Ralph instinctively fell back among the trees. He had not been seen.
Charley was unconcernedly picking his way down over the stones.
Drawing back from the trail, Ralph concealed himself until he heard
Charley pass on his way to camp. He then clambered down into the
gulch, and made his way as fast as he could over the obstructions to
the spot where the boy had so surprisingly come into view. Ralph
suspected that an alarm would be raised for him as soon as Charley got
back to camp.
The place he was making for was in a slight angle of the gulch, and the
driftwood was piled in a wild tangle there. Climbing over the fallen
trees as he had seen Charley climb down, Ralph came to a little niche
of earth that provided a precarious living to three stunted pines and a
few berry-bushes, the whole making a natural screen against the cliff.
Pushing through it, he found himself looking into a hole in the rock at
his feet.
Starting back, he gaped at it a little stupidly. He did not know what
he had expected to find--not a hole in the rock! For a moment he
doubted the evidence of his senses; it seemed too preposterous. Weird
ideas took half shape in his brain and floated away while he stared in
the hole. Was it possible they were of another race--creatures
existing in the bowels of the earth without sunlight or the stir of
air? Why, after travelling hundreds of miles from the world of men,
was there need of burying one's self any deeper? Was it the possession
of some ghastly secret that made Nahnya's face always wistful? What
did it conceal, that hole, a hideous crime, disgrace unimagined--or a
treasure?
The opening was about two feet across. Buttressed by the fallen trees
below, and screened by the living ones, it was shrewdly hidden. Ralph
wondered by what chance it had first been discovered. He lighted a
match and dropped it in. It burned until it struck the bottom. It was
about fifteen feet deep. There was the trunk of a young pine standing
upright within it, reaching to within a foot of the top. Obviously
this was used to climb in and out by.
It was like an invitation to enter, but Ralph hesitated.
Notwithstanding the reassuring light of day and the solid earth of
rocks and trees, the feeling of something uncanny, something more than
natural, would not down. When he laughed this away, there remained
very human fears. "Who knows what may be down there," he thought, "and
what kind of a reception I will receive?" Finally there were
compunctions of delicacy. "It's hardly square to break in on their
secrets behind their backs," he thought. Recollection of his own
injuries wiped this out. "They weren't so careful of my feelings," he
told himself.
In the end, perhaps because he was afraid, Ralph was obliged to
descend. As he would have put it, he could not take a dare from
himself. Swinging his legs over the edge, he felt for the top branch
of the pine tree.
At the bottom of the hole he struck another match. There were several
pine-knot torches lying at his feet; picking up the longest, he lighted
it.
He was in a narrow cleft in the rock, extending obliquely and downward
into the mountain. It was necessary to recline partly on his back and
inch himself along, holding the sputtering torch at arm's length before
him. It was an awkward posture in which to meet danger. But if
Charley could come through he could, he thought.
After only a few yards of this he issued suddenly into a much larger
chamber, where he was able to stand firmly on his feet. It was a kind
of spacious corridor running off to the right and left, and floored
with pebbles and sand. Manifestly a stream had once flowed over it,
but at present the floor was dry.
The thrilling impressions of a cave brought Ralph's boyhood winging
back to him. Thinking of grizzly bears and mountain lions none too
comfortably--he was unarmed--he sniffed the air delicately. There was
no suggestion of animal effluvium. Anyway, Charley had just passed
through. The torch made an extraordinary dancing light on the walls of
rock, reminding him of a certain flaring gas-light in the cellar at
home. The cave was not like a tunnel with arching roof, as he had
always imagined caves, but was still a fissure in the rock, both sides
leaning obliquely in the same direction. Overhead the split gradually
narrowed; the light of his torch did not penetrate to the top of it.
Ralph was faced by the choice of turning right or left in the corridor.
He lowered the torch to look for footsteps. In the patches of sand
they were plainly discernible, many of them, almost a beaten path
leading off to the right. Besides Charley's, Ralph readily
distinguished the prints of Nahnya's small, straight feet, and another
foot, evidently her mother's. The sight of all these footsteps had the
effect of allaying Ralph's fears, and of strongly stimulating his
excitement. Up to this moment he had kept in view the possibility that
this cave might be a private affair of Charley's. Now he could no
longer doubt that Nahnya's secret, whatever it was, lay at the end of
this path. He followed it, feeling himself on the brink of an amazing
discovery. Nothing could have turned him back now. "With all her
pains to keep me in the dark I have been a little too clever for her!"
he thought vaingloriously.
Sometimes the corridor was ten feet wide; sometimes it narrowed down to
four. The air had that extraordinary dead quality only to be found in
deep caves, but it was quite pure, because the torch burned clearly.
The stillness pressed on his ear-drums. The quietest room, the
quietest night out of doors, was vibrant and musical by comparison.
His own breathing sounded hoarse and laboured in his ears.
Holding the torch high over his head, wrought up to the highest
possible pitch, he made his way swiftly over the smooth floor.
Rounding a corner of the rock, the flickering light fell on a human
figure standing motionless before him. He stopped short with a horrid
shock of fright. The torch dropped from his nerveless hand and was
extinguished. He slowly screwed down the clamps of self-control, and
schooling his voice, hailed the creature. The sound shattered the dark
stillness with an incredible, unnatural ring. The sound of his own
voice in that place terrified him. The silence that followed upon it
was terrible. There was no answer.
Very slowly he forced himself to pick up the torch, to light a match,
and to ignite it again. He held it aloft. The figure was still there,
motionless. Ralph went forward very gingerly, and saw that it was not
human after all, but merely a kind of scarecrow, a stick planted in the
sand with a cross-piece on which was hung a coat and hat. Evidently
some of Charley's work, placed there for what purpose Ralph could not
conceive. He sat down, and wiping his face, allowed his shaking nerves
to quiet down.
Proceeding, he heard a murmur which later resolved itself into the
sound of running water. Ralph wondered uneasily if there were times
when a torrent raced between these rocky walls; he pictured himself
swept helplessly upon it, and his skin prickled. In such a place he
would not have been surprised by anything. The scarecrow reassured him
partly. Plainly it had been set up to stand more than an hour or two.
Keeping on he satisfied himself that the water was not coming toward
him. The sound increased only in the ratio of his progress toward it.
Soon it was close ahead, not a loud sound, but the musical voice of a
rapid, smooth stream. Holding the torch high, its light was reflected
in pale gleams up the corridor. The water was coming straight toward
him, only to be suddenly and mysteriously diverted.
A few steps farther and he had the explanation. A yawning hole in the
floor of the cave received the stream entire without a sound. It
simply slipped over the lip of rock, and ceased to be. The absence of
any sound of a fall below was uncanny. Ralph tossed a little stone in
the hole--and heard nothing. Not until he lay at full length and stuck
his head over the edge of the chasm could he hear, above the soft hiss
of the descending water, the distant muffled crash of its fall. The
height suggested by the sound staggered the senses. Ralph received a
new and awful conception of the goodly old phrase: the bowels of the
earth.
At one side two logs made a rough bridge over the gap. Ralph continued
his way beside the stream, crossing from side to side, and upon
occasions when it filled the whole floor, forced to wade. Here there
was a faint stir to the air, a hint of freshness, and he instinctively
began to look for daylight ahead.
Finally he saw it, far off, a crooked exclamation point of white. He
hastened toward it, feeling an unbounded relief. He had been prepared
to face--he did not know what--some shape of mystery or terror in the
darkness. And here was honest daylight. An insupportable curiosity
filled him, forcing him to run and to leap as if but a minute or two of
daylight remained.
Arrived in the opening, he flung the remains of his torch in the water.
The blessed bright sky was over his head once more. Until he saw it he
did not realize how heavily he had been oppressed by underground
terrors. At first nothing else was visible to him but the sky and
terraces of rock on either side, between which the little stream came
tumbling down into the hole. Ralph went up over the rocks like an ape.
At the top there was lush green grass starred with flowers. Trees
below still obstructed his view. He ran on up the slope of grass until
the whole prospect opened to his eye. There he flung himself down to
gaze his fill.
He was not disappointed. It surpassed his brightest imaginings. The
first glimpse amply repaid him for the trip underground. It was
lovelier than any sight he had every beheld, lovelier than any scene he
had visited in his dreams. It was itself and it was new. The artist
in him experienced the rich, rare satisfaction of beholding a perfect
thing. He had to enlarge his conception of beauty to take it in.
It was a valley hemmed all round by craggy mountains, running up to
towering, sharp peaks. The mountains held his eye for a while; it was
almost his first unobstructed view of earth's mountains in their
majesty. They rose, fantastic, overpowering shapes of gray rock with
mantles of snow upon their shoulders and bared heads, each as distinct
in individuality as an old king. The grandeur of the company set off
in poignant contrast the tender loveliness they guarded below. It was
well guarded; there was no break in the armed ranks to let in discord
from the world.
Below the scene was drunk with strong colour. The middle of the valley
was filled for half its length with an exquisite sheet of water,
curving away as gracefully as a girl's waist. Its water was of an
unreasonable richness of hue that held Ralph's eyes like a charm;
neither sapphire nor emerald, but partaking of both. That part of the
valley nearest him was like a park--like a dream park. The trees,
aspens, and white-stemmed birches were set out in clumps in the riotous
grass. Farther up the valley rolled a thick forest. Everywhere there
were flowers. The bluebells growing under his hands were as big as
thimbles and blue as lazulite. Everything growing, birch trees,
flowers, and grass, flaunted itself with a particular vigour and
richness, as if the valley were Nature's own nursery, where she
perfected her specimens.
The scene was not all Nature's. Off to the left, about half a mile
from where Ralph lay, he saw three tepees topping a little rise of
grass beside the lake. A column of thin smoke rose above them. Three
canoes lay on the shore below. It did not make a discordant note in
the scene; the tepees rose from the grass as naturally as trees. Ralph
gazed at them with strong curiosity. He saw, or imagined he saw,
figures moving in front of them.
The whole scene touched a chord in Ralph's memory; where had he heard
of such a hidden valley? such a blue-green lake? So this was Nahnya's
secret! He was compelled to readjust his ideas of her again. His dark
thoughts at the mouth of the cave seemed foolish to him now. This, her
place, was characteristic of the best in her. But why was she so
passionately bent on keeping him out of her paradise? This thought
raised all his torturing doubts again. He determined to find out what
the tepees concealed.
Descending the slope, and crossing the stream, he made his way around
through the flowery grass. Never had he seen such
wildflowers--bluebells, wild-roses, painter's brush, besides the
thickly blossoming berry-bushes, and many a flower he could not name.
The trees growing singly or in small groups reached the perfection of
their kind. It was too beautiful to seem quite real; Ralph, passing
among the snowy trunks in his sober habit, felt a little out of place,
like a mortal who had strayed into a fairy-tale.
He crossed another little stream bringing its quota from the mountains
to the lake. Where it emptied into the lake at his right it spread out
into a miniature delta. Ralph, attracted by the sight of some
implements lying in the grass beside the water, went to investigate.
He found a shovel, a large shallow bowl, and a smaller bowl all roughly
fashioned out of cottonwood.
As he looked into the last-named article, Ralph caught his breath in
astonishment. It was half full of gold. No mistaking those clean
yellow grains! Ralph had not fallen a victim to the gold-mania of the
North; he held the bright metal as lightly as any man, nevertheless his
breath quickened and his eyes grew big at the sight of so much in so
little. He dug his hands into it and let the stuff run through his
fingers. There was enough here to buy the _Tewksbury_ outright, or to
buy a string of the best ponies in the country, or to carry a man
around the whole world spending royally.
Ralph wondered if ever before gold had been left like this, unguarded
under the sky. He moved the bowl a little, and saw that the grass was
white beneath. Evidently it had lain there many days. Gold must
indeed be plentiful in this valley, or lightly regarded. Dimly in his
mind rose the vision of a happier world, where gold was despised like
this.
Leaving it where it lay, he went on. Descending into a wooded hollow,
the tepees were hidden from him for a while. Climbing a little rise
finally, he found himself unexpectedly almost on top of the camp.
Nearest him a ripe and comely Indian girl was stirring a pot over the
fire. Beside her on a blanket in the sun sprawled a flourishing, naked
infant. At sight of Ralph a piteous gasp hissed between the mother's
teeth. Her eyes protruded with terror; she caught the baby tragically
to her breast, and cowered over it. It uttered a piercing cry. Beyond
the woman an old man squatted on the ground mending a bow. He looked
up, and his face, too, froze into a mask of terror. Two half-grown
boys came running from the beach, and stood transfixed. The frightened
faces of two girls stuck out of a tepee opening.
Ralph was much embarrassed by the suddenness of the effect he created.
Never having looked upon himself as an object of terror, their
attitudes could not but seem far-fetched and ridiculous to him. He
stood as much at a loss as they.
Finally the old man, after a visible struggle with himself, arose and
approached Ralph. His features were stiff with anxiety, and his old
eyes fixed in a kind of glare. It was evident from his manner that he
considered himself bound to show an example to the boys. Not without
dignity he held out a trembling hand to Ralph.
"How?" he said.
"You speak English?" said Ralph eagerly.
"Little bit," the old man said, shaping the words with difficulty. "I
no see white man, two, three winter. I forget, me." Having said it,
he waited with a courteous air for Ralph to speak again. Only deep in
his eyes could be seen the working of his harrowing anxiety.
"I am friendly," Ralph said quickly. "I won't hurt anybody."
The old man shrugged deprecatingly. "Not afraid of hurt," he said. He
paused, searching for English words to convey what he wished. "We
alone here long time," he said. "Forget strangers. Stranger
comes--Wah! It is lak sun fall down from the sky!"
Ralph began to understand the effect of his sudden appearance.
"For what you come here?" the old man asked.
Ralph was nonplussed. "Why--why just to see the place," he said.
The old man bowed. His manners were beautiful; the kind of manners,
Ralph dimly apprehended, that come only from real goodness of heart.
He had never been a big man, and now he was bent and shaky, yet he had
dignity. The manifold fine wrinkles of kindliness were about his eyes.
He was clad in an old capote made out of a blanket. Around his
forehead he wore a black band to keep the straggling gray locks out of
his face.
"How you come here?" he asked.
"Through the cave under the mountains," Ralph answered.
"You are the white doctor?" the old man suddenly exclaimed, with a look
of extraordinary anxiety.
"I am," said Ralph.
The old man's head dropped on his breast, and a little sound of
distress escaped him. He murmured in his own tongue.
"What's the matter?" cried Ralph irritably. "Why shouldn't I come here
if I want to take a walk? Do you think I'll bring a plague with me?"
The old man raised an inscrutably sad face. He shrugged. "I not
talk," he said. "Got no good words, me. Nahnya will talk. Nahnya is
the chief here. She come soon, I think."
"What does it all mean, anyway?" cried Ralph.
"Will you eat?" inquired the old man with his courteous, reticent air.
"I sorry I forget before. We have moose-meat."
Ralph was conscious of receiving a rebuke.
"I'm not hungry," he muttered, turning away.
His imperious curiosity soon brought him back. The old man stood as he
had left him. "Has this place got a name?" asked Ralph.
"Call Mountain Bowl," was the answer.
A light broke on Ralph. He stared at the Indian with widening eyes.
Wes' Trickett's story came rushing back to him. The cave under the
mountain, the blue-green lake, the gold beside the little stream! Bowl
of the Mountains, of course! So it was true, after all, and he had
found it! He looked over the lake with shining eyes.
"Nahnya come," the old man said quietly.
Ralph whirled about in time to see her come flying up the slope,
panting, dishevelled, wildly agitated, a flaming colour in her cheeks.
At the sight of Ralph she stopped dead, and her hands fell to her
sides. She paled. She did not speak, but only bent an unfathomable
look on him. Indignation, reproach, and pain were all a part of it,
and a kind of hopeless, sad fatalism. It accused him more eloquently
than a torrent of invective. He became exquisitely uncomfortable.
"Well, here I am!" he said, trying to carry it off with a touch of
bravado.
Still she did not speak. With her mournful, accusing eyes fixed on
him, she flung up her arms, palms to the skies, and let them fall. "So
be it!" the action said. Turning abruptly, she walked to the edge of
the bank and sat down in the grass.