"BUT HE RISKED HIS LIFE?"
The days passed, and the novelty of their mountain life began to wane a
little. There were agreeable episodes, as, for instance, visits from Mr.
Clifford, Mr. Hargrove, and the Rev. Mr. Barkdale, who were entertained
in royal style; but, after all, the camping experience was not,
apparently, fulfilling the hopes of two of the party. Webb's doubt and
suspense had only been increased, and Miss Hargrove was compelled to
admit to herself that her father's fears were not groundless. She was the
life of the party, and yet she was not at rest. Even in her dreams there
was a minor key of trouble and dread. The past few weeks were bringing a
revelation. She had read novels innumerable; she had received tender
confidences from friends. Love had been declared to her, and she had seen
its eloquent pleading in more than one face; but she acknowledged that
she had never known the meaning of the word until, without her volition,
her own heart revealed to her the mystery. Reason and will might control
her action, but she could no more divert her thoughts from Burt Clifford
than a flower can turn from the sun. She wondered at herself, and was
troubled. She had supposed that the training of society had brought her
perfect self-possession, and she had looked forward to a match, when she
was ready for one, in which the pros and cons should be weighed with
diplomatic nicety; but now that her heart was touched she learned that
nature is supreme, and her whole being revolted at such a union as she
had contemplated. She saw the basis of true marriage--the glad consent of
body and soul, and not a calculation. She watched Maggie closely, and saw
that her life was happy and rounded out in spite of her many cares. It
was not such a life as she would choose in its detail, and yet it was
infinitely better than that of many of her acquaintances. Burt was no
hero in her eyes, but he was immensely companionable, and it was a
companion, not a hero, or a man remote from her life and interests, that
she desired. He was refined and intelligent, if not learned; low, mean
traits were conspicuously absent; but, above and beyond all, his mirthful
blue eyes, and spirited ways and words, set all her nerves tingling with
a delicious exhilaration which she could neither analyze nor control. In
brief, the time that her father foresaw had come; the man had appeared
who could do more than amuse; her whole nature had made its choice. She
could go back to the city, and still in semblance be the beautiful and
brilliant girl that she had been; but she knew that in all the future few
waking hours would pass without her thoughts reverting to that little
mountain terrace, its gleaming canvas, its gypsy-like fire, with a tall,
lithe form often reclining at her feet beside it.
Would the future bring more than regretful memories? As time passed, she
feared not.
As Burt grew conscious of himself, his pride was deeply touched. He knew
that he had been greatly fascinated by Miss Hargrove, and, what was
worse, her power had not declined after he had awakened to his danger;
but he felt that Amy and all the family would despise him--indeed, that
he would despise himself--should he so speedily transfer his allegiance;
and under the spur of this dread he made especial, though very
unobtrusive, efforts to prove his loyalty to Amy. Therefore Webb had
grown despondent, and his absences from the camp were longer and more
frequent He pleaded the work of the farm, and the necessity of coping
with the fearful drought, so plausibly that Amy felt that she could not
complain, but, after all, there was a low voice of protest in her heart.
"It's the old trouble," she thought. "The farm interests him far more
than I ever can, and even when here his mind is absent."
Thus it may be seen that Nature, to whom they had gone, was not only busy
with the mountain and its life, but that her silent forces were also at
work in those whose unperverted hearts were not beyond her power.
But there are dark mysteries in Nature, and some of her creations appear
to be visible and concentrated evil. The camping party came very near
breaking up in a horrible tragedy. The day was growing warm, and they
were returning from a rather extended excursion, straggling along a steep
wood road that was partially overgrown with bushes. Burt had been a
little more attentive to Miss Hargrove than usual, but was now at Amy's
side with his ready laugh and jest. Dr. Marvin was in the rear, peering
about, as usual, for some object of interest to a naturalist. Miss
Hargrove, so far from succumbing to the increasing heat, was reluctant to
return, and seemed possessed with what might be almost termed a nervous
activity. She had been the most indefatigable climber of the party, and
on their return had often diverged from the path to gather a fern or some
other sylvan trifle. At one point the ascending path formed an angle with
a ledge of rock that made a little platform. At the further end of this
she saw a flower, and she went to get it. A moment or two later Burt and
Amy heard her scream, and the sound of her voice seemed almost beneath
them. Grasping his alpenstock firmly, Burt sprang through the intervening
copsewood, and witnessed a scene that he never forgot, though he paused
not a second in his horror. Even as he rushed toward her a huge
rattlesnake was sending forth the "long, loud, stinging whir" which, as
Dr. Holmes says, is "the dreadful sound that nothing which breathes can
hear unmoved." Miss Hargrove was looking down upon it, stupefied,
paralyzed with terror. Already the reptile was coiling its thick body for
the deadly stroke, when Burt's stock fell upon its neck and laid it
writhing at the girl's feet. With a flying leap from the rock above he
landed on the venomous head, and crushed it with his heel. He had
scarcely time to catch Miss Hargrove, when she became apparently a
lifeless burden in his arms.
Dr. Marvin now reached him, and after a glance at the scene exclaimed,
"Great God! Burt, she was not bitten?"
"No; but let us get away from here. Where there's one of these devils
there is usually another not far off;" and they carried the unconscious
girl swiftly toward the camp, which fortunately was not far away, all the
others following with dread and anxiety in their faces.
Dr. Marvin's and Maggie's efforts soon revived Miss Hargrove, but she had
evidently received a very severe nervous shock. When at last Burt was
permitted to see her, she gave him her hand with such a look of gratitude,
and something more, which she could not then disguise, that his heart began
to beat strangely fast. He was so confused that he could only stammer some
incoherent words of congratulation; but he half-consciously gave her hand a
pressure that left the most delicious pain the young girl had ever known.
He was deeply excited, for he had taken a tremendous risk in springing upon
a creature that can strike its crooked fangs through the thick leather of a
boot, as a New York physician once learned at the cost of his life, when he
carelessly sought to rouse with his foot a caged reptile of this kind.
Miss Hargrove had ceased to be a charming summer acquaintance to Burt.
She was the woman at whose side he had stood in the presence of death.
Before their midday repast was ready a rumble of wagons was heard coming
up the mountain, and Webb soon appeared. "The barometer is falling
rapidly," he said, "and father agrees with me that it will be safer for
you all to return at once."
He found ready acquiescence, for after the event of the morning the
ladies were in haste to depart. Lumley, who had come up with Webb, was
sent to take the rattles from the snake, and the men drew apart, with Alf
and Fred, to discuss the adventure, for it was tacitly agreed that it
would be unwise to talk about snakes to those whose nerves were already
unstrung at the thought of such fearful neighbors. Dr. Marvin would have
gone with Lumley had not his wife interposed. As it was, he had much to
say concerning the habits and character of the reptiles, to which the
boys listened with awe. "By the way," he concluded, "I remember a passage
from that remarkable story, 'Elsie Venner,' by Oliver Wendell Holmes, in
which he gives the most vivid description of the rattlesnake I have ever
seen. One of his characters has two of them in a cage. 'The expression of
the creatures,' he writes, 'was watchful, still, grave, passionless,
fate-like, suggesting a cold malignity which seemed to be waiting for its
opportunity. Their awful, deep-cut mouths were sternly closed over long,
hollow fangs, which rested their roots against the swollen poison-gland
where the venom had been hoarded up ever since the last stroke had
emptied it. They never winked, for ophidians have no movable eyelids, but
kept up an awful fixed stare. Their eyes did not flash, but shone with a
cold, still light. They were of a pale golden color, horrible to look
into, with their stony calmness, their pitiless indifference, hardly
enlivened by the almost imperceptible vertical slit of the pupil, through
which Death seemed to be looking out, like the archer behind the long,
narrow loophole in a blank turret wall.' The description is superb, and
impressed itself so deeply on my mind that I can always recall it."
The ladies now joined them at dinner--the last at their rustic board.
Miss Hargrove was very pale, but she was a spirited girl, and was bent on
proving that there was nothing weak or hysterical in her nature. Neither
was there the flippancy that a shallow woman might have manifested. She
acted like a brave, well-bred lady, whose innate refinement and good
sense enabled her speedily to regain her poise, and take her natural
place among her friends. They all tried to be considerate, and Amy's
solicitude did not indicate the jealousy that her friend almost expected
to see.
Before they had finished their repast an east wind was moaning and
sighing in the trees, and a thin scud of clouds overcasting the sky. They
were soon in the haste and bustle of departure. Miss Hargrove found an
opportunity, however, to draw Dr. Marvin aside, and asked, hesitatingly,
"If Burt--if Mr. Clifford had missed his aim when he sprang upon the
snake, what would have happened?"
"You had better not dwell on that scene for the present, Miss Hargrove."
"But I wish to know," she said, decisively. "I am not a child, and I
think I have a right to know."
"Well," said the doctor, gravely, "you are brave about it, and may as
well know the truth. Indeed, a little thought would soon make it clear to
you that if he had struck the body of the snake and left its head free,
it would have bitten him."
She drew a long breath, and said, "I thought as much"; then added, in a
low tone, "Would it have been death?"
"Not necessarily; but only the most vigorous treatment could have saved
him."
"But he risked his life?" she persisted.
"Certainly; but a brave man could scarcely have acted otherwise. The
snake was at your very feet."
"Thank you," she said, simply, and there was a very gentle expression in
her eyes.
Much of the work of breaking up was left to Lumley, and an abundant
reward for his labor. He had returned with an exultant grin, but at a
sign from Dr. Marvin concealed his trophies. As soon as he had a chance,
however, he gave Burt two rattles, one having twelve and the other
fourteen joints, thus proving the fear, that the mate of the snake first
killed was not far off, to be well grounded. At the foot of the mountain
they met Mr. Hargrove, driving rapidly. He explained that his barometer
and the indications of a storm had alarmed him also, and that he had come
for his daughter and Fred. Nothing was said of Miss Hargrove's recent
peril in the brief, cordial parting. Her eyes and Burt's met almost
involuntarily as she was driven away, and he was deeply perturbed.
The face of Nature was also clouding fast, and she was sighing and
moaning as if she, too, dreaded the immediate future.