched by that divine fire which for lack +of another name we call love. Because we can experience that sensation +we are said to be made in God's image. The image is blurred as the +animal predominates, it is clearer as the spiritual has the ascendency. + +The man raved in his mind. White faced, stern, he walked up and down, he +tossed his arms about him, he stopped, his eyes closed, he threw his +hands up toward God, his heart cried out under the lacerations of the +blows inflicted upon it. No flagellant of old ever trembled beneath the +body lash as he under the spiritual punishment. + +He prayed that he might die at the same moment that he longed to live. +He grappled blindly for solutions of the problem that would leave him +with untarnished honor and undiminished self-respect and fidelity, and +yet give him this woman; and in vain. He strove to find a way to +reconcile the past with the present, realizing as he did so the futility +of such a proposition. One or the other must be supreme; he must +inexorably hold to his ideas and his ideals, or he must inevitably take +the woman. + +How frightful was the battle that raged within his bosom. Sometimes in +his despair he thought that he would have been glad if he and she had +gone down together in the dark waters before all this came upon him. The +floods of which the heavens had emptied themselves had borne her to him. +Oh, if they had only swept him out of life with its trouble, its trials, +its anxieties, its obligations, its impossibilities! If they had gone +together! And then he knew that he was glad even for the torture, +because he had seen her, because he had loved her, and because she had +loved him. + +He marveled at himself curiously and in a detached way. There was a +woman who loved him, who had confessed it boldly and innocently; there +were none to say him nay. The woman who stood between had been dead five +years, the world knew nothing, cared nothing; they could go out +together, he could take her, she would come. On the impulse he turned +and ran to the door and beat upon it. Her voice bade him enter and he +came in. + +Her heart yearned to him. She was shocked, appalled, at the torture she +saw upon his face. Had he been laid upon the rack and every joint pulled +from its sockets, he could not have been more white and agonized. + +"I give up," he cried. "What are honor and self-respect to me? I want +you. I have put the past behind. You love me, and I, I am yours with +every fiber of my being. Great God! Let us cast aside these foolish +quixotic scruples that have kept us apart. If a man's thoughts declare +his guilt I am already disloyal to the other woman; deeply, entirely so. +I have betrayed her, shamed her, abandoned her. Let me have some +compensation for what I have gone through. You love me, come to me." + +"No," answered the woman, and no task ever laid upon her had been harder +than that. "I do love you, I will not deny it, every part of me responds +to your appeal. I should be so happy that I cannot even think of it, if +I could put my hand in your own, if I could lay my head upon your +shoulder, if I could feel your heart beat against mine, if I could give +myself up to you, I would be so glad, so glad. But it can not be, not +now." + +"Why not?" pleaded the man. + +He was by her side, his arm went around her. She did not resist +physically, it would have been useless; she only laid her slender hand +upon his broad breast and threw her head back and looked at him. + +"See," she said, "how helpless I am, how weak in your hands? Every +voice in my heart bids me give way. If you insist I can deny you +nothing. I am helpless, alone, but it must not be. I know you better +than you know yourself, you will not take advantage of affection so +unbounded, of weakness so pitiable." + +Was it the wisdom of calculation, or was it the wisdom of instinct by +which she chose her course? Resistance would have been unavailing, in +weakness was her strength. + +_Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth!_ + +Yes, that was true. She knew it now if never before, and so did he. + +Slowly the man released her. She did not even then draw away from him; +she stood with her hand still on his breast, she could feel the beating +of his heart beneath her fingers. + +"I am right," she said softly. "It kills me to deny you anything, my +heart yearns toward you, why should I deny it, it is my glory not my +shame." + +"There is nothing above love like ours," he pleaded, wondering what +marvelous mastery she exercised that she stopped him by a hand's touch, +a whispered word, a faith. + +"No; love is life, love is God, but even God Himself is under +obligations of righteousness. For me to come to you now, to marry you +now, to be your wife, would be unholy. There would not be that perfect +confidence between us that must endure in that relation. Your honor and +mine, your self-respect and mine would interpose. If I can't have you +with a clear conscience, if you can't come to me in the same way, we are +better apart. Although it kills me, although life without you seems +nothing and I would rather not live it, we are better apart. I cannot be +your wife until--" + +"Until what and until when?" demanded Newbold. + +"I don't know," said the woman, "but I believe that somewhere, somehow, +we shall find a way out of our difficulty. There is a way," she said a +little incautiously, "I know it." + +"Show it to me." + +"No, I can not." + +"What prevents?" + +"The same thing which prevents you, honor, loyalty." + +"To a man?" + +"To a woman." + +"I don't understand." + +"No, but you will some day," she smiled at him. "See," she said, +"through my tears I can smile at you, though my heart is breaking. I +know that in God's good time this will work itself out." + +"I can't wait for God, I want you now," persisted the other. + +"Hush, don't say that," answered the woman, for a moment laying her hand +on his lips. "But I forgive you, I know how you suffer." + +The man could say nothing, do nothing. He stared at her a moment and his +hand went to his throat as if he were choking. + +"Unworthy," he said hoarsely, "unworthy of the past, unworthy of the +present, unworthy of the future. May God forgive me, I never can." + +"He will forgive you, never fear," answered Enid gently. + +"And you?" asked her lover. "I have ruined your life." + +"No, you have ennobled it. Let nothing ever make you forget that. +Wherever you are and whatever you do and whatever you may have been, I +love you and I shall love you to the end. Now you must go, it is so +late, I can't stand any more. I throw myself on your mercy again. I grow +weaker and weaker before you. As you are a man, as you are stronger, +save me from myself. If you were to take me again in your arms," she +went on steadily, "I know not how I could drive you back. For God's +sake, if you love me--" + +That was the hardest thing he had ever done, to turn and go out of the +room, out of her sight and leave her standing there with eyes shining, +with pulses throbbing, with breath coming fast, with bosom panting. Once +more, and at a touch she might have yielded! + + + + +BOOK V + +THE CUP IS DRAINED + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE CHALLENGE OF THE RANGE + + +Mr. James Armstrong sat at his desk before the west window of his +private room in one of the tallest buildings in Denver. His suite of +offices was situated on one of the top floors and from it over the +intervening house tops and other buildings, he had a clear and +unobstructed view of the mighty range. The earth was covered with snow. +It had fallen steadily through the night but with the dawn the air had +cleared and the sun had come out brightly although it was very cold. + +Letters, papers, documents, the demands of a business extensive and +varied, were left unnoticed. He sat with his elbow on the desk and his +head on his hand, looking moodily at the range. In the month that had +elapsed since he had received news of Enid Maitland's disappearance he +had sat often in that way, in that place, staring at the range, a prey +to most despondent reflections, heavy hearted and disconsolate indeed. + +After that memorable interview with Mr. Stephen Maitland in Philadelphia +he had deemed it proper to await there the arrival of Mr. Robert +Maitland. A brief conversation with that distracted gentleman had put +him in possession of all the facts in the case. As Robert Maitland had +said, after his presentation of the tragic story, the situation was +quite hopeless. Even Armstrong reluctantly admitted that her uncle and +old Kirkby had done everything that was possible for the rescue or +discovery of the girl. + +Therefore the two despondent gentlemen had shortly after returned to +their western homes, Robert Maitland in this instance being accompanied +by his brother Stephen. The latter never knew how much his daughter had +been to him until this evil fate had befallen her. Robert Maitland had +promised to inaugurate a thorough and extensive search to solve the +mystery of her death, which he felt was certain, in the spring when the +weather permitted humanity to have free course through the mountains. + +Mr. Stephen Maitland found a certain melancholy satisfaction in being at +least near the place where neither he nor anyone had any doubt his +daughter's remains lay hid beneath the snow or ice on the mountains in +the freezing cold. Robert Maitland had no other idea than that Enid's +body was in the lake. He intended to drain it--an engineering task of no +great difficulty--and yet he intended also to search the hills for +miles on either side of the main stream down which she had gone; for she +might possibly have strayed away and died of starvation and exposure +rather than drowning. At any rate he would leave nothing undone to +discover her. + +He had strenuously opposed Armstrong's recklessly expressed intention of +going into the mountains immediately to search for her. Armstrong was +not easily moved from any purpose he once entertained or lightly to be +hindered from attempting any enterprise that he projected, but by the +time the party reached Denver the winter had set in and even he realized +the futility of any immediate search for a dead body lost in the +mountains. Admitting that Enid was dead the conclusions were sound of +course. + +The others pointed out to Armstrong that if the woman they all loved had +by any fortunate chance escaped the cloud burst she must inevitably have +perished from cold, starvation and exposure in the mountain long since. +There was scarcely a possibility that she could have escaped the flood, +but if she had it would only to be devoted to death a little later. If +she was not in the lake what remained of her would be in some lateral +canyon. It would be impossible to discover her body in the deep snows +until the spring and the warm weather came. When the snows melted what +was concealed would be revealed. Alone, she could do nothing. And +admitting again that Enid was alone this conclusion was as sound as the +other. + +Now no one had the faintest hope that Enid Maitland was yet alive except +perhaps her father, Mr. Stephen Maitland. They could not convince him, +he was so old and set in his opinions and so utterly unfamiliar with the +conditions that they tried to describe to him, that he clung to his +belief in spite of all, and finally they let him take such comfort as he +could from his vain hope without any further attempt at contradiction. + +In spite of all the arguments, however, Mr. James Armstrong was not +satisfied. He was as hopeless as the rest, but his temperament would not +permit him to accept the inevitable calmly. It was barely possible that +she might not be dead and that she might not be alone. There was +scarcely enough possibility of this to justify a suspicion, but that is +not saying there was none at all. + +Day after day he had sat in his office denying himself to everyone and +refusing to consider anything, brooding over the situation. He loved +Enid Maitland, he loved her before and now that he had lost her he loved +her still more. + +Not altogether admirable had been James Armstrong's outwardly successful +career. In much that is high and noble and manly his actions--and his +character--had often been lacking, but even the base can love and +sometimes love transforms if it be given a chance. The passion of Cymon +for Iphigenia, made a man and prince out of the rustic boor. His real +love for Enid Maitland might have done more for Armstrong than he +himself or anyone who knew him as he was--and few there were who had +such knowledge of him--dreamed was possible. There was one thing that +love could not do, however; it could not make him a patient philosopher, +a good waiter. His rule of life was not very high, but in one way it was +admirable in that prompt bold decisive action was its chiefest +characteristic. + +On this certain morning a month after the heart breaking disaster his +power of passive endurance had been strained to the vanishing point. The +great white range was flung in his face like a challenge. Within its +secret recesses lay the solution of the mystery. Somewhere, dead or +alive, beyond the soaring rampart was the woman he loved. It was +impossible for him to remain quiet any longer. Common sense, reason, +every argument that had been adduced, suddenly became of no weight. He +lifted his head and stared straight westward. His eyes swept the long +semi-circle of the horizon across which the mighty range was drawn like +the chord of a gigantic arc or the string of a mighty bow. Each white +peak mocked him, the insolent aggression of the range called him +irresistibly to action. + +"By God," he said under his breath, rising to his feet, "winter or no +winter, I go." + +Robert Maitland had offices in the same building. Having once come to a +final determination there was no more uncertainty or hesitation about +Armstrong's course. In another moment he was standing in the private +room of his friend. The two men were not alone there. Stephen Maitland +sat in a low chair before another window removed from the desk somewhat, +staring out at the range. The old man was huddled down in his seat, +every line of his figure spoke of grief and despair. Of all the places +in Denver he liked best his brother's office fronting the rampart of the +mountains, and hour after hour he sat there quietly looking at the +summits, sometimes softly shrouded in white, sometimes swept bare by the +fierce winter gales that blew across them, sometimes shining and +sparkling so that the eye could scarce sustain their reflection of the +dazzling sun of Colorado; and at other times seen dimly through mists of +whirling snow. + +Oh, yes, the mountains challenged him also to the other side of the +range. His heart yearned for his child, but he was too old to make the +attempt. He could only sit and pray and wait with such faint and fading +hope as he could still cherish until the break up of the spring came. +For the rest he troubled nobody; nobody noticed him, nobody marked him, +nobody minded him. Robert Maitland transacted his business a little more +softly, a little more gently, that was all. Yet the presence of his +brother was a living grief and a living reproach to him. Although he was +quite blameless he blamed himself. He did not know how much he had grown +to love his niece until he had lost her. His conscience accused him +hourly, and yet he knew not where he was at fault or how he could have +done differently. It was a helpless and hopeless situation. To him, +therefore, entered Armstrong. + +"Maitland," he began, "I can't stand it any longer, I'm going into the +mountains." + +"You are mad!" + +"I can't help it. I can't sit here and face them, damn them, and remain +quiet." + +"You will never come out alive." + +"Oh, yes I will, but if I don't I swear to God I don't care." + +Old Stephen Maitland rose unsteadily to his feet and gripped the back of +his chair. + +"Did I hear aright, sir?" he asked with all the polished and graceful +courtesy of birth and breeding which never deserted him in any emergency +whatsoever. "Do you say--" + +"I said I was going into the mountains to search for her." + +"It is madness," urged Robert Maitland. + +But the old man did not hear him. + +"Thank God!" he exclaimed with deep feeling. "I have sat here day after +day and watched those mighty hills, and I have said to myself that if I +had youth and strength as I have love, I would not wait." + +"You are right," returned Armstrong, equally moved, and indeed it would +have been hard to have heard and seen that father unresponsively, "and I +am not going to wait either." + +"I understand your feeling, Jim, and yours too, Steve," began Robert +Maitland, arguing against his own emotions, "but even if she escaped the +flood, she must be dead by this time." + +"You needn't go over the old arguments, Bob. I'm going into the +mountains and I'm going now. No," he continued swiftly, as the other +opened his mouth to interpose further objections, "you needn't say +another word. I'm a free agent and I'm old enough to decide what I can +do. There is no argument, there is no force, there is no appeal, there +is nothing that will restrain me. I can't sit here and eat my heart out +when she may be there." + +"But it's impossible!" + +"It isn't impossible. How do I know that there may not have been +somebody in the mountains, she may have wandered to some settlement, +some hunter's cabin, some prospector's hut." + +"But we were there for weeks and saw nothing, no evidence of humanity." + +"I don't care. The mountains are filled with secret nooks you could pass +by within a stone's throw and never see into, she may be in one of them. +I suppose she is dead and it's all foolish, this hope, but I'll never +believe it until I have examined every square rod within a radius of +fifty miles from your camp. I'll take the long chance, the longest +even." + +"Well, that's all right," said Robert Maitland. "Of course I intend to +do that as soon as the spring opens, but what's the use of trying to do +it now?" + +"It's use to me. I'll either go mad here in Denver, or I must go to seek +for her there." + +"But you will never come back if you once get in those mountains alone." + +"I don't care whether I do or not. It's no use, old man, I am going and +that's all there is about it." + +Robert Maitland knew men, he recognized finality when he heard it or +when he saw it and it was quite evident that he was in the presence of +it then. It was of no use for him or anyone to say more. + +"Very well," he said, "I honor you for your feeling even if I don't +think much of your common sense." + +"Damn common sense," cried Armstrong triumphantly, "it's love that moves +me now." + +At that moment there was a tap on the door. A clerk from an outer office +bidden to enter announced that old Kirkby was in the ante-room. + +"Bring him in," directed Maitland, eager to welcome him. + +He fancied that the new comer would undoubtedly assist him in dissuading +Armstrong from his foolhardy, useless enterprise. + +"Mornin', old man," drawled Kirkby. + +"Howdy, Armstrong. My respects to you, sir," he said, sinking his voice +a little as he bowed respectfully toward Mr. Stephen Maitland, a very +sympathetic look in the old frontiersman's eyes at the sight of the +bereaved father. + +"Kirkby, you've come in the very nick of time," at once began Robert +Maitland. + +"Allus glad to be Johnny-on-the-spot," smiled the older man. + +"Armstrong here," continued the other intent upon his purpose, "says he +can't wait until the spring and the snows melt, he is going into the +mountains now to look for Enid." + +Kirkby did not love Armstrong, he did not care for him a little bit, but +there was something in the bold hardihood of the man, something in the +way which he met the reckless challenge of the mountains that the old +man and all the others felt that moved the inmost soul of the hardy +frontiersman. He threw an approving glance at him. + +"I tell him that it is absurd, impossible; that he risks his life for +nothing, and I want you to tell him the same thing. You know more about +the mountains than either of us." + +"Mr. Kirkby," quavered Stephen Maitland, "allow me. I don't want to +influence you against your better judgment, but if you could sit here as +I have done and think that maybe she is there and perhaps alive still, +and in need, you would not say a word to deter him." + +"Why, Steve," expostulated Robert Maitland, "surely you know I would +risk anything for Enid; somehow it seems as if I were being put in the +selfish position by my opposition." + +"No, no," said his brother, "it isn't that. You have your wife and +children, but this young man--" + +"Well, what do you say, Kirkby? Not that it makes any difference to me +what anybody says. Come, we are wasting time," interposed Armstrong, +who, now that he had made up his mind, was anxious to be off. + +"Jim Armstrong," answered Kirkby decidedly, "I never thought much of you +in the past, an' I think sence you've put out this last projick of yourn +that I'm entitled to call you a damn fool, w'ich you are, an' I'm +another, for I'm goin' into the mountains with you." + +"Oh, thank God!" cried Stephen Maitland fervently. + +"I know you don't like me," answered Armstrong; "that's neither here nor +there. Perhaps you have cause to dislike me, perhaps you have not; I +don't like you any too well myself; but there is no man on earth I'd +rather have go with me on a quest of this kind than you, and there's my +hand on it." + +Kirkby shook it vigorously. + +"This ain't committin' myself," he said cautiously. "So far's I'm +concerned you ain't good enough for Miss Maitland, but I admires your +spirit, Armstrong, an' I'm goin' with you. Tain't no good, twon't +produce nothin', most likely we'll never come back agin; but jest the +same I'm goin' along; nobody's goin' to show me the trail; my nerve and +grit w'en it comes to helpin' a young feemale like that girl is as good +as anybody's I guess. You're her father," he drawled on, turning to +Stephen Maitland, "an' I ain't no kin to her, but by gosh, I believe I +can understand better than anyone else yere what you are feelin'." + +"Kirkby," said Robert Maitland, smiling at the other two, "you have gone +clean back on me. I thought you had more sense. But somehow I guess it's +contagious, for I am going along with you two myself." + +"And I, cannot I accompany you?" pleaded Stephen Maitland, eagerly +drawing near to the other three. + +"Not much," said old Kirkby promptly. "You ain't got the stren'th, ol' +man, you don't know them mountains, nuther; you'd be helpless on a pair +of snow shoes, there ain't anything you could do, you'd jest be a drag +on us. Without sayin' anything about myself, w'ich I'm too modest for +that, there ain't three better men in Colorado to tackle this job than +Jim Armstrong an' Bob Maitland an'--well, as I said, I won't mention no +other names." + +"God bless you all, gentlemen," faltered Stephen Maitland. "I think +perhaps I may have been wrong, a little prejudiced against the west, you +are men that would do honor to any family, to any society in +Philadelphia or anywhere else." + +"Lord love ye," drawled Kirkby, his eyes twinkling, "there ain't no +three men on the Atlantic seaboard that kin match up with two of us +yere, to say nothin' of the third." + +"Well," said Robert Maitland, "the thing now is to decide on what's to +be done." + +"My plan," said Armstrong, "is to go to the old camp." + +"Yep," said Kirkby, "that's a good point of deeparture, as my seafarin' +father down Cape Cod way used to say, an' wot's next." + +"I am going up the canyon instead of down," said the man, with a flash of +inspiration. + +"That ain't no bad idea nuther," assented the old man; "we looked the +ground over pretty thoroughly down the canyon, mebbe we can find +something up it." + +"And what do you propose to take with you?" asked Maitland. + +"What we can carry on the backs of men. We will make a camp somewhere +about where you did. We can get enough husky men up at Morrison who will +pack in what we want and with that as a basis we will explore the upper +reaches of the range." + +"And when do we start?" + +"There is a train for Morrison in two hours," answered Armstrong. "We +can get what we want in the way of sleeping bags and equipment between +now and then if we hurry about it." + +"Ef we are goin' to do it, we might as well git a move on us," assented +Kirkby, making ready to go. + +"Right," answered Robert Maitland grimly. "When three men set out to +make fools of themselves the sooner they get at it and get over with it +the better. I've got some business matters to settle, you two get what's +needed and I'll bear my share." + +A week later a little band of men on snow shoes, wrapped in furs to +their eyes, every one heavily burdened with a pack, staggered into the +clearing where once had been pitched the Maitland camp. The place was +covered with snow of course, but on a shelf of rock half way up the +hogback, they found a comparatively level clearing and there, all +working like beavers, they built a rude hut which they covered with +canvas and then with tightly packed snow and which would keep the three +who remained from freezing to death. Fortunately they were favored by a +brief period of pleasant weather and a few days served to make a +sufficiently habitable camp. + +Maitland, Kirkby and Armstrong worked with the rest. There was no +thought of search at first. Their lives depended upon the erection of a +suitable shelter and it was not until the helpers, leaving their burdens +behind them, had departed that the three men even considered what was to +be done next. + +"We must begin a systematic search to-morrow," said Armstrong decisively +as the three men sat around the cheerful fire in the hut. + +"Yes," assented Maitland. "Shall we go together, or separately?" + +"Separately, of course. We are all hardy and experienced men, nothing is +apt to happen to us, we will meet here every night and plan the next +day's work. What do you say, Kirkby?" + +The old man had been quietly smoking while the others talked. He smiled +at them in a way which aroused their curiosity and made them feel that +he had news for them. + +"While you was puttin' the finishin' touches on this yere camp, I come +acrost a heap o' stuns, that somehow the wind had swept bare. There was +a big drift in front of it w'ich kep' us from seein' it afore; it was +built up in the open w'ere there want no trees, an' in our lumberin' +operations we want lookin' that-a-way. I came acrost a bottle by chance +an'--" + +"Well, for God's sake, old man," cried Armstrong impatiently, "what did +you find in it, anything?" + +"This," answered Kirkby, carefully producing a folded scrap of paper +from his leather vest. + +Armstrong fell on it ravenously, and as Maitland bent over him they both +read these words by the fire light. + + "_Miss Enid Maitland, whose foot is so badly crushed as to prevent + her traveling, is safe in a cabin at the head of this canyon. I put + this notice here to reassure any who may be seeking her as to her + welfare. Follow the stream up to its source._" + + _Wm. Berkeley Newbold._ + +"Thank God!" exclaimed Robert Maitland. + +"You called me a damn fool, Kirkby," said Armstrong, his eyes gleaming. +"What do you think of it now?" + +"It's the damn fool, I find," said Kirkby sapiently, "that gener'ly gits +there. Providence seems to be a-watchin' over 'em." + +"You said you chanced on this paper, Jack," continued Maitland, "it +looks to me like the deliberate intention of Almighty God." + +"I reckon so," answered the other simply. "You see He's got to look +after all the damn fools on earth to keep 'em from doin' too much damage +to theirselves an' to others in this yere crooked trail of a world." + +"Let us start now," urged Armstrong. + +"Tain't possible," said the old man, taking another puff at his pipe, +and only a glistening of the eye betrayed the joy that he felt; +otherwise his phlegmatic calm was unbroken, his demeanor just as +undisturbed as it always was. "We'd jest throw away our lives a +wanderin' round these yere mountains in the dark, we've got to have +light an' clear weather. Ef it should be snowin' in the mornin' we'd +have to wait until it cleared." + +"I won't wait a minute," cried Armstrong. "At daybreak, weather or no +weather, I start." + +"What's your hurry, Jim?" continued Kirkby calmly. "The gal's safe, one +day more or less ain't goin' to make no difference." + +"She's with another man," answered Armstrong quickly. + +"Do you know this Newbold?" asked Maitland, looking at the note again. + +"No, not personally, but I have heard of him." + +"I know him," answered Kirkby quickly, "an' you've seed him too, Bob; +he's the fellow that shot his wife, that married Louise Rosser." + +"That man!" + +"The very same." + +"You say you never saw him, Jim?" asked Maitland. + +"I repeat I never met him," said Armstrong, flushing suddenly, "but I +knew his wife." + +"Yes, you did that--" drawled the old mountaineer. + +"What do you mean?" flashed Armstrong. + +"I mean that you knowed her, that's all," answered the old man with an +innocent air that was almost childlike. + +When the others woke up in the morning Armstrong's sleeping bag was +empty. Kirkby crawled out of his own warm nest, opened the door and +peered out into the storm. + +"Well," he said, "I guess the damn fool has beat God this time; it don't +look to me as if even He could save him now." + +"But we must go after him at once," urged Maitland. + +"See for yourself," answered the old man, throwing wider the door. +"We've got to wait 'til this wind dies down unless we give the Almighty +the job o' lookin' after three instid o' one." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE CONVERGING TRAILS + + +Whatever the feelings of the others, Armstrong found himself unable to +sleep that night. It seemed to him that fate was about to play him the +meanest and most fantastic of tricks. Many times before in his crowded +life he had loved other women, or so he characterized his feelings, but +his passion for Louise Rosser Newbold had been in a class by itself +until he had met Enid Maitland. Between the two there had been many +women, but these two were the high points, the rest was lowland. + +Once before, therefore, this Newbold had cut in ahead of him and had won +the woman he loved. Armstrong had cherished a hard grudge against him +for a long time. He had not been of those who had formed the rescue +party led by old Kirkby and Maitland which had buried the poor woman on +the great butte in the deep canyon. Before he got back to the camp the +whole affair was over and Newbold had departed. Luckily for him, +Armstrong had always thought, for he had been so mad with grief and rage +and jealousy that if he had come across him helpless or not he would +have killed him out of hand. + +Armstrong had soon enough forgotten Louise Rosser, but he had not +forgotten Newbold. All his ancient animosity had flamed into instant +life again, at the sight of his name last night. The inveteracy of his +hatred had been in no way abated by the lapse of time it seemed. + +Everybody in the mining camp had supposed that Newbold had wandered off +and perished in the mountains, else Armstrong might have pursued him and +hunted him down. The sight of his name on that piece of paper was +outward and visible evidence that he still lived. It had almost the +shock of a resurrection, and a resurrection to hatred rather than to +love. If Newbold had been alone in the world, if Armstrong had chanced +upon him in the solitude, he would have hated him just as he did; but +when he thought that his ancient enemy was with the woman he now loved, +with a growing intensity, beside which his former resentment seemed weak +and feeble, he hated him yet the more. + +He could not tell when the notice, which he had examined carefully, was +written; there was no date upon it, but he could come to only one +conclusion. Newbold must have found Enid Maitland alone in the mountains +very shortly after her departure and he had had her with him in his +cabin alone for at least a month. Armstrong gritted his teeth at the +thought. He did not undervalue the personality of Newbold, he had never +happened to see him, but he had heard enough about him to understand his +qualities as a man. The tie that bound Armstrong to Enid Maitland was a +strong one, but the tie by which he held her to him, if indeed he held +her at all, was very tenuous and easily broken; perhaps it was broken +already, and so he hated him still more and more. + +Indeed his animosity was so great and growing that for the moment he +took no joy in the assurance of the girl's safety, yet he was not +altogether an unfair man and in calmer moments he thanked God in his own +rough way that the woman he loved was alive and well, or had been when +the note was written. He rejoiced that she had not been swept away with +the flood or that she had not been lost in the mountains and forced to +wander on, finally to starve and freeze and die. In one moment her +nearness caused his heart to throb with joyful anticipation. The +certainty that at the first flush of day he would seek her again sent +the warm blood to his cheeks. But these thoughts would be succeeded by +the knowledge that she was with his enemy. Was this man to rob him of +the latest love as he had robbed him of the first? Perhaps the hardest +task that was ever laid upon Armstrong was to lie quietly in his +sleeping bag and wait until the morning. + +So soon as the first indication of dawn showed through the cracks of the +door, he slipped quietly out of his sleeping bag and without disturbing +the others drew on his boots, put on his heavy fur coat and cap and +gloves, slung his Winchester and his snow shoes over his shoulder and +without stopping for a bite to eat softly opened the door, stepped out +and closed it after him. It was quite dark in the bottom of the canyon, +although a few pale gleams overhead indicated the near approach of day. +It was quite still, too. There were clouds on the mountain top heavy +with threat of wind and snow. + +The way was not difficult, the direction of it that is. Nor was the +going very difficult at first; the snow was frozen and the crust was +strong enough to bear him. He did not need his snow shoes and indeed +would have had little chance to use them in the narrow broken rocky +pass. He had slipped away from the others because he wanted to be the +first to see the man and the woman. He did not want any witness to that +meeting. They would have to come on later of course, but he wanted an +hour or two in private with Enid and Newbold without any interruption. +His conscience was not clear. Nor could he settle upon a course of +action. + +How much Newbold knew of his former attempt to win away his wife, how +much of what he knew he had told Enid Maitland, Armstrong could not +surmise. Putting himself into Newbold's place and imagining that the +engineer had possessed entire information, he decided that he must have +told everything to Enid Maitland so soon as he had found out the quasi +relation between her and Armstrong. And Armstrong did not believe the +woman he loved could be in anybody's presence a month without telling +something about him. Still it was possible that Newbold knew nothing and +that he told nothing therefore. + +The situation was paralyzing to a man of Armstrong's decided, determined +temperament. He could not decide upon the line of conduct he should +pursue. His course in this, the most critical emergency he had ever +faced, must be determined by circumstances of which he felt with savage +resentment he was in some measure the sport. He would have to leave to +chance what ought to be subject to his will. Of only one thing was he +sure--he would stop at nothing, murder, lying, nothing to win that +woman, and to settle his score with that man. + +There was really only one thing he could do and that was to press on up +the canyon. He had no idea how far it might be or how long a journey he +would have to make before he reached that shelf on the high hill where +stood that hut in which she dwelt. As the crow flies it could not be a +great distance, but the canyon zigzagged through the mountains with as +many curves and angles as a lightning flash. He plodded on therefore +with furious haste, recklessly speeding over places where a misstep in +the snow or a slip on the icy rocks would have meant death or disaster +to him. + +He had gone about an hour, and had perhaps made four miles from the +camp, when the storm burst upon him. It was now broad day and the sky +was filled with clouds and the air with driving snow. The wind whistled +down the canyon with terrific force, it was with difficulty that he made +any headway at all against it. It was a local storm; if he could have +looked through the snow he would have discovered calmness on the top of +the peaks. It was one of those sudden squalls of wind and snow which +rage with terrific force while they last but whose range was limited and +whose duration would be as short as it was violent. + +A less determined man than he would have bowed to the inevitable and +sought some shelter behind a rock until the fury of the tempest was +spent, but there was no storm that blew that could stop this man so long +as he had strength to drive against it. So he bent his head to the +fierce blast and struggled on. There was something titantic and +magnificent about the iron determination and persistence of Armstrong. +The two most powerful passions which move humanity were at his service; +love led him and hate drove him. And the two were so intermingled that +it was difficult to say which predominated, now one and now the other. +The resultant of the two forces however was an onward move that would +not be denied. + +His fur coat was soon covered with snow and ice, the sharp needles of +the storm cut his face wherever it was exposed. The wind forced its way +through his garments and chilled him to the bone. He had eaten nothing +since the night before and his vitality was not at its flood, but he +pressed onward and upward and there was something grand in his +indomitable progress. _Excelsior!_ + +Back in the hut Kirkby and Maitland sat around the fire waiting most +impatiently for the wind to blow itself out and for that snow to stop +falling through which Armstrong struggled forward. As he followed the +windings of the canyon, not daring to ascend to the summit of either +wall and seek short cuts across the range, he was sensible that he was +constantly rising. There were many indications to his experienced mind; +the decrease in the height of the surrounding pines, the increasing +rarity of the icy air, the growing difficulty in breathing under the +sustained exertion he was making, the quick throbbing of his accelerated +heart, all told him he was approaching his journey's end. + +He judged that he must now be drawing near the source of the stream, and +that he would presently come upon the shelter. He had no means of +ascertaining the time, he would not have dared to unbutton his coat to +glance at his watch, and it is difficult to measure the flying minutes +in such scenes as those through which he passed, but he thought he must +have gone at least seven miles in perhaps three hours, which he fancied +had elapsed, his progress in the last two having been frightfully slow. +Every foot of advance he had to fight for. + +Suddenly, after a quick turn in the canyon, a passage through a narrow +entrance between lofty cliffs, and he found himself in a pocket or a +circular amphitheater which he could see was closed on the further side. +The bottom of this enclosure or valley was covered with pines, now +drooping under tremendous burdens of snow. In the midst of the pines a +lakelet was frozen solid, the ice was covered with the same dazzling +carpet of white. + +He could have seen nothing of this had not the sudden storm now stopped +as precipitately almost as it had begun. Indeed, accustomed to the +grayness of the snowfall, his eyes were fairly dazzled by the bright +light of the sun, now quite high over the range, which struck him full +in the face. + +He stopped, panting, exhausted, and leaned against the rocky wall of the +canyon's mouth which, here rose sheer over his head. This certainly was +the end of the trail, the lake was the source of the frozen rivulet +along whose rocky and torn banks he had tramped since dawn. Here if +anywhere he would find the object of his quest. + +Refreshed by the brief pause and encouraged by the sudden stilling of +the storm, he stepped out of the canyon and ascended a little knoll +whence he had a full view of the pocket over the tops of the pines. +Shading his eyes from the light with his hand as best he could, he +slowly swept the circumference with his eager glance, seeing nothing +until his eye fell upon a huge broken trail of rocks projecting from the +snow, indicating the ascent to a broad bare shelf of the mountains +across the lake to the right. Following this up he saw a huge block of +snow which suggested dimly the outlines of a hut! + +Was that the place? Was she there? He stared fascinated and as he did so +a thin curl of smoke rose above the snow heap and wavered up in the cold +quiet air! That was a human habitation then, it could be none other than +the hut referred to in the note. Enid Maitland must be there, and +Newbold! + +The lake lay directly in front of him beyond the trees at the foot of +the knoll and between him and the slope that led up to the hut. If it +had been summer, he would have been compelled to follow the water's edge +to the right or to the left, both journeys would have led over difficult +trails with little to choose between them, but the lake was now frozen +hard and covered with snow. He had no doubt that the snow would bear +him, but to make sure he drew his snow shoes from his shoulder, slipped +his feet in the straps, and sped straight on through the trees and then +across the lake like an arrow from a bow. + +In five minutes he was at the foot of the giant stairs. Kicking off his +snow shoes he scrambled up the broken way, easily finding in the snow a +trail which had evidently been passed and repassed daily. In a few +moments he was at the top of the shelf. A hard trampled path ran +between high walls of snow to a door! + +Behind that door what would he find? Just what he brought to it, love +and hate he fancied. We usually find on the other side of doors no more +and no less than we bring to our own sides. But whatever it might be, +there was no hesitation in Armstrong's course. He ran toward it, laid +his hand on the latch and opened it. + +What creatures of habit we are! Early in that same morning, after one +vain attempt again to influence the woman who was now the deciding and +determining factor and who seemed to be taking the man's place, Newbold, +ready for his journey, had torn himself away from her presence and had +plunged down the giant stair. He had done everything that mortal man +could do for her comfort; wood enough to last her for two weeks had been +taken from the cave and piled in the kitchen and elsewhere so as to be +easily accessible to her, the stores she already had the run of and he +had fitted a stout bar to the outer door which would render it +impregnable to any attack that might be made against it, although he saw +no quarter from which any assault impended. + +Enid had recovered not only her strength but a good deal of her nerve. +That she loved this man and that he loved her had given her courage. +She would be fearfully lonely of course, but not so much afraid as +before. The month of immunity in the mountains without any interruption +had dissipated any possible apprehensions on her part. It was with a +sinking heart however that she saw him go at last. + +They had been so much together in that month they had learned what love +was. When he came back it would be different, he would not come alone. +The first human being he met would bring the world to the door of the +lonely but beloved cabin in the mountains--the world with its questions, +its inferences, its suspicions, its denunciations and its accusations! +Some kind of an explanation would have to be made, some sort of an +answer would have to be given, some solution of the problem would have +to be arrived at. What these would be she could not tell. + +Newbold's departure was like the end of an era to her. The curtain +dropped, when it rose again what was to be expected? There was no +comfort except in the thought that she loved him. So long as their +affections matched and ran together nothing else mattered. With the +solution of it all next to her sadly beating heart she was still +supremely confident that Love, or God--and there was not so much +difference between them as to make it worth while to mention the One +rather than the Other--would find the way. + +Their leave taking had been singularly cold and abrupt. She had realized +the danger he was apt to incur and she had exacted a reluctant promise +from him that he would be careful. + +"Don't throw your life away, don't risk it even, remember that it is +mine," she had urged. + +And just as simply as she had enjoined it upon him he had promised. He +had given his word that he would not send help back to her but that he +would bring it back, and she had confidence in that word. A confidence +that had he been inclined to break his promise would have made it +absolutely impossible. There had been a long clasp of the hands, a long +look in the eyes, a long breath in the breast, a long throb in the heart +and then--farewell. They dared no more. + +Once before he had left her and she had stood upon the plateau and +followed his vanishing figure with anxious troubled thought until it had +been lost in the depths of the forest below. She had controlled herself +in this second parting for his sake as well as her own. Under the ashes +of his grim repression she realized the presence of live coals which a +breath would have fanned into flame. She dared nothing while he was +there, but when he shut the door behind him the necessity for +self-control was removed. She had laid her arms on the table and bowed +her head upon them and shook and quivered with emotions unrelieved by a +single tear--weeping was for lighter hearts and less severe demands! + +His position after all was the easier of the two. As of old it was the +man who went forth to the battle field while the woman could only wait +passively the issue of the fight. Although he was half blinded with +emotion he had to give some thought to his progress, and there was yet +one task to be done before he could set forth upon his journey toward +civilization and rescue. + +It was fortunate, as it turned out, that this obligation detained him. +He was that type of a merciful man whose mercies extended to his beasts. +The poor little burros must be attended to and their safety assured so +far as it could be, for it would be impossible for Enid Maitland to care +for them. Indeed he had already exacted a promise from her that she +would not leave the plateau and risk her life on the icy stairs with +which she was so unfamiliar. + +He had gone to the corral and shaken down food enough for them which if +it had been doled out to them day by day would have lasted longer than +the week he intended to be absent; of course he realized that they would +eat it up in half that time, but even so they would probably suffer not +too great discomfort before he got back. + +All these preparations took some little time. It had grown somewhat late +in the morning before he started. There had been a fierce storm raging +when he first looked out and at her earnest solicitation he had delayed +his departure until it had subsided. + +His tasks at the corral were at last completed; he had done what he +could for them both, nothing now remained but to make the quickest and +safest way to the settlement. Shouldering the pack containing his ax and +gun and sleeping bag and such provisions as would serve to tide him over +until he reached human habitations, he set forth. He did not look up to +the hut; indeed, he could not have seen it for the corral was almost +directly beneath it; but if it had been in full view he would not have +looked back, he could not trust himself to; every instinct, every +impulse in his soul would fain drag him back to that hut and to the +woman. It was only his will and, did he but know it, her will that made +him carry out his purpose. + +He would have saved perhaps half a mile on his journey if he had gone +straight across the lake to the mouth of the canyon. We are creatures of +habit. He had always gone around the lake on the familiar trail and +unconsciously he followed that trail that morning. He was thinking of +her as he plodded on in a mechanical way over the trail which followed +the border of the lake for a time, plunged into the woods, wound among +the pines and at last reached that narrow rift in the encircling wall +through which the river flowed. He had passed along the white way +oblivious to all his surroundings, but as he came to the entrance he +could not fail to notice what he suddenly saw in the snow. + +Robinson Crusoe when he discovered the famous footprint of Man Friday in +the sand was not more astonished at what met his vision than Newbold on +that winter morning. For there, in the virgin whiteness, were the tracks +of a man! + +He stopped dead with a sudden contraction of the heart. Humanity other +than he and she in that wilderness? It could not be! For a moment he +doubted the evidence of his own senses. He shook his pack loose from his +shoulders and bent down to examine the tracks to read if he could their +indications. He could see that some one had come up the canyon, that +someone had leaned against the wall, that someone had gone on. Where had +he gone? + +To follow the new trail was child's play for him. He ran by the side of +it until he reached the knoll. The stranger had stopped again, he had +shifted from one foot to another, evidently he had been looking about +him seeking someone, only Enid Maitland of course. The trail ran forward +to the edge of the frozen lake, there the man had put on his snow shoes, +there he had sped across the lake like an arrow and like an arrow +himself, although he had left behind his own snow shoes, Newbold ran +upon his track. Fortunately the snow crest upbore him. The trail ran +straight to the foot of the rocky stairs. The newcomer had easily found +his way there. + +With beating heart and throbbing pulse, Newbold himself bounded up the +acclivity after the stranger, marking as he did so evidences of the +other's prior ascent. Reaching the top like him he ran down the narrow +path and in his turn laid his hand upon the door. + +He was not mistaken, he heard voices within. He listened a second and +then flung it open, and as the other had done, he entered. + +Way back on the trail, old Kirkby and Robert Maitland, the storm having +ceased, were rapidly climbing up the canyon. Fate was bringing all the +actors of the little drama within the shadow of her hand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE ODDS AGAINST HIM + + +The noise of the opening of the door and the in-rush of cold air that +followed awoke Enid Maitland to instant action. She rose to her feet and +faced the entrance through which she expected Newbold to reappear--for +of course the newcomer must be he--and for the life of her she could not +help that radiating flash of joy at that momentary anticipation which +fairly transfigured her being; although if she had stopped to reflect +she would have remembered that not in the whole course of their +acquaintance had Newbold ever entered her room at any time without +knocking and receiving permission. + +Some of that joy yet lingered in her lovely face when she tardily +recognized the newcomer in the half light. Armstrong, scarcely waiting +to close the door, sprang forward joyfully with his hands outstretched. + +"Enid!" he cried. + +Naturally he thought the look of expectant happiness he had surprised +upon her face was for him and he accounted for its sudden disappearance +by the shock of his unexpected, unannounced, abrupt, entrance. + +The warm color had flushed her face, but as she stared at him her aspect +rapidly changed. She grew paler. The happy light that had shone in her +eyes faded away and as he approached her she shrank back. + +"You!" she exclaimed almost in terror. + +"Yes," he answered smilingly, "I have found you at last. Thank God you +are safe and well. Oh, if you could only know the agonies I have gone +through. I thought I loved you when I left you six weeks ago, but now--" + +In eager impetuosity he drew nearer to her. Another moment and he would +have taken her in his arms, but she would have none of him. + +"Stop," she said with a cold and inflexible sternness that gave pause +even to his buoyant joyful assurance. + +"Why, what's the matter?" + +"The matter? Everything, but--" + +"No evasions, please," continued the man still cheerfully but with a +growing misgiving. His suspicions in abeyance for the moment because of +his joy at seeing her alive and well arose with renewed force. "I left +you practically pledged to me," he resumed. + +"Not so fast," answered Enid Maitland, determined to combat the +slightest attempt to establish a binding claim upon her. + +"Isn't it true?" asked Armstrong. "Here, wait," he said before she could +answer, "I am half frozen, I have been searching for you since early +morning in the storm." He unbuttoned and unbelted his huge fur coat as +he spoke and threw it carelessly on the floor by his Winchester leaning +against the wall. "Now," he resumed, "I can talk better." + +"You must have something to eat then," said the girl. + +She was glad of the interruption since she was playing for time. She did +not quite know how the interview would end, he had come upon her so +unexpectedly and she had never formulated how she should say to him that +which she felt she must say. She must have time to think, to collect +herself, which he on his part was quite willing to give her, for he was +not much better prepared for the interview than she. He really was +hungry and tired; his early journey had been foolhardy and in the +highest degree dangerous. The violence of his admiration for her, added +to the excitement of her presence and the probable nearness of Newbold +as to whose whereabouts he wondered, were not conducive to rapid +recuperation. It would be comfort to him also to have food and time. + +"Sit down," she said. "I shall be back in a moment." + +The fire of the morning was still burning in the stove in the kitchen; +to heat a can of soup, to make him some buttered toast and hot coffee +were the tasks of a few moments. She brought them back to him, set them +on the table before him and bade him fall to. + +"By Jove," exclaimed the man after a little time as he began to eat +hastily but with great relish what she had prepared, while she stood +over him watching him silently, "this is cozy. A warm, comfortable room, +something to eat served by the finest woman in the world, the prettiest +girl on earth to look at--what more could a man desire? This is the way +it's going to be always in the future." + +"You have no warrant whatever for saying or hoping that," answered the +girl slowly but decisively. + +"Have I not?" asked the man quickly. "Did you not say to me a little +while ago that you liked me better than any man you had ever met and +that I might win you if I could? Well, I can, and what's more I will in +spite of yourself." He laughed. "Why, the memory of that kiss I stole +from you makes me mad." He pushed away the things before him and rose to +his feet once more. "Come, give me another," he said; "it isn't in the +power of woman to stand out against a love like mine." + +"Isn't it?" + +"No, indeed." + +"Louise Newbold did," she answered very quietly, but with the swiftness +and the dexterity of a sword thrust by a master hand, a mighty arm. + +Armstrong stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment. + +"What do you know about Louise Rosser or Newbold?" he asked at last. + +"All that I want to know." + +"And did that damned hound tell you?" + +"If you mean Mr. Newbold, he never mentioned your name, he does not know +you exist." + +"Where is he now?" thundered the man. + +"Have no fear," answered the woman calmly, "he has gone to the +settlements to tell them I am safe and to seek help to get me out of the +mountains." + +"Fear!" exclaimed Armstrong, proudly, "I fear nothing on earth. For +years, ever since I heard his name in fact, I have longed to meet him. I +want to know who told you about that woman, Kirkby?" + +"He never mentioned your name in connection with her." + +"But you must have heard it somewhere," cried the man thoroughly +bewildered. "The birds of the air didn't tell it to you, did they?" + +"She told me herself," answered Enid Maitland. + +"She told you! Why, she's been dead in her grave five years, shot to +death by that murderous dog of a husband of hers." + +"A word with you, Mr. Armstrong," said the woman with great spirit. "You +can't talk that way about Mr. Newbold; he saved my life twice over, from +a bear and then in the cloud burst which caught me in the canyon." + +"That evens up a little," said Armstrong. "Perhaps for your sake I will +spare him." + +"You!" laughed the woman contemptuously. "Spare him! Be advised, look to +yourself; if he ever finds out what I know, I don't believe any power on +earth could save you." + +"Oh," said Armstrong carelessly enough, although he was consumed with +hate and jealousy and raging against her clearly evident disdain, "I can +take care of myself, I guess. Anyway, I only want to talk about you, not +about him or her. Your father--" + +"Is he well?" + +"Well enough, but heart-broken, crushed. I happened to be in his house +in Philadelphia when the telegram came from your uncle that you were +lost and probably dead. I had just asked him for your hand," he added, +smiling grimly at the recollection. + +"You had no right to do that." + +"I know that." + +"It was not, it is not, his to give." + +"Still, when I won you I thought it would be pleasant all around if he +knew and approved." + +"And did he?" + +"Not then, he literally drove me out of the house; but afterward he said +if I could find you I could have you; and I have found you and I will +have you whether you like it or not." + +"Never," said the woman decisively. + +The situation had got on Armstrong's nerves, and he must perforce show +himself in his true colors. His only resources were his strength, not of +mind but of body. He made another most damaging mistake at this +juncture. + +"We are alone here, and I am master, remember," he said meaningly. +"Come, let's make it up. Give me a kiss for my pains and--" + +"I have been alone here for a month with another man," answered Enid +Maitland, who was strangely unafraid in spite of his threat. "A +gentleman, he has never so much as offered to touch my hand without my +permission; the contrast is quite to your disadvantage." + +"Are you jealous of Louise Rosser?" asked Armstrong, suddenly seeing +that he was losing ground and casting about desperately to account for +it, and to recover what was escaping him. "Why, that was nothing, a mere +boy and girl affair," he ran on with specious good humor, as if it were +all a trifle. "The woman was, I hate to say it, just crazy in love with +me, but I really never cared anything especially for her, it was just a +harmless sort of flirtation anyway. She afterward married this man +Newbold and that's all there was about it." + +The truth would not serve him and in his desperation and desire he +staked everything on this astounding lie. The woman he loved looked at +him with her face as rigid as a mask. + +"You won't hold that against me, will you?" pleaded the man. "I told you +that I'd been a man among men, yes among women, too, here in this rough +country and that I wasn't worthy of you; there are lots of things in my +past that I ought to be ashamed of and I am, and the more I see you the +more ashamed I grow, but as for loving any one else all that I've ever +thought or felt or experienced before now is just nothing." + +And this indeed was true, and even Enid Maitland with all her prejudice +could realize and understand it. Out of the same mouth, it was said of +old, proceeded blessing and cursing, and from these same lips came truth +and falsehood; but the power of the truth to influence this woman was as +nothing to the power of falsehood. She could never have loved him, she +now knew; a better man had won her affections, a nobler being claimed +her heart; but if Armstrong had told the truth regarding his +relationship to Newbold's wife and then had completed it with his +passionate avowal of his present love for her, she would have at least +admired him and respected him. + +"You have not told me the truth," she answered directly, "you have +deliberately been false." + +"Can't you see," protested the man, drawing nearer to her, "how much I +love you?" + +"Oh, that, yes I suppose that is true; so far as you can love anyone I +will admit that you do love me." + +"So far as I can love anyone?" he repeated after her. "Give me a chance +and I'll show you." + +"But you haven't told the truth about Mrs. Newbold. You have calumniated +the dead, you have sought to shelter yourself by throwing the burden of +a guilty passion upon the weaker vessel, it isn't man-like, it isn't--" + +Armstrong was a bold fighter, quick and prompt in his decisions. He made +another effort to set himself right. He staked his all on another throw +of the dice, which he began to feel were somehow loaded against him. + +"You are right," he admitted, wondering anxiously how much the woman +really knew. "It wasn't true, it was a coward's act, I am ashamed of it. +I'm so mad with love for you that I scarcely know what I am doing, but I +will make a clean breast of it now. I loved Louise Rosser after a +fashion before ever Newbold came on the scene. We were pledged to each +other, a foolish quarrel arose, she was jealous of other girls--" + +"And had she no right to be?" + +"Oh, I suppose so. We broke it off anyway, and then she married Newbold, +out of pique, I suppose, or what you will. I thought I was heart-broken +at the time, it did hit me pretty hard; it was five or six years ago, I +was a youngster then, I am a man now. The woman has been dead long +since. There was some cock-and-bull story about her falling off a cliff +and her husband being compelled to shoot her. I didn't half believe it +at the time and naturally I have been waiting to get even with him. I +have been hating him for five years, but he has been good to you and we +will let bygones be bygones. What do I care for Louise Rosser, or for +him, or for what he did to her, now? I am sorry that I said what I did, +but you will have to charge it to my blinding passion for you. I can +truthfully say that you are the one woman that I have ever craved with +all my heart. I will do anything, be anything, to win you." + +It was very brilliantly done, he had not told a single untruth, he had +admitted much, but he had withheld the essentials after all. He was +playing against desperate odds, he had no knowledge of how much she +knew, or where she had learned anything. Everyone about the mining camp +where she had lived had known of his love for Louise Rosser, but he had +not supposed there was a single human soul who had been privy to its +later developments, and he could not figure out any way by which Enid +Maitland could have learned by any possibility any more of the story +than he had told her. He had calculated swiftly and with the utmost +nicety, just how much he should confess. He was a keen witted, clever +man and he was fighting for what he held most dear, but his eagerness +and zeal, as they have often done, overrode his judgment, and he made +another mistake at this juncture. His evil genius was at his elbow. + +"You must remember," he continued, "that you have been alone here in +these mountains with a man for over a month; the world--" + +"What, what do you mean?" exclaimed the girl, who indeed knew very well +what he meant, but who would not admit the possibility. + +"It's not every man," he added, blindly rushing to his doom, "that would +care for you or want you--after that." + +He received a sudden and terrible enlightenment. + +"You coward," she cried, with upraised hand, whether in protest or to +strike him neither ever knew, for at that moment the door opened the +second time that morning to admit another man. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE LAST RESORT OF KINGS AND MEN + + +The sudden entrant upon a quarrel between others is invariably at a +disadvantage. Usually he is unaware of the cause of difference and +generally he has no idea of the stage of development of the affair that +has been reached. Newbold suffered from this lack of knowledge and to +these disadvantages were added others. For instance, he had not the +faintest idea as to who or what was the stranger. The room was not very +light in the day time, Armstrong happened to be standing with his back +to it at some distance from the window by the side of which Enid stood. +Six years naturally and inevitably make some difference in a man's +appearance and it is not to be wondered that at first Newbold did not +recognize the man before him as the original of the face in his wife's +locket, although he had studied that face over and over again. A nearer +scrutiny, a longer study would have enlightened him of course, but for +the present he saw nothing but a stranger visibly perturbed on one side +and the woman he loved apparently fiercely resentful, sternly +indignant, confronting the other with an upraised hand. + +The man, whoever he was, had affronted her, had aroused her indignation, +perhaps had insulted her, that was plain. He went swiftly to her side, +he interposed himself between her and the man. + +"Enid," he asked, and his easy use of the name was a revelation and an +illumination to Armstrong, "who is this man, what has he done?" + +It was Armstrong who replied. If Newbold were in the dark, not so he; +although they had never spoken, he had seen Newbold. He recognized him +instantly, indeed recognized or not the newcomer could be no other than +he. There was doubtless no other man in the mountains. He had expected +to find him when he approached the hut and was ready for him. + +To the fire of his ancient hatred and jealousy was added a new fuel that +increased its heat and flame. This man had come between Armstrong and +the woman he loved before and had got away unscathed, evidently he had +come between him and this new woman he loved. Well, he should be made to +suffer for it this time and by Armstrong's own hands. The instant +Newbold had entered the room Armstrong had thirsted to leap upon him and +he meant to do it. One or the other of them, he swore in his heart, +should never leave that room alive. + +But Newbold should have his chance. Armstrong was as brave, as fearless, +as intrepid, as any man on earth. There was much that was admirable in +his character; he would not take any man at a disadvantage in an +encounter such as he proposed. He would not hesitate to rob a man of his +wife if he could and he would not shrink from any deceit necessary to +gain his purpose with a woman, for good or evil, but he had his own +ideas of honor, he would not shoot an enemy in the back for instance. + +Singular perversion, this, to which some minds are liable! To take from +a man his wife by subtle and underhand methods, to rob him of that which +makes life dear and sweet--there was nothing dishonorable in that! But +to take his life, a thing of infinitely less moment, by the same +process--that was not to be thought of. In Armstrong's code it was +right, it was imperative, to confront a man with the truth and take the +consequences; but to confront a woman with a lie and take her body and +soul, if so be she might be gained, was equally admirable. And there are +other souls than Armstrong's in which this moral inconsistency and +obliquity about men and women has lodgment. + +Armstrong confronted Newbold therefore, lustful of battle; he yearned to +leap upon him, his fingers itched to grasp him, then trembled slightly +as he rubbed them nervously against his thumbs; his face protruded a +little, his eyes narrowed. + +"My name is Armstrong," he said, determined to precipitate the issue +without further delay and flinging the words at the other in a tone of +hectoring defiance which, however, strange to say, did not seem to +affect Newbold in exactly the degree he had anticipated. + +Yet the name was an illumination to Newbold, though not at all in the +way the speaker had fancied; the recollection of it was the one fact +concerning the woman he loved that rankled in the solitary's mind. He +had often wanted to ask Enid Maitland what she had meant by that chance +allusion to Armstrong which she had made in the beginning of their +acquaintance, but he had refrained. At first he had no right to question +her, there could be no natural end to their affections; and latterly +when their hearts had been disclosed to each other in the wild, +tempestuous, passionate scenes of the last two or three days, he had had +things of greater moment to engage his attention, subjects of more +importance to discuss with her. + +He had for the time being forgotten Armstrong and he had not before +known what jealousy was until he had entered that room. To have seen her +with any man would have given him acute pain, perhaps just because he +had been so long withdrawn from human society, but to see her with this +man who flashed instantly into his recollection upon the utterance of +his name was an added exasperation. + +Newbold turned to the woman, to whom indeed he had addressed his +question in the first place, and there was something in his movement +which bespoke a galling, almost contemptuous, obliviousness to the +presence of the other man which was indeed hard for him to bear. + +Hate begets hate. He was quite conscious of Armstrong's antagonism, +which was entirely undisguised and open and which was growing greater +with every passing moment. The score against Newbold was running up in +the mind of his visitor. + +"Ah," coolly said the owner of the cabin to the latest of his two +guests, "I do remember Miss Maitland did mention your name the first day +she spent here. Is he a--a friend of yours?" he asked of the woman. + +"Not now," answered Enid Maitland. + +She too was in a strange state of perturbation on account of the +dilemma in which she found herself involved. She was determined not to +betray the unconscious confidence of the dead. She hoped fervently that +Newbold would not recognize Armstrong as the man of the locket, but if +he did she was resolute that he should not also be recognized as the man +of the letters, at least not by her act. Newbold was ignorant of the +existence of those letters and she did not intend that he should be +enlightened so far as she could prevent it. But she was keen enough to +see that the first recognition would be inevitable; she even admitted +the fact that Armstrong would probably precipitate it himself. Well, no +human soul, not even their writer, knew that she had the letters except +old Kirkby and he was far away. She wished that she had destroyed them; +she had determined to do so at the first convenient opportunity. Before +that, however, she intended to show them not to Newbold but to +Armstrong, to disclose his perfidy, to convict him of the falsehood he +had told her and to justify herself even in his eyes for the action she +had taken. + +Mingled with all these quick reflections was a deadly fear. She was +quick to perceive the hatred Armstrong cherished against Newbold on the +one hand because of the old love affair, the long standing grudge +breaking into sudden life; on the other because of her own failure to +come to Armstrong's hand and her love for Newbold which she had no +desire to conceal. The cumulation of all these passionate antagonisms +would only make him the more desperate, she knew. + +Whether or not Newbold found out Armstrong's connection with his past +love there was sufficient provocation in the present to evoke all the +oppugnation and resentment of his nature. Enid felt as she might if the +puncheons of the floor had been sticks of dynamite with active +detonators in every heel that pressed them; as if the slightest movement +on the part of anyone would bring about an explosion. + +The tensity of the situation was bewildering to her. It had come upon +her with such startling force; the unexpected arrival of Armstrong, of +all the men on earth the one who ought not to be there, and then the +equally startling arrival of Newbold, of whom perhaps the same might +have been said. If Newbold had only gone on, if he had not come back, if +she had been rescued by her uncle or old Kirkby--But "ifs" were idle, +she had to face a present situation to which she was utterly unequal. + +She had entirely repudiated Armstrong, that was one sure point; she knew +how guilty he had been toward Newbold's wife, that was another; she +realized how he had deceived her, that was the third. These eliminated +the man from her affections. But it is one thing to thrust a man out of +your heart and another to thrust him out of your life; he was still +there. And by no means the sport of blind fate, Armstrong intended to +have something to say as to the course of events, to use his own powers +to determine the issue. + +Of but one thing besides her hatred for Armstrong was Enid Maitland +absolutely certain; she would never disclose to the man she loved the +fact that the woman, the memory of whose supposed passion he cherished, +had been unfaithful to him in heart if not in deed. Nothing could wrest +that secret from her. She had been infected by Newbold's quixotic ideas, +the contagion of his perversion of common sense had fastened itself upon +her. She would not have been human either if she had not experienced a +thrill of pride and joy at the possibility that in some way, of which +she yet swore she would not be the instrument blind or otherwise, the +facts might be disclosed which would enable Newbold to claim her openly +and honorably, without hesitation before or remorse after, as his wife. +This fascinating flash of expectant hopeful feeling she thought unworthy +of her and strove to fight it down, but with manifest impossibility. + +It has taken time to set these things down; to speak or to write is a +slow process and the ratio between outward expressions and inward is as +great as that between light and sound. Questions and answers between +these three followed as swiftly as thrust and parry between accomplished +swordsmen, and yet between each demand and reply they had time to +entertain these swift thoughts--as the drowning compass life experiences +in seconds! + +"I may not be her friend," said Armstrong steadily, "but she left me in +these mountains a month ago with more than a half way promise to marry +me, and I have sought her through the snows to claim the fulfillment." + +"You never told me that," exclaimed Newbold sternly and again addressing +the woman rather than the man. + +"There was nothing to tell," she answered quickly. "I was a young girl, +heart free. I liked this man, perhaps because he was so different from +those to whom I had been accustomed and when he pressed his suit upon +me, I told him the truth. I did not love him, I did not know whether I +might grow to care for him or not; if I did, I should marry him and if I +did not no power on earth could make me. And now--I hate him!" + +She flung the hard and bitter words at him savagely. + +Armstrong was beside himself with fury at her remark, and Newbold's cool +indifference to him personally was unendurable. In battle such as he +waged he had the mistaken idea that anything was fair. He could not +really tell whether it was love of woman or hate of man that was most +dominant; he saw at once the state of affairs between the two. He could +hurt the man and the woman with one statement; what might be its +ulterior effect he did not stop to consider; perhaps if he had he would +not have cared greatly then. He realized anyway that since Newbold's +arrival his chance with Enid was gone; perhaps whether Newbold were +alive or dead it was gone forever, although Armstrong did not think +that, he was not capable of thinking very far into the future in his +then condition, the present bulked too large for that. + +"I did not think after that kiss in the road that you would go back on +me this way, Enid," he said quickly. + +"The kiss in the road!" cried Newbold, staring again at the woman. + +"You coward," repeated she, with one swift envenomed glance at the other +man and then she turned to her lover. She laid her hand upon his arm, +she lifted her face up to him. "As God is my judge," she cried, her +voice rising with the tragic intensity of the moment and thrilling with +indignant protest, "he took it from me like the thief and the coward he +was and he tells it now like the liar he is. We were riding side by +side, I was utterly unsuspicious, I thought him a gentleman, he caught +me and kissed me before I knew it, I drove him from me. That's all." + +"I believe you," said Newbold gently, and then, for the second time, he +addressed himself to Armstrong. "You came doubtless to rescue Miss +Maitland, and in so far your purpose was admirable and you deserve +thanks and respect, but no further. This is my cabin, your words and +your conduct render you unwelcome here. Miss Maitland is under my +protection, if you will come outside I will be glad to talk with you +further." + +"Under your protection?" sneered Armstrong, completely beside himself. +"After a month with you alone I take it she needs no further +protection." + +Newbold did not leap upon the man for that mordant insult to the woman, +his approach was slow, relentless, terrible. Eight or ten feet separated +them. Armstrong met him half way, his impetuosity was the greater, he +sprang forward, turned about, faced the full light from the narrow +window. + +"Well," he cried, "have you got anything to say or do about it?" + +For Newbold had stopped, appalled. He stood staring as if petrified; +recognition, recollection rushed over him. Now and at last he knew the +man. The face that confronted him was the same face that had stared out +at him from the locket he had taken from the bruised breast of his dead +wife, which had been a mystery to him for all these years. + +"Well," tauntingly asked Armstrong again, "what are you waiting for, are +you afraid?" + +From Newbold's belt depended a holster and a heavy revolver. As +Armstrong made to attack him he flashed it out with astonishing +quickness and presented it. The newcomer was unarmed, his Winchester +leaned against the wall by his fur coat and he had no pistol. + +"If you move a step forward or backward," said Newbold with deadly calm, +"I will kill you without mercy." + +"So you'd take advantage of a weaponless man, would you?" sneered +Armstrong. + +"Oh, for God's sake," cried the woman, "don't kill him." + +"You both misjudge me," was the answer. "I shall take no advantage of +this man. I would disdain to do so if it were necessary, but before the +last resort I must have speech with him, and this is the only way in +which I can keep him quiet for a moment, if as I suspect, his hate +measures with mine." + +"You have the advantage," protested Armstrong. "Say your say and get it +over with. I've waited all these years for a chance to kill you and my +patience is exhausted." + +Still keeping the other covered, Newbold stepped over to the table, +pulled out the drawer and drew from it the locket. Enid remembered she +had hastily thrust it there when he had handed it to her and there it +had lain unnoted and forgotten. It was quite evident to her what was +toward now. Newbold had recognized the other man, explanations were +inevitable. With his left hand Newbold sought the catch of the locket +and pressed the spring. In two steps he faced Armstrong with the open +locket thrust toward him. + +"Your picture?" he asked. + +"Mine." + +"Do you know the locket?" + +"I gave it to a woman named Louise Rosser five or six years ago." + +"My wife." + +"Yes, she was crazy in love with me but--" + +With diabolic malice Armstrong left the sentence uncompleted. The +inference he meant should be drawn from his reticence was obvious. + +"I took it from her dead body," gritted out Newbold. + +"She was beside herself with love for me, an old affair, you know," said +Armstrong more explicitly, thinking to use a spear with a double barb to +pierce the woman's and the man's heart alike. That he defamed the dead +was of no moment then. "She wanted to leave you," he ran on glibly, "she +wanted me to take her back and--" + +"Untrue," burst forth from Enid Maitland's lips. "A slanderous, +dastardly, cowardly untruth." + +But the men paid no attention to her in their excitement, perhaps they +did not even hear her. Newbold thrust his pistol violently forward. + +"Would you murder me as you murdered the woman?" gibed Armstrong in +bitter taunt. + +Then Enid Maitland found it in her heart to urge Newbold to kill him +where he stood, but she had no time if she could have carried out her +design, for Newbold flung the weapon from him and the next moment the +two men leaped upon each other, straining, struggling, clawing, +battling like savage beasts, each seeking to clasp his fingers around +the throat of the other and then twist and crush until life was gone. + +Saying nothing, fighting in a grim silence that was terrible, they +reeled crashing about the little room. No two men on earth could have +been better matched, yet Newbold had a slight advantage in height and +strength, as he had also the advantage in simple life and splendid +condition. Armstrong's hate and fierce temper counterbalanced these at +first and with arms locked and legs twined, with teeth clenched and eyes +blinded and pulses throbbing and hearts beating, they strove together. + +The woman shrank back against the wall and stared frightened. She feared +for her lover, she feared for herself. Strange primitive feelings +throbbed in her veins. It was an old situation, when two male animals +fought for supremacy and the ownership of a female, whose destiny was +entirely removed from her own hands. + +Armstrong had shown himself in his true colors at last. She would have +nothing to hope from him if he were the victor and she even wondered in +terror what might happen to her if the man she loved triumphed after the +passions aroused in such a battle. She grew sick and giddy, her bosom +rose and fell, her breath came fast as she followed the panting, +struggling, clinging, grinding figures about the room. + +At first there had been no advantage to either, but now after five +minutes--or was it hours?--of fierce fighting, the strength and superior +condition of her lover began to tell. He was forcing the other backward. +Slowly, inch by inch, foot by foot, step by step, he mastered him. The +two intertwining figures were broadside to her now, she could see their +faces inflamed by the lust of the battle, engorged, blood red with hate +and fury. There was a look of exultation in one and the shadow of +approaching disaster in the other. But the consciousness that he was +being mastered ever so little only increased Armstrong's determination +and he fought back with the frenzy, the strength of a maddened gorilla, +and again for a space the issue was in doubt. But not for long. + +The table, a heavy, cumbersome, four-legged affair, solid almost as a +rock, stood in the way. Newbold at last backed Armstrong up against it +and by superhuman effort bent him over it, held him with one arm and +using the table as a support, wrenched his left hand free, and sunk his +fingers around the other's throat. It was all up with Armstrong. It was +only a question of time now. + +[Illustration: It was all up with Armstrong] + +"Now," Newbold guttered out hoarsely, "you slandered the dead woman I +married, and you insulted the living one I love. Take back what you said +before you die." + +"I forgive him," cried Enid Maitland. "Oh, don't kill him before my +eyes." + +Armstrong was past speech. The inveteracy of his hatred could be seen +even in his fast glazing eyes, the indomitableness of his purpose yet +spoke in the negative shake of his head. He could die, but he would die +in his hate and in his purpose. + +Enid ran to the two, she grappled Newbold's arm with both her own and +strove with all her might to tear it away from the other's throat. Her +lover paid no more attention to her than if a summer breeze had touched +him. Armstrong grew black in the face, his limbs relaxed, another second +or two and it would have been over with him. + +Once more the door was thrown open, through it two snow covered men +entered. One swift glance told them all, one of them at least had +expected it. On the one side Kirkby, on the other Maitland, tore Newbold +away from his prey just in time to save Armstrong's life. Indeed the +latter was so far gone that he fell from the table to the floor +unconscious, choking, almost dying. It was Enid Maitland who received +his head in her arms and helped bring him back to life while the panting +Newbold stood staring dully at the woman he loved and the man he hated +on the floor at his feet. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE BECOMING END + + +"Why did you interfere?" when at last he got his breath again, asked +Newbold of Maitland who still held him firmly although restraint was now +unnecessary, the heat and fire of his passion being somewhat gone out of +him. "I meant to kill him." + +"He'd oughter die sure nuff," drawled old Kirkby, rising from where he +had been kneeling by Armstrong's side, "but I don't know's how you're +bound to be his executioner. He's all right now, Miss Enid," said the +old man. "Here"--he took a pillow from the bunk and slipped it under his +head and then extending his hands he lifted the excited almost +distraught woman to her feet--"tain't fittin' for you to tend on him." + +"Oh," exclaimed Enid, her limbs trembling, the blood flowing away from +her heart, her face deathly white, fighting against the faintness that +came with the reaction, while old Kirkby supported and encouraged her. +"I thank God you came. I don't know what would have happened if you had +not." + +"Has this man mistreated you?" asked Robert Maitland, suddenly +tightening his grip upon his hard breathing but unresisting passive +prisoner. + +"No, no," answered his niece. "He has been everything that a man should +be." + +"And Armstrong?" continued her uncle. + +"No, not even he." + +"I came in time, thank God!" ejaculated Newbold. + +By this time Armstrong had recovered consciousness. To his other causes +for hatred were now added chagrin, mortification, shame. He had been +overcome. He would have been a dead man and by Newbold's hands if the +others had not interfered. He almost wished they had let his enemy +alone. Well, he had lost everything but a chance for revenge on them +all. + +"She has been alone here with this man in this cabin for a month," he +said thickly. "I was willing to take her in spite of that, but--" + +"He made that damned suggestion before," cried Newbold, his rage +returning. "I don't know who you are--" + +"My name is Robert Maitland, and I am this girl's uncle." + +"Well, if you were her father, I could only swear--" + +"It isn't necessary to swear anything," answered Maitland serenely. "I +know this child. And I believe I'm beginning to find out this man." + +"Thank you, Uncle Robert," said Enid gratefully, coming nearer to him as +she spoke. "No man could have done more for me than Mr. Newbold has, and +no one could have been more considerate of me. As for you," she turned +on, Armstrong, who now slowly got to his feet, "your insinuations +against me are on a par with your charges against the dead woman, +beneath contempt." + +"What did he say about her?" asked Old Kirkby. + +"You know my story?" asked Newbold. + +"Yes." + +"He said that my wife had been unfaithful to me--with him--and that he +had refused to take her back." + +"And it was true," snarled Armstrong. + +It was all Maitland could do to check Newbold's rush, but in the end it +was old Kirkby who most effectively interposed. + +"That's a damned lie," he said quietly with his usual drawling voice. + +"You can say so," laughed Armstrong, "but that doesn't alter the +facts." + +"An' I can prove it," answered the old man triumphantly. + +It was coming, the secret that she had tried to conceal was about to be +revealed, thought Enid. She made a movement toward the old man. She +opened her mouth to bid him be silent and then stopped. It would be +useless she knew. The determination was no longer hers. The direction of +affairs had been withdrawn from her. After all it was better that the +unloving wife should be proved faithful, even if her husband's cherished +memory of her love for him had to be destroyed thereby. Helpless she +listened knowing full well what the old frontiersman's next word would +be. + +"Prove it!" mocked Armstrong. "How?" + +"By your own hand, out of your own mouth, you dog," thundered old +Kirkby. "Miss Enid, w'ere are them letters I give you?" + +"I--I--" faltered the girl, but there was no escape from the keen glance +of the old man, her hand went to the bosom of her tunic. + +"Letters!" exclaimed Armstrong. "What letters?" + +"These," answered Enid Maitland, holding up the packet. + +Armstrong reached for them but Kirkby again interposed. + +"No, you don't," he said dryly. "Them ain't for your eyes yit. Mr. +Newbold, I found them letters on the little shelf w'ere your wife first +struck w'en she fell over onto the butte w'ere she died. I figgered out +her dress was tore open there an' them letters she was carryin' fell out +an' lodged there. We had ropes an' we went down over the rocks that way. +I went first an' I picked 'em up. I never told nobody about it an' I +never showed 'em to a single human bein' until I give 'em to Miss +Maitland at the camp." + +"Why not?" asked Newbold, taking the letters. + +"There wasn't no good tellin' nobody then, jest fer the sake o' stirrin' +up trouble." + +"But why did you give them to her at last?" + +"Because I was afeered she might fall in love with Armstrong. I supposed +she'd know his writin', but w'en she didn't I jest let her keep 'em +anyway. I knowed it'd all come out somehow; there is a God above us in +spite of all the damned scoundrels on earth like this un." + +"Are these letters addressed to my dead wife?" asked Newbold. + +"They are," answered Enid Maitland; "look and see." + +"And did Mr. Armstrong write them?" + +"He'll deny it, I suppose," answered Kirkby. + +"But I am familiar with his handwriting," said Maitland. + +Taking the still unopened packet from Newbold he opened it, examined one +of the letters and handed them all back. + +"There is no doubt about it," he said. "It's Armstrong's hand, I'll +swear to it." + +"Oh, I'll acknowledge them," said Armstrong, seeing the absolute +futility of further denial. He had forgotten all about the letters. He +had not dreamed they were in existence. "You've got me beat between you, +the cards are stacked against me, I've done my damndest--" and indeed +that was true. + +Well, he had played a great game, battling for a high stake he had stuck +at nothing. A career in which some good had mingled with much bad was +now at an end. He had lost utterly, would he show himself a good loser? + +"Mr. Armstrong," said Newbold, quietly extending his hand, "here are +your letters." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I am not in the habit of reading letters addressed to other people +without permission and when the recipient of them is dead long since, I +am doubly bound." + +"You're a damned fool," cried Armstrong contemptuously. + +"That kind of a charge from your kind of a man is perhaps the highest +compliment you could pay me. I don't know whether I shall ever get rid +of the doubt you have tried to lodge in my soul about my dead wife, +but--" + +"There ain't no doubt about it," protested old Kirkby earnestly. "I've +read them letters a hundred times over, havin' no scruples whatsomever, +an' in every one of 'em he was beggin' an' pleadin' with her to go away +with him an' fightin' her refusal to do it. I guess I've got to admit +that she didn't love you none, Newbold, an' she did love this here +wuthless Armstrong, but for the sake of her reputation I'll prove to you +all from them letters of hisn, from his own words, that there didn't +live a cleaner hearted, more virtuous, upright feemale than that there +wife of yourn, even if she didn't love you. It's God's truth an' you kin +take it from me." + +"Mr. Armstrong," cried Enid Maitland, interposing at this juncture, "not +very long ago I told you I liked you better than any man I had ever +seen, I thought perhaps I might have loved you, and that was true. You +have played the coward's part and the liar's part in this room--" + +"Did I fight him like a coward?" asked Armstrong. + +"No," answered Newbold for her, remembering the struggle, "you fought +like a man." + +Singular perversion of language and thought there! If two struggled like +wild beasts that was fighting like men! + +"But let that pass," continued the woman. "I don't deny your physical +courage, but I am going to appeal to another kind of a courage which I +believe you possess. You have showed your evil side here in this room, +but I don't believe that's the only side you have, else I couldn't even +have liked you in the past. You have made a charge against two women, +one dead and one living. It makes little difference what you say about +me; I need no defense and no justification in the eyes of those here who +love me and for the rest of the world I don't care. But you have slain +this man's confidence in a woman he once loved, and whom he thought +loved him. As you are a man, tell him that it was a lie and that she was +innocent of anything else although she did love you." + +What a singular situation, an observer who knew all might have +reflected? Here was Enid Maitland pleading for the good name of the +woman who had married the man she now loved, and whom by rights she +should have jealously hated. + +"You ask me more than I can," faltered Armstrong, yet greatly moved by +this touching appeal to his better self. + +"Let him speak no word," protested Newbold quickly. "I wouldn't believe +him on his oath." + +"Steady now, steady," interposed Kirkby with his frontier instinct for +fair play. "The man's down, Newbold, don't hit him now." + +"Give him a chance," added Maitland earnestly. + +"You would not believe me, eh?" laughed Armstrong horribly; "well then +this is what I say, whether it is true or a lie you can be the judge." + +What was he about to say? They all recognized instinctively that his +forthcoming deliverance would be a final one. Would good or evil +dominate him now? Enid Maitland had made her plea and it had been a +powerful one; the man did truly love the woman who urged him, there was +nothing left for him but a chance that she should think a little better +of him than he merited, he had come to the end of his resources. And +Enid Maitland spoke again as he hesitated. + +"Oh, think, think before you speak," she cried. + +"If I thought," answered Armstrong quickly, "I should go mad. Newbold, +your wife was as pure as the snow. That she loved me I cannot and will +not deny. She married you in a fit of jealousy and anger after a quarrel +between us in which I was to blame, and when I came back to the camp in +your absence I strove to make it up and used every argument that I +possessed to get her to leave you and to go with me. Although she had no +love for you she was too good and too true a woman for that. Now you've +got the truth, damn you; believe it or not as you like. Miss Maitland," +he added swiftly, "if I had met you sooner, I might have been a better +man. Good-by." + +He turned suddenly and none preventing, indeed it was not possible, he +ran to the outer door; as he did so his hand snatched something that lay +on the chest of drawers. There was a flash of light as he drew in his +arm but none saw what it was. In a few seconds he was outside the door. +The table was between old Kirkby and the exit, Maitland and Newbold were +nearest. The old man came to his senses first. + +"After him," he cried, "he means--" + +But before anybody could stir, the dull report of a pistol came through +the open door! + +They found Armstrong lying on his back in the snowy path, his face as +white as the drift that pillowed his head, Newbold's heavy revolver +still clutched in his right hand and a bloody, welling smudge on his +left breast over his heart. It was the woman who broke the silence. + +"Oh," she sobbed, "It can't be--" + +"Dead," said Maitland solemnly. + +"And it might have been by my hand," muttered Newbold to himself in +horror. + +"He'll never cause no more trouble to nobody in this world, Miss Enid +an' gents," said old Kirkby gravely. "Well, he was a damned fool an' a +damned villain in some ways," continued the old frontiersman +reflectively in the silence broken otherwise only by the woman's sobbing +breaths, "but he had some of the qualities that go to make a man, an' I +ain't doubtin' but what them last words of hisn was mighty near true. Ef +he had met a gal like you earlier in his life he mought have been a +different man." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE DRAUGHT OF JOY + + +The great library was the prettiest room in Robert Maitland's +magnificent mansion in Denver's most favored residence section. It was a +long, low studded room with a heavy beamed ceiling. The low book cases, +about five feet high, ran between all the windows and doors on all sides +of the room. At one end there was a huge open fireplace built of rough +stone, and as it was winter a cheerful fire of logs blazed on the +hearth. It was a man's room preeminently. The drawing room across the +hall was Mrs. Maitland's domain, but the library reflected her husband's +picturesque if somewhat erratic taste. On the walls there were pictures +of the west by Remington, Marchand, Dunton, Dixon and others, and to set +them off finely mounted heads of bear and deer and buffalo. Swords and +other arms stood here and there. The writing table was massive and the +chairs easy, comfortable and inviting. The floor was strewn with robes +and rugs. From the windows facing westward, since the house was set on +a high hill, one could see the great rampart of the range. + +There were three men in the room on that brilliant morning early in +January something like a month after these adventures in the mountains +which have been so veraciously set forth. Two of them were the brothers +Maitland, the third was Newbold. + +The shock produced upon Enid Maitland by the death of Armstrong, +together with the tremendous episodes that had preceded it, had utterly +prostrated her. They had spent the night at the hut in the mountains and +had decided that the woman must be taken back to the settlements in some +way at all hazards. + +The wit of old Kirkby had effected a solution of the problem. Using a +means certainly as old as Napoleon and the passage of his cannon over +the Great St. Bernard--and perhaps as old as Hannibal!--they had made a +rude sled from the trunk of a pine which they hollowed out and provided +with a back and runners. There was no lack of fur robes and blankets for +her comfort. + +Wherever it was practicable the three men hitched themselves to the sled +with ropes and dragged it and Enid over the snow. Of course for miles +down the canyon it was impossible to use the sled. When the way was +comparatively easy the woman supported by the two men, Newbold and +Maitland, made shift to get along afoot. When it became too difficult +for her, Newbold picked her up as he had done before and assisted by +Maitland carried her bodily to the next resting place. At these times +Kirkby looked after the sled. + +They had managed to reach the temporary hut in the old camp the first +night and rested there. They gathered up their sleeping bags and tents +and resumed their journey in the morning. They were strong men, and, +save for old Kirkby, young. It was a desperate endeavor but they carried +it through. + +When they hit the open trails the sledding was easy and they made great +progress. After a week of terrific going they struck the railroad and +the next day found them all safe in Maitland's house in Denver. + +To Mr. Stephen Maitland his daughter was as one who had risen from the +dead. And indeed when he first saw her she looked like death itself. No +one had known how terrible that journey had been to the woman. Her three +faithful attendants had surmised something, but in spite of all even +they did not realize that in these last days she had been sustained only +by the most violent effort of her will. She had no sooner reached the +house, greeted her father, her aunt and the children than she collapsed +utterly. + +The wonder was, said the physician, not that she did it then but that +she had not done it before. For a short time it appeared as if her +illness might be serious, but youth, vigor, a strong body and a good +constitution, a heart now free from care and apprehension and a great +desire to live and love and be loved, worked wonders. + +Newbold had enjoyed no opportunity for private conversation with the +woman he loved, which was perhaps just as well. He had the task of +readjusting himself to changed conditions; not only to a different +environment, but to strange and unusual departures from his long +cherished view points. + +He could no longer doubt Armstrong's final testimony to the purity of +his wife, although he had burned the letters unread, and by the same +token he could no longer cherish the dream that she had loved him and +him alone. Those words that had preceded that pistol shot had made it +possible for him to take Enid Maitland as his wife without doing +violence to his sense of honor or his self-respect. Armstrong had made +that much reparation. And Newbold could not doubt that the other had +known what would be the result of his speech and had chosen his words +deliberately. Score that last action to his credit. He was a sensitive +man, however; he realized the brutal and beastlike part he and Armstrong +had both played before this woman they both loved, how they had battled +like savage animals and how but for a lucky interposition he would have +added murder to his other disabilities. + +He was honest enough to say to himself that he would have done the same +thing over under the same circumstances, but that did not absolve his +conscience. He did not know how the woman looked at the transaction or +looked at him, for he had not enjoyed one moment alone with her to +enable him to find out. + +They had buried Armstrong in the snow, Robert Maitland saying over him a +brief but fervent petition in which even Newbold joined. Enid Maitland +herself had repeated eloquently to her Uncle and old Kirkby that night +before the fire the story of her rescue from the flood by this man, how +he had carried her in the storm to the hut and how he had treated her +since, and Maitland had afterwards repeated her account to his brother +in Denver. + +Maitland had insisted that Newbold share his hospitality, but that young +man had refused. Kirkby had a little place not far from Denver and +easily accessible to it and the old man had gladly taken the younger +one with him. Newbold had been in a fever of anxiety over Enid +Maitland's illness, but his alarm had soon been dispelled by the +physician's assurance and there was nothing now left for him but to wait +until she could see him. He inquired for her morning and evening at the +great house on the hill, he kept her room a bower of beauty with +priceless blossoms, but he had sent no word. + +Robert Maitland had promised to let him know, however, so soon as Enid +could see him and it was in pursuance of a telephone message that he was +in the library that morning. + +He had not yet become accustomed to the world, he had lived so long +alone that he had grown somewhat shy and retiring, the habits and +customs of years were not to be lightly thrown aside in a week or a +month. He had sought no interview with Enid's father heretofore, indeed +had rather avoided it, but on this morning he had asked for it, and when +Robert Maitland would have withdrawn he begged him to remain. + +"Mr. Maitland," Newbold began, "I presume that you know my unfortunate +history." + +"I have heard the general outlines of it, sir, from my brother and +others," answered the other kindly. + +"I need not dwell upon it further then. Although my hair is tinged with +gray and doubtless I look much older, I was only twenty-eight on my last +birthday. I was not born in this section of the country, my home was in +Baltimore." + +"Do you by any chance belong to the Maryland Newbolds, sir?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"They are distantly related to a most excellent family of the same name +in Philadelphia, I believe?" + +"I have always understood that to be the truth." + +"Ah, a very satisfactory connection indeed," said Stephen Maitland with +no little satisfaction. "Proceed, sir." + +"There is nothing much else to say about myself, except that I love your +daughter and with your permission I want her for my wife." + +Mr. Stephen Maitland had thought long and seriously over the state of +affairs. He had proposed in his desperation to give Enid's hand to +Armstrong if he found her. It had been impossible to keep secret the +story of her adventure, her rescue and the death of Armstrong. It was +natural and inevitable that gossip should have busied itself with her +name. It would therefore have been somewhat difficult for Mr. Maitland +to have withheld his consent to her marriage to almost any reputable +man who had been thrown so intimately with her, but when the man was so +unexceptionably born and bred as Newbold, what had appeared as a more or +less disagreeable duty, almost an imperative imposition, became a +pleasure! + +Mr. Maitland was no bad judge of men when his prejudices were not +rampant and he looked with much satisfaction on the fine, clean limbed, +clear eyed, vigorous man who was at present suing for his daughter's +hand. Newbold had shaved his beard and had cropped close his mustache, +he was dressed in the habits of civilization and he was almost +metamorphosed. His shyness wore away as he talked and his inherited ease +of manner and his birthright of good breeding came back to him and sat +easily upon him. + +Under the circumstances the very best thing that could happen would be a +marriage between the two; indeed, to be quite honest, Mr. Stephen +Maitland would have felt that perhaps under any circumstances his +daughter could do no better than commit herself to a man like this. + +"I shall never attempt," he said at last, "to constrain my daughter. I +think I have learned something by my touch with this life here, perhaps +we of Philadelphia need a little broadening in airs more free. I am sure +that she would never give her hand without her heart, and therefore, +she must decide this matter herself. From her own lips you shall have +your answer." + +"But you, sir; I confess that I should feel easier and happier if I had +your sanction and approval." + +"Steve," said Mr. Robert Maitland, as the other hesitated, not because +he intended to refuse but because he was loath to say the word that so +far as he was concerned would give his daughter into another man's +keeping, "I think you can trust Newbold. There are men here who knew him +years ago; there is abundant evidence and testimony as to his qualities; +I vouch for him." + +"Robert," answered his brother, "I need no such testimony; the way in +which he saved Enid, the way he comported himself during that period of +isolation with her, his present bearing--in short, sir, if a father is +ever glad to give away his daughter, I might say that I should be glad +to entrust her to you. I believe you to be a man of honor and a +gentleman, your family is almost as old as my own, as for the disparity +in our fortunes, I can easily remedy that." + +Newbold smiled at Enid's father, but it was a pleasant smile, albeit +with a trace of mockery and a trace of triumph in it. + +"Mr. Maitland I am more grateful to you than I can say for your consent +and approval which I shall do my best to merit. I think I may claim to +have won your daughter's heart, to have added to that your sanction +completes my happiness. As for the disparity in our fortunes, while your +generosity touches me profoundly, I hardly think that you need be under +any uneasiness as to our material welfare." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I am a mining engineer, sir; I didn't live five years alone in the +mountains of Colorado for nothing." + +"Pray explain yourself, sir." + +"Did you find gold in the hills?" asked Robert Maitland, quicker to +understand. + +"The richest veins on the continent," answered Newbold. + +"And nobody knows anything about it?" + +"Not a soul." + +"Have you located the claims?" + +"Only one." + +"We'll go back as soon as the snow melts," said the younger Maitland, +"and take them up. You are sure?" + +"Absolutely." + +"But I don't quite understand?" queried Mr. Stephen Maitland. + +"He means," said his brother, "that he has discovered gold." + +"And silver too," interposed Newbold. + +"In unlimited quantities," continued the other Maitland. + +"Your daughter will have more money than she knows what to do with, +sir," smiled Newbold. + +"God bless me!" exclaimed the Philadelphian. + +"And that, whether she marries me or not, for the richest claim of all +is to be taken out in her name," added her lover. + +Mr. Stephen Maitland shook the other by the hand vigorously. + +"I congratulate you," he said, "you have beaten me on all points. I must +therefore regard you as the most eligible of suitors. Gold in these +mountains, well, well!" + +"And may I see your daughter and plead my cause in person, sir?" asked +Newbold. + +"Certainly, certainly. Robert, will you oblige me--" + +In compliance with his brother's gesture, Robert Maitland touched the +bell and bade the answering servant ask Miss Maitland to come down to +the library. + +"Now," said Mr. Stephen Maitland as the servant closed the door, "you +and I would best leave the young people alone, eh, Robert?" + +"By all means," answered the younger and opening the door again the two +older men went out leaving Newbold alone. + +He heard a soft step on the stair in the hall without, the gentle swish +of a dress as somebody descended from the floor above. A vision appeared +in the doorway. Without a movement in opposition, without a word of +remonstrance, without a throb of hesitation on her part, he took her in +his arms. From the drawing room opposite, Mr. Robert Maitland softly +tiptoed across the hall and closed the library door, neither of the +lovers being aware of his action. + +Often and often they had longed for each other on the opposite side of a +door and now at last the woman was in the man's arms and no door rose +between them, no barrier kept them apart any longer. There was no +obligation of loyalty or honor, real or imagined, to separate them now. +They had drunk deep of the chalice of courage, they had drained the cup +to the very bottom, they had shown each other that though love was the +greatest of passions, honor and loyalty were the most powerful of forces +and now they reaped the reward of their abnegation and devotion. + +At last the woman gave herself up to him in complete and entire +abandonment without fear and without reproach; and at last the man took +what was his own without the shadow of a reservation. She shrank from no +pressure of his arms, she turned her face away from no touch of his +lips. They two had proved their right to surrender by their ability to +conquer. + +Speech was hardly necessary between them and it was not for a long time +that coherent words came. Little murmurs of endearment, little +passionate whispers of a beloved name--these were enough then. + +When he could find strength to deny himself a little and to hold her at +arm's length and look at her, he found her paler, thinner and more +delicate than when he had seen her in the mountains. She had on some +witching creation of pale blue and silver, he didn't know what it was, +he didn't care, it made her only more like an angel to him than ever. +She found him, too, greatly changed and highly approved the alterations +in his appearance. + +"Why, Will," she said at last, "I never realized what a handsome man you +were." + +He laughed at her. + +"I always knew you were the most beautiful woman on earth." + +"Oh, yes, doubtless when I was the only one." + +"And if there were millions you would still be the only one. But it +isn't for your beauty alone that I love you. You knew all the time that +my fight against loving you was based upon a misinterpretation, a +mistake; you didn't tell me because you were thoughtful of a poor dead +woman." + +"Should I have told you?" + +"No. I have thought it all out: I was loyal through a mistake but you +wouldn't betray a dead sister, you would save her reputation in the mind +of the one being that remembered her, at the expense of your own +happiness. And if there were nothing else I could love you for that." + +"And is there anything else?" asked she who would fain be loved for +other qualities. + +"Everything," he answered rapturously, drawing her once more to his +heart. + +"I knew that there would be some way," answered the satisfied woman +softly after a little space. "Love like ours is not born to fall short +of the completest happiness. Oh, how fortunate for me was that idle +impulse that turned me up the canyon instead of down, for if it had not +been for that there would have been no meeting--" + +She stopped suddenly, her face aflame at the thought of the conditions +of that meeting, she must needs hide her face on his shoulder. + +He laughed gayly. + +"My little spirit of the fountain, my love, my wife that is to be! Did +you know that your father has done me the honor to give me your hand, +subject to the condition that your heart goes with it?" + +"You took that first," answered the woman looking up at him again. + +There was a knock on the door. Without waiting for permission it was +opened; this time three men entered, for old Kirkby had joined the +group. The blushing Enid made an impulsive movement to tear herself away +from Newbold's arms, but he shamelessly held her close. The three men +looked at the two lovers solemnly for a moment and then broke into +laughter. It was Kirkby who spoke first. + +"I hear as how you found gold in them mountains, Mr. Newbold." + +"I found something far more valuable than all the gold in Colorado in +these mountains," answered the other. + +"And what was that?" asked the old frontiersman curiously and +innocently. + +"This!" answered Newbold as he kissed the girl again. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Chalice Of Courage, by Cyrus Townsend Brady + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHALICE OF COURAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 37492.txt or 37492.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/4/9/37492/ + +Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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