THROUGH THE NIGHT.
The soft dusk of the night had fallen over the northern lands, and the
pale stars had gleamed for hours on the reflecting waves of mountain
streams. It was late--near midnight, for the waning sickle of the moon was
slipping from its dark cover in the east and hanging like a jewel of gold
just above the black crown of the pines. Breaths from the heights sifted
down through the vast woods, carrying sometimes the dreary twitter of a
bird disturbed, or the mellow call of insects singing to each other of the
summer night. All sounds of the wilderness were as echoes of rest and
utter content.
And in the camp of the Twin Springs, shadows moved sometimes with a
silence that was scarce a discord in the wood songs of repose. A camp fire
glimmered faintly a little way up from the stream, and around it slept the
Indian boatman, the squaw, and old Akkomi, who, to the surprise of
Overton, had announced his intention of remaining until morning, that he
might know how the sickness went with the little "Girl-not-Afraid."
A dim light showed through the chinks of 'Tana's cabin, where Miss Lavina,
the doctor, and Lyster were on guard for the night. The doctor had grown
sleepy and moved into Harris' room, where he could be comfortable on
blankets. Lyster, watching the girl, was trying to make himself think that
their watching was all of no use; her sleep seemed so profound, so
healthfully natural, that he could not bring himself to think, as Dan did,
that the doctor's worst prophecy could come true--that out of that sleep
she might awake to consciousness, or that, on the other hand, she might
drift from sleep to lethargy and thus out of life.
Outside a man stood peering in through a chink from which he had
stealthily pulled the moss. He could not see the girl's face, but he could
see that of Lyster as he bent over, listening to her breathing, and he
watched it as if to glean some reflected knowledge from the young fellow's
earnest glances.
He had been there a long time. Once he slipped away for a short distance
and stood in the deeper shadows, but he had returned, and was listening to
the low, disjointed converse of the watchers within, when suddenly a tall
form loomed up beside him and a heavy hand was dropped on his shoulder.
"Not a word!" said a voice close to his ear. "If you make a noise, I'll
strangle you! Come along!"
To do otherwise was not easy, for the hand on his shoulder had a helpful
grip. He was almost lifted over the ground until they were several yards
from the cabin, and out in the clearer light of the stars.
"Well, I protest, Mr. Overton, that your manner is not very pleasant,"
remarked the captive, as he was released and allowed to speak. "Is--is
this sort of threats a habit of yours with strangers in your camp?"
Overton, seeing him now away from the thick shadows of the cabin, gave a
low exclamation of astonishment and irritation.
"_You_--Mr. Haydon! Well, you must confess that if my threats are not
pleasant, neither is it pleasant to find some one moving like a spy
around that little girl's cabin. If you don't want to be treated like a
spy, don't act like one."
"Well, it does look queer, maybe," said the other, lamely. "I--I could not
get asleep, and as I was walking around, it seemed natural to look in the
cabin, though I did not want to disturb them by going in. I think I heard
them say she was improving."
"Did they say that--lately?" asked Overton, earnestly, everything else
forgotten for the moment in his strong desire for her recovery. "Who said
it--Miss Slocum? Well, she seems like a sensible woman, and I hope to God
she is right about this! Don't mind my roughness just now. I was too
quick, maybe; but spies around a new gold mine or field are given pretty
harsh treatment up here sometimes; and you were liable to suspicion from
any one."
"No doubt--no doubt," agreed the other, with visible relief. "But to be a
suspected character is a new role for me--a bit amusing, too. However, now
that you have broached the subject of this new find of yours, I presume
Lyster made clear to you that I came up here for the express purpose of
investigating what you have to offer, with a view to making a deal with
you. And as my time here will be limited--"
"Perhaps to-morrow we can talk of it. I can't to-night," answered Overton.
"To that little girl in there one-third of the stock belongs; another
third belongs to that paralyzed man in the other cabin. I have to look
after the interests of them both, and need to have my head clear to do it.
But with her there sick--dying maybe--I can't think of dollars and cents."
"You mean to tell me that the young girl is joint owner of a gold find
promising a fortune? Why, I understood Max to say she was poor--in fact,
indebted to you for all care."
"Max is too careless with his words," answered Overton, coldly. "She is in
my care--yes; but I do not think she will be poor."
"She has a very conscientious guardian, anyway," remarked Mr. Haydon,
"when it is impossible for a man even to look in her cabin without finding
you on his track. I confess I am interested in her. Can you tell me how
she came in this wild country? I did not expect to find pretty young white
girls in the heart of this wilderness."
"I suppose not," agreed the other.
They had reached the little camp fire by this time, and he threw some dry
sticks on the red coals. As the blaze leaped up and made bright the circle
around them, he looked at the stranger and said, bluntly:
"What did Akkomi tell you of her?"
"Akkomi?"
"Yes; the old Indian who went in with you to see her."
"Oh, that fellow? Some gibberish."
"I guess he must have said that she looks like you," decided Overton. "I
rather think that was it."
"Like _me_! Why--how--" and Mr. Haydon tried to smile away the absurdity
of such a fancy.
"For there is a resemblance," continued the younger man, with utter
indifference to the stranger's confusion. "Of course it may not mean
anything--a chance likeness. But it is very noticeable when your hat is
off, and it must have impressed the old Indian, who seems to think
himself a sort of godfather to her. Yes, I guess that was why he spoke to
you."
"But her--her people? Are there only you and these Indians to claim her?
She must have some family--"
"Possibly," agreed Overton, curtly. "If she ever gets able to answer, you
can ask her. If you want to know sooner, there is old Akkomi; he can tell
you, perhaps."
But Mr. Haydon made a gesture of antipathy to any converse with that
individual.
"One meets so many astonishing things in this country," he remarked, as
though in extenuation of something. "The mere presence of such a savage in
the sick girl's room is enough to upset any one unused to this border
life--it upset me completely. You see, I have a daughter of my own back
East."
"So Max tells me," replied Overton, carelessly, all unconscious of the
intended honor extended to him when Mr. Haydon made mention of his own
family to a ranger of a few hours' acquaintance.
"Yes," Haydon continued, "and that naturally makes one feel an interest in
any young girl without home or--relatives, as this invalid is; and I would
be glad of any information concerning her--or any hint of help I might be
to her, partly for--humanity's sake, and partly for Max."
"At present I don't know of any service you could render her," said
Overton, coldly, conscious of a jarring, unpleasant feeling as the man
talked to him. He thought idly to himself how queer it was that he should
have an instinctive feeling of dislike for a person who in the slightest
degree resembled 'Tana; and this stranger must have resembled her much
before he grew stout and broad of face; the hair, the nose, and other
points about the features, were very much alike. He did not wonder that
Akkomi might have been startled at it, and made comments. But as he
himself surveyed Mr. Haydon's features by the flickering light of the
burning sticks, he realized how little the likeness of outlines amounted
to after all, since not a shadow of expression on the face before him was
like that of the girl whose sleep was so carefully guarded in the cabin.
And then, with a feeling of thankfulness that it was so, there flashed
across his mind the import of the stranger's closing words--"for the sake
of Max."
"For Max, you said. Well, maybe I am a little more stupid than usual
to-night, but I must own up I can't see how a favor to 'Tana could affect
Max very much."
"You do not?"
"I tell you so," said Overton curtly, not liking the knowing smile in the
eyes of the speaker. He did not want to be there talking to him, anyway.
To walk alone under the stars was better than the discord of a voice
unpleasant. Under the stars she had come to him that once--once, when she
had been clasped close--close! when she had whispered words near to his
heart, and their hands had touched in the magnetism of troubled joy. Ah!
it was best to remember that, though death itself follow after! A short,
impatient sigh touched his lips as he tried to listen to the words of the
stranger while his thoughts were elsewhere.
"And Seldon would do something very handsome for Max if he married to suit
him," Haydon was saying, thoughtfully. "Seldon has no children, you know,
and if this girl was sent to school for a while, I think it would come out
all right--all right. I would take a personal interest to the extent of
talking to Seldon of it. He will think it a queer place for Max to come
for a wife; but when--when I talk to him, he will agree. Yes, I can
promise it will be all right."
"What are you talking of?" demanded Overton, blankly. He had not heard
one-half of a very carefully worded idea of Mr. Haydon's. "Max married! To
whom?"
"You are not a very flattering listener," remarked the other, dryly, "and
don't show much interest in the love affairs of your _protegee_; but it
was of her I was speaking."
"You--you would try to marry her to Max Lyster--marry her!" and his voice
sounded in his own ears as strange and far away.
"Well, it is not an unusual prophecy to make of a young girl, is it?"
asked Mr. Haydon, with an attempt to be jocular. "And I don't know where
she could find a better young fellow. From his discourses concerning her
on our journey here and his evident devotion since our arrival, I fancy
the idea is not so new to him as it seems to be to you, Mr. Overton."
"Nonsense! when she is well, they quarrel as often as they
agree--oftener."
"That is no proof that he is not in love with her--and why not? She is a
pretty girl, a bright girl, he says, and of good people--"
"He knows nothing about her people," interrupted Overton.
"But you do?"
"I know all it has been necessary for me to know," and, in spite of
himself, he could not speak of 'Tana to this man without a feeling of
anger at his persistence. "But I can't help being rather surprised, Mr.
Haydon, that you should so quickly agree that a wise thing for your
partner's nephew to do is to turn from all the cultured, intelligent girls
he must know, and look for a wife among the mining camps of the Kootenai
hills. And, considering the fact that you approve of it, without ever
having heard her speak, without knowing in the least who or what her
family have been--I must say it is an extraordinarily impulsive thing for
a man of your reputation to do--a cool-headed, conservative business
man."
Mr. Haydon found himself scrutinized very closely, very coldly by the
ranger, who had all the evening kept away from him, and whom he had
mentally jotted down as a big, careless, improvident prospector, untaught
and a bit uncouth.
But his words were not uncouth as he launched them at the older man, and
he was no longer careless as he watched the perturbation with which they
were received. But Haydon shrugged his shoulders and attempted to look
indifferent.
"I remarked just now that this was a land of astonishing things," he said,
with a tolerant air, "and it surely is so when the most depraved-looking
redskin is allowed admittance to a white girl's chamber, while the most
harmless of Caucasians is looked on with suspicion if he merely shows a
little human interest in her welfare."
"Akkomi is a friend of her own choosing," answered Overton, "and a friend
who would be found trusty if he was needed. As to you--you have no right,
that I know of, to assume any direction of her affairs. She will choose
her own friends--and her own husband--when she wants them. But while she
is sick and helpless, she is under my care, and even though you were her
father himself, your ideas should not influence her future unless she
approved you."
With a feeling of relief he turned away, glad to have in some way given
vent to the irritation awakened in him by the prosperous gentleman from
civilization.
The prosperous gentleman saw his form grow dim in the starlight, and
though his face flushed angrily at first, the annoyance gave place to a
certain satisfaction as he seated himself on a log by the fire, and
repeated Overton's final words:
"_'Even though you were her father himself_!' Well, well, Mr. Overton!
Your uncivil words have told me more than you intended--namely, that your
own knowledge as to who her father was, or is, seems very slight. So much
the better, for one of your unconventional order is not the sort of person
I should care to have know. 'Even though you were her father himself.'
Humph! So he does me the doubtful honor to suppose I may be? It is a nasty
muddle all through. I never dreamed of walking into such a net as this.
But something must be done, and that is clear; no use trying to shirk it,
for Seldon is sure to run across them sooner or later up here--sure. And
if he took a hand in it--as he would the minute he saw her--well, I could
not count on his being quiet about it, either. I've thought it all out
this evening. I've got to get her away myself--get her to school, get her
to marry Max, and all so quietly that there sha'n't be any social
sensation about her advent into the family. I hardly know whether this
wealth they talk of will be a help or a hindrance; a help, I suppose. And
there need not be any hitch in the whole affair if the girl is only
reasonable and this autocratic ranger can be ignored or bought over to
silence. It would be very annoying to have such family affairs talked
of--annoying to the girl, also, when she lives among people who object to
scandals. Gad! how her face did strike me! I felt as if I had seen a
ghost. And that cursed Indian!"
Altogether, Mr. Haydon had considerable food for reflection, and much of
it was decidedly annoying; or so it seemed to Akkomi, who lay in the
shadow and looked like a body asleep, as were the others. But from a fold
of his blanket he could see plainly the face of the stranger and note the
perplexity in it.
The first tender flush of early day was making the stars dim when the
doctor met Overton between the tents and the cabins, and surveyed him
critically from his slouch hat to his boots, on which were splashes of
water and fresh loam.
"What, in the name of all that's infernal, has taken possession of you,
Overton?" he demanded, with assumed anger and real concern. "You have not
been in bed all night. I know, for I've been to your tent. You prowl
somewhere in the woods when you ought to be in bed, and you are looking
like a ghost of yourself."
"Oh, I guess I'll last a day or two yet, so quit your growling; you think
you'll scare me into asking for some of your medicines; but that is where
you will find yourself beautifully left. I prefer a natural death."
"And you will find it, too, if you don't mend your ways," retorted the man
of the medicines. "I thought at first it was the care of 'Tana that kept
you awake every hour of every night; but I see it is just the same now
when there are plenty to take your place; worse--for now you go tramping,
God only knows where, and come back looking tired, as though you had
been racing with the devil."
"You haven't told me how she is," was all the answer he made to this
tirade. "You said--that by daylight--"
"There would be a change--yes, and there is; only a shadow of a change as
yet, but the shadow leans the right way."
"The _right_ way," he half whispered, and walked on toward her cabin. He
felt dizzy and the tears crept up in his eyes, and he forgot the doctor,
who looked after him and muttered statements damaging to Dan's sanity.
All the long night he had fought with himself to keep away, to let the
others care for her--the others, who fancied they were giving him a
wished-for rest. And all the while the desire of his heart was to bar them
out--to wait, alone with her, for the life or death that was to come. He
had walked miles in his restlessness, but could not have found again the
paths he walked over. He had talked with some of the people who were
wakeful in the night, but could scarce have told of any words he had
said.
He had felt dazed by the dread of what the new day would bring, and now he
looked up at the morning star with a great thankfulness in his heart. The
new day had come, and with it a breath of hope.
Miss Lavina met him at the door, and whispered that the doctor thought the
fever had taken the hoped-for turn for the better. 'Tana had opened her
eyes but a moment before, and looked at Miss Slocum wonderingly, but fell
asleep again; she had looked rational, but very weak.
"Well, old fellow, I am proud of myself," said Lyster, as Overton entered.
"It took Miss Slocum and me only one night to bring 'Tana around several
degrees nearer health. We are the nurses! And if she only wakes
conscious--"
His words, or else the intense, wistful gaze of the man at the foot of the
bed, must have aroused her, for she moved and opened her eyes and looked
around aimlessly, passing over the faces of Miss Slocum, of the squaw, and
of Overton, until Lyster, close beside her, whispered her name. Then her
lips curved ever so little in a smile as her eyes met his.
"Max!" she said, and put out her hand to him. As his fingers clasped it,
she turned her face toward him, and fell contentedly asleep again, with
her cheek against his hand.
And Mr. Haydon, who came in with the doctor a moment later, glanced at the
picture they made, and smiled meaningly at Overton.
"You see, I was right," he observed. "And do you not think it would be a
very exacting guardian who could object?"
Overton only looked at Max, whose face had flushed a little, knowing how
significant his attitude must appear to others. But his hand remained in
hers, and his eyes turned to Dan with a half embarrassed confession in
them--a confession Dan read and understood.
"Yes, you may well be proud, Max," he said, answering Lyster's words. "You
deserve all gratitude; and I hope--I hope nothing but good luck will come
your way."
Mr. Haydon, who watched him with critical eyes, could read nothing in his
words but kindliest concern for a friend.
The doctor, who had suddenly got a ridiculous idea in his head that Dan
Overton was wearing himself out on 'Tana's account, changed his mind and
silently called himself a fool. He might have known Dan had more sense
than that. Yet, what was it that had changed him so?
Twenty-four hours later he thought he knew.