FLAMING FALLS.
Dawn was long in coming; the hours dragged and though Dan Todd nodded he
did not sleep with the responsibility of guarding the lodge on his mind.
He thought of the girl, too. Beautiful and determined. She might be one
who enjoyed Sim Ludwig’s wild lodge parties, but she did not look the
type.
The romantic in his make-up again asserted itself and he found himself
not only excusing her connection with the case, but actually defending
her.
“There must be some way to explain it,” he reasoned. “Still, the job was
done with a small weapon—the sort a girl might carry. Oh, well, I’m not
a law enforcement officer, so why should I worry. I’ve promised myself a
long vacation in town with a trip to California and I’m going to take
it. Then I’ll come back and find something to do. I’d prefer some kind
of a job that would worry Ludwig!”
It had stopped raining almost as suddenly as it started. The higher
ridges, slopes and peaks were covered with a fresh fall of snow, but the
lower levels were pouring cold, clear streams of water into the river
that was now almost at the flood stage. The air held that wet freshness
that only a rain-drenched forest can give. Dan breathed deeply and
stepped outside.
The sun had just touched the topmost peak, changing it from white to
pink. Dawn came leisurely in the lower levels and Dan’s inspection was
as leisurely. The empty shed reminded him of Chinook. The big black was
certainly working overtime. He hoped the girl would go easy with him.
Again came the thought, “Who is she?”
His ponderings were broken in on suddenly. Half covered with mud lay a
small automatic pistol. He picked the weapon up, washed off the mud
which covered the butt and examined the clip. One cartridge had been
discharged. There was the same imprint of the golden slipper in the mud
near by, as if here she had paused to hurl the weapon away.
He experienced a strong desire to step on the imprint and destroy it.
Almost in disgust he growled, “And why should I help some girl who
probably went into the mess with her eyes open?”
The sheriff and his deputies arrived several minutes later after a hard
ride during which both horses and a logging road-speeder had figured.
The official was brief and to the point. Questions asked and answered,
he opened the lodge door and looked around. “Any of you boys know him?”
“No,” they answered.
He searched the dead man’s pockets. “Robbery wasn’t the motive. Plenty
of money, watch and rings, too. Here’s a card case. John Day Burke. I’ve
heard of him, but can’t place him.”
“Connected with Ludwig, wasn’t he?” a deputy suggested. “One of Ludwig’s
right-hand men. He usually has several around that’ll take orders. Seems
to me—”
But the sheriff was too busy studying the evidence. He did not voice his
conclusions, but turning the matter over to the deputy coroner who had
accompanied the posse, he directed his attention now at Dan Todd. “What
did you find, if anything?”
“This!” He handed the automatic pistol to the official.
“Anything more?” Then, noticing just the slightest hesitation on Todd’s
part, he added, “Out with it. Don’t keep anything back, Todd!”
“I’m not! I also found this!” He handed over the gold slipper.
“Where?”
“This side of the ledge in the mud!”
“That’s the way she went, then,” the sheriff announced.
“Don’t be too sure of it, sheriff, Todd suggested. “I later found her
unconscious in the rain; packed her to the cabin and put her to bed;
went down the trail to telephone you and when I came back, a half hour
later, she was gone. She took my horse, Chinook, with her, too!”
“Anything else?”
“Grub and clothes, blankets and pack!”
“All yours?”
“All except the grub and pack.”
“Stick up your hand an I’ll swear you in as a deputy—”
“But I don’t want to be a deputy. I’m on my way to town, sheriff. This
case—”
“Makes no difference what you want,” the sheriff retorted. “As a member
of the Forest Service you’ve probably sworn in many an unwilling man to
fight fire; and properly so. Don’t kick now, Todd!”
“I’m not kicking. I merely tried to avoid it. Now that I can’t I’ll go
ahead and see the thing through. What do you want me to do?”
“You know the short cuts and trails better than any man in the posse.
Clear out and head the girl off if you can. In the meantime we’ll do
what we can! Not wishing to speak ill of the dead, but from what I’ve
heard of John Day Burke a pretty girl might well honestly plead
self-defense.”
* * * * *
The short cuts Dan Todd knew were no place for a horse. Many of them
were game trails, easy enough to follow, but cleared out to the size of
a deer. He did not even take grub, except for a pocket filled with
hardtack and cheese. “Taking a gun with you, aren’t you?” the sheriff
inquired.
“No. I wouldn’t shoot a girl if I never brought her in,” Dan answered.
Twice during the day he cut down to the main trail to see whether
Chinook and his fair horse-thief had passed. They had! She was making
good time despite the exhausted condition of the animal.
Dan slept in a shelter cabin that night and at dawn headed for Flaming
Falls. At this point the trails forked and she might have taken any one
of several. If she tackled the mountain pass, Dan could only wish her
luck at this season of the year.
He worked down a ridge with the sun. Presently he stopped. Girl hunt or
no girl hunt, here was a sight he never missed when in the vicinity. It
was the sun striking Flaming Falls. The stream spilled over a ledge
nearly a hundred feet high. The last mad rush of water was over a series
of cascades so that when it leaped over the brink it was already lashed
white. As the sun at certain angles changes a mountain peak to pink,
gold and flame, so did the sun for a brief time each morning change the
water to pink, deep red that suggested a flaming pillar.
He watched it, entranced as usual, and suddenly above the roar of water
came the welcoming whinny of a horse. “Chinook!” he cried, and began to
close in.
A new instinct the girl had developed since she was hunted warned her.
She gave the surrounding brush and timber a quick, searching look, then,
seeing nothing, grew somewhat calmer. But her muscles remained tense.
Somehow Dan was reminded of a doe poised for flight.
He stepped into the open, undetermined how to quiet her alarm, when she
again looked up. She saw him and without an instant’s hesitation leaped
onto a log floating in the pool beyond the falls. A vigorous kick sent
it into the current and beyond his reach.
Dan Todd’s face grew deathly pale. He knew what she did not or, if she
did, did not appreciate—the series of rapids four miles down. He prayed
she wouldn’t remain afloat that long, but would either go ashore or be
spilled in safe water.
He ran to the bank and cupped his hands. “Don’t do it!” he shouted. “The
rapids! You’ll be drowned! The rapids! Go ashore!”
She was crouching low, and if she heard him, which was doubtful, gave no
sign. The jaw he had noticed as she lay unconscious on the bunk was set.
She would see it through—regardless. He whistled sharply, and Chinook
galloped to him. “You’ve done more than your share, old hoss, but you’ve
got to do some more!”
Following a game trail, Dan galloped downstream at top speed. The horse
could keep pace with the current in spite of frequent stops where the
brush was thick, but it needed more than that to win. A short cut across
a bend gave the necessary margin.
Dan glanced upstream. The girl was coming swiftly. He managed to get a
log into the water and, with the aid of a long pole, shot out to
intercept her. As she bounced by he drove his own pole to the bottom,
vaulted and landed on the end of her log. With deft movements of his
calked boots Dan steadied the log, then looked at the girl.
She was defiant. “If you come near me I’ll jump,” she threatened.
“And—and—I don’t care if I drown!” She presented an interesting picture
in his oversized clothing.
“No,” he said firmly, “you’re not going to drown. I won’t let you! If
you jump overboard you’ll merely be wet, cold, miserable, and—alive!
There are rapids downstream that will tax the skill of the best white
water man. I’m a poor one, incidentally. We go ashore here!” Narrowly
watching the girl, he sent the log to within a few yards of shore. The
remainder of the way was over a series of boulders.
With a tired sigh she dropped to the sand, which at this point was dry,
thanks to a brief period of sunshine. “What are you going to do with me,
Mr. ——” She looked up at him questioningly.
“Mr. Daniel Todd!”
“Dan Todd? Huh! I’ve heard of you.”
“Evidently nothing to my credit, Miss ——” It was his turn to question.
“Miss Dorothy Lowe!”
“That explains everything,” he grimly observed. “I’ve battled with you
by proxy.”
“Yes, and in the end you were whipped. I am familiar with the details of
the case. By just what authority did you board my log and set me
ashore?”
“By the authority of common sense,” he answered. “But that probably
isn’t sufficient grounds for any Lowe, so I’ll add, by the authority of
a deputy sheriff arresting a fugitive from justice.”
If he expected her to pale, he was disappointed. “I seem to be fated to
have you interfere with my affairs. First, as a member of the Forest
Service, you just about ruined an already wabbly logging and lumber
business. Then, when I was in a fair way to die of exposure, you had to
rescue me; almost undressed me in fact, and the next thing I knew I was
wrapped in blankets, warm and alive. Good thing you left me a chance to
escape.”
“My error,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t have given you the chance. You are
wrong in one respect. My actions did not interfere with your logging
operations in the least. I merely enforced regulations for the common
good during the fire season. On the side, it is true I worked toward
conservation, but that is no crime. If your business is wabbly it is
because of poor management and—crookedness.”
She straightened up at that. “Wherein is the crookedness?”
“It is really none of my business,” he answered, “and you won’t thank me
for telling you!”
“I insist. Of course if you are running true to form, as you doubtless
are, and are merely talking because you love to hear your voice and the
pearls of wisdom falling from your lips, then you have nothing of
importance.”
“If your brother would spend less time sporting around and more checking
up on that guardian of yours, you’d know that poor timber is being cut
and number one stuff left standing; that only about fifty per cent of
your cedar logs ever reach market in your name; that—oh, what’s the use
of my talking?
“You’ve got too much chin and are too stubborn to listen to any one you
dislike. Let’s forget it. Why did you kill John Day Burke? You don’t
have to answer that question unless you wish. Anything you say may be
used against you. I believe, substantially, that’s the usual statement
the arresting officer makes.”
“Then you are not accustomed to making arrests?”
“No! I was forced into service because of my knowledge of the region.
I’m on my way to California for a vacation I’ve been trying to take for
five years.”
“You’ve plenty of time for it now,” she pointedly observed. “Well, what
next?”
“You don’t choose to answer my question about the murder.”
“Don’t use that word, it makes me shudder. Why did I kill him? There are
times when it is necessary.”
* * * * *
That was the Lowe of it, he decided. It had been necessary and that was
sufficient. No regrets whatever. What a cool little customer she was.
Nothing to admire, and yet— He softly cursed himself. “I was hoping you
would deny it,” he said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. God knows we have nothing in common. In environment,
training and desires you are an ornament. I’m what some term an
impractical fool with an ideal. That’s beside the point, however, I’ve
wanted to help you ever since I picked up a sodden, crushed figure and
wrapped it in warm blankets.” A trace of humor flashed into his eyes.
“It’s the mother instinct, I guess.”
“Thank Heaven,” she cried, “you’ve a sense of humor. Really I don’t
believe you are entirely hopeless.” Immediately she grew serious. “I
wonder just how strong you would go for me. I need help. Of course you
are dumb, at times, Mr. Todd, but you are honest. Every one admits it.
In a word, you are a man who means well!”
“No greater indictment can be returned,” he retorted.
“I won’t hang for the killing of Mr. Burke, but I am afraid I’ll have to
serve a prison term, if I’m not acquitted on the grounds of
self-defense. Suppose I turn over my timber affairs to you. It can’t
lose much more than it is now losing; my brother is not practical, but I
won’t permit any one else to say it. At least,” and her voice grew a
trifle contemptuous, “you’ll conserve my holdings. Will you accept?”
“But your guardian—”
“My guardian was John Day Burke. I became of age two days ago. I can,
legally, appoint a manager if I see fit.”
“I’ll accept, providing I have a free hand for one year. If I fail to
show a profit it won’t cost you a cent.”
“I’m not asking for a profit. I’m asking to break even.” She extended
her hand. “If my offer is accepted, shake on it!”
They shook hands, then, by way of warning, she added: “Understand I am
not in sympathy with your ideals, and as a type of manhood you make me
sick, but it’s a tough old world for those not watching their own
affairs, and I am going to be where I can’t.” Half to herself she added,
as though deriving strength and courage from the thought: “It’s a
sacrifice, but it’s worth it.”
A soft light came into her eyes, lingered and was gone, replaced by the
businesslike harshness of a few moments before. “And so,” she concluded
as if she had not stopped, “I am picking the one honest man I
know—impractical as he may be.”
He stood up. “We may as well start back. You ride Chinook; I’ll walk
along behind.”
“Why did you call him Chinook?”
“He’s warm and friendly; a friend brought him to me from the South on a
cold night. You know the legend of the Chinook Wind, it always comes at
night, is warm and friendly—even though it does melt the snow and floods
the lower country.”
“Chinook,” she mused, “warm, friendly, and it comes in the night when it
is cold.” By a quick intake of breath she hinted at the emotion aroused
within her breast. “And Dan Todd, warm and friendly, came in the night.
And how cold I was.”