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[Illustration: "I Am a Stranger in This Locality," He Explained.]
THE
CAMP FIRE GIRLS
AT
HALF MOON LAKE
BY
MARGARET VANDERCOOK
Author of "The Ranch Girls" Series, "The Red Cross Girls" Series, etc.
ILLUSTRATED
PHILADELPHIA
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PUBLISHERS
Copyright 1921, by
The John C. Winston Company
STORIES ABOUT CAMP FIRE GIRLS
List of Titles in the Order of their Publication
The Camp Fire Girls at Sunrise Hill
The Camp Fire Girls Amid the Snows
The Camp Fire Girls in the Outside World
The Camp Fire Girls Across the Sea
The Camp Fire Girls' Careers
The Camp Fire Girls in After Years
The Camp Fire Girls at the Edge of the Desert
The Camp Fire Girls at the End of the Trail
The Camp Fire Girls Behind the Lines
The Camp Fire Girls on the Field of Honor
The Camp Fire Girls in Glorious France
The Camp Fire Girls in Merrie England
The Camp Fire Girls at Half Moon Lake
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I. Indian Summer 7
II. Half Moon Lake 19
III. Old Friends 29
IV. The Hermit 43
V. A Conversation and a Loss 57
VI. "A Man for a' That" 72
VII. Friendship 83
VIII. Midwinter 92
IX. The Poet's Corner 107
X. Holiday Guests 116
XI. Juliet Temple 128
XII. Friends That Were 142
XIII. Anxious Waiting 154
XIV. Christmas Eve 162
XV. Romance 173
XVI. An Encounter 195
XVII. Closed In 204
XVIII. Spring 212
ILLUSTRATIONS
"I am a Stranger in This Locality," He Explained _Frontispiece_
PAGE
For a Moment the Man Stared in Silence 59
Sally's Hands Beat Against the Closed Door 160
"I Wish You Would Help Me About Something," She Said 189
The Camp Fire Girls
At Half Moon Lake
CHAPTER I
Indian Summer
Two girls were following a narrow trail.
About them the woods were scarlet and flame, golden and bronze, and in
contrast the blue-green depth of tall pine and cedar trees.
Down a steep hill the trail led; on either side a thick underbrush of
wild grapevines and blackberries that twisted and sprawled, showing
shriveled clumps of seed pods where formerly the fruit had ripened.
One of the girls, wearing a corduroy costume of hunter's green and a
tam-o-shanter of the same shade, was carrying a rifle, while over her
shoulder hung a brace of rabbits and half a dozen quail.
Following close behind her the second girl's costume was of the same
character, a short skirt and coat with leather leggings and high boots,
but of dark blue.
"Do you think we are lost, Gill?" she inquired cheerfully.
Her companion shook her head.
"Well, as David Murray says, we are where we shouldn't be and don't know
where we are, but I should never call that being lost, would you,
Bettina?"
Grasping a small birch tree firmly so as not to be obliged to continue
her descent, and forcing Bettina to imitate her example, Gill turned
halfway around.
"To get down this hill and find our camp before dusk I suggest that we
follow the fashion set by 'The Waters at Lodore'. I am not sufficiently
literary to recall the exact lines of the poem, I leave that to you,
Princess, but there was something about their dashing, splashing and
tumbling, something quick and active, and in contrast to our methods for
this past hour. Farewell, valor at present is the better part of
discretion, to transpose the axiom."
As she ceased speaking, releasing the slender young tree and bracing her
feet together, Mary Gilchrist began to slide down the steep incline.
In the heart of the Adirondack forest it was now early in the month of
November and about four o'clock in the afternoon. Overhead the sun was
still shining and the sky a warm blue, yet from the ground arose a light
mist, playing in and out amid the underbrush and the bases of the trees,
ethereal and evanescent, the floating draperies of unseen fairies
holding an autumn carnival.
Bettina Graham continued her downward progress more slowly and
cautiously.
Over the trail beech leaves and birch leaves and the long fingers of the
pine had blown in little drifts of amber and green which, mixing with
the decaying wood and wet earth, formed a slippery aisle.
Ten minutes elapsed before Bettina rejoined her companion. She then
discovered Mary Gilchrist seated upon an overturned log, her gun and
game on the ground beside her, her hat in her lap, while she shook bits
of brushwood, twigs and leaves from her hair and removed them from her
apparel.
The autumn sun shone through an arch of branches overhead on the
red-brown of her hair, on her eyes so nearly the same color, on her
healthy, lightly freckled skin, and her full, irregular lips.
"I am glad the turn in the trail concealed the latter part of my prowess
as a mountaineer, Bettina. I certainly came down swiftly enough toward
the end. In fact, I had hard work holding on to my rifle," Gill
announced, shaking her head a second time so that a bronze leaf slid on
to the earth. "But if I lost my dignity I did not lose my gun or game."
"You are not hurt, are you, Gill?" Bettina asked, looking with
admiration and amusement at her companion.
Then as she shook her head:
"Do you know, Gill, it has been a curious fact in our Camp Fire life
together, living as we have for the past few years in different places
and under such a variety of conditions, to find here and there one of us
discover the environment for which she must have been intended. Vera
Lagerloff and Alice Ashton, for instance, were at their best when doing
reconstruction work in France. You, Gill, were very busy and useful over
there, and yet no one has known the real _you_ until these past few
weeks in the mountains. Yet why should this be true when you lived all
your past life in the western prairie country until your desire to drive
a motor in France led you to join our Camp Fire and help with the relief
work?"
"I sometimes feel that I have not yet found my true environment. Do you
remember the wonderful new play Tante read aloud the other evening,
'Beyond the Horizon', whose theme is that each human being must live in
harmony with his own nature, else he will never find happiness or
success?"
Mary Gilchrist smiled.
"I remember it after a fashion, but, Bettina dear, please don't ask me
to understand literary subtleties. You know there is no one in the world
who cares less than I for books, although to my shame I confess it, but
I don't believe I ever read or studied voluntarily save when I thought
it my duty. Every interest with me is an outdoor interest and I confess
I have never loved any place so well as these Adirondack forests.
Somewhere in my past I must have had an Indian ancestor, not a squaw,
but a great chief who roamed these hills, hunting and fishing, sleeping
and living outdoors when it was possible, because I feel at present as
if I never wished to do anything else, except perhaps see my friends and
family now and then. But enough of conversation, Bettina, woodsmen or
woodswomen we have been told were a silent race and we must learn the
law of the woods. What I really would like to know is in what direction
we should travel to reach camp in the shortest length of time. We have
been following a deer trail I believe that has led us nowhere. However,
we cannot be many miles out of the way. We must move now toward the
west, and, Bettina, let's not separate again, you know you have no sense
of direction once you are more than a mile away from camp."
Unable to dispute this assertion, Bettina Graham, who was beginning to
grow tired while her companion appeared as fresh as when they set out,
followed obediently beside her.
A half hour longer they walked, Gill rarely hesitating, although keeping
her compass in her hand and glancing at it occasionally, when suddenly
both girls stopped short.
They were not alone in this portion of the woods. Not far off some one
else was moving, finding the way slowly and uncertainly.
Mary Gilchrist glanced at her rifle, which she carried with skill and
assurance.
"I cannot imagine who can be in the woods at so late an hour. I must try
and find out."
Placing her fingers on her lips the girl uttered a shrill, clear call.
Silence.
A moment later she repeated the call.
Then both girls heard a voice shouting in a tone of mingled terror and
relief.
"I have lost my path. Won't some one come and find me? I can never
manage to reach you."
The girls exchanged glances.
"A lost knight in the dark forest, Bettina! Well, these are the days
when women are the modern crusaders, so let us to the rescue!"
Not many minutes after, the two girls came upon a young man of about
twenty lying gracefully outstretched on the ground upon a fragrant bed
of balsam, with an open book in his hands.
As Bettina and Mary drew near he arose.
"I was resting," he explained, "knowing that you would have less
difficulty in discovering me if I remained quiet in one spot."
His manner was so self-possessed and self-assured that Bettina smiled,
observing, however, that Gill appeared annoyed.
Small wonder! Their faces were flushed, their clothes covered with
brambles from their search, while he showed no sign of discomfort. His
hair, worn longer than was usual, was of a bright gold, his skin pallid
and his cheeks slightly sunken, making his long, curiously shaped gray
eyes more conspicuous.
"Yes, one can see you have not disturbed yourself," Gill returned. "Yet
if you wish to be out of the woods before twilight, you had best make
_some_ effort. Fortunately I discovered the trail we were seeking while
looking for you. Please follow me."
She turned sharply and moved off, her figure vanishing between the
trees, every inch of her body alert, vigorous, almost boyish, with her
rifle and game over her shoulder.
Nevertheless the newcomer glanced at her with an expression of
disapproval, while his eyes sought Bettina for sympathy.
"I am a stranger in this locality," he explained. "I intend spending the
winter at a cabin in one of the clearings. 'Long, long is the autumn
dream in these corridors of heaven'," he quoted.
"Yes, I know," Bettina answered; "still, I think it might be just as
well not to discuss the beauty surrounding us for a short time and
follow our guide. You cannot depend on me and I am sure you appear to be
an equally unreliable woodsman. Gill," Bettina called, realizing that
Gill was walking more rapidly than usual and that they might be forced
to run rather than lose sight of her.
Out of breath they both were when finally they caught up. A few yards
farther on, the path broadened, leading between an avenue of sugar
maples raining golden leaves.
"You have been hunting," the young man remarked in an effort to induce
Mary Gilchrist to behave as if she were aware of his existence.
The fact was too obvious to require an answer, notwithstanding Gill
nodded.
"Do you actually mean you have shot and killed those pretty little
things yourself, those gentle, furry rabbits with their soft eyes and
cotton tails and the quail one can hear calling to one another with
their sweet, throaty notes? The wild animals one might be willing to
destroy, although I scarcely think that fair in their own haunts. Surely
a portion of this world should be reserved to them as well! But even
when one reconciles oneself to the idea of a man hunting, the thought of
a woman or girl being willing to kill is beyond my conception."
Bettina saw the hot color flood Gill's cheeks, saw her bite her lips.
"Well, you may now broaden your conceptions! I have been hunting since I
was a little girl, was taught by my father a good many years ago. Do you
know I have an idea, that were we to invite you to have dinner with us
to-night, no one would enjoy the game I have just killed more than you.
There are so many people in this world who like to sentimentalize and
leave the hard work to others, while they enjoy the results. You were
quite willing to remain on your couch of balsam needles this afternoon
while we scoured the woods in search of you. Your plan is an excellent
one, so long as it is successful. Never do the difficult or disagreeable
tasks; always find some one to do them for you."
Ordinarily gay and sweet tempered, Bettina glanced at the younger girl
in surprise.
If Gill were wounded by the stranger's speech, her revenge had been
swift and sure. Evidently her point had struck home, since, although he
appeared angry, he made no reply.
By this time they had reached a spot so near their camp that Bettina
herself recognized the environment.
A white birch tree stood alone in a small clearing, rising thirty feet
in the air; on this autumn afternoon the foliage was still so dense that
one could barely see the light between the thick branches.
Their path led past this tree only a few yards away.
The three of them paused.
Issuing from between the leaves came the note of an animal, or bird,
wild and plaintive, yet unfamiliar.
In an instant Mary Gilchrist loaded her rifle, lifted it and fired.
The same instant Bettina gave a quick cry of warning. The next a small
figure fell from the tree, limp and headlong as a wounded bird.