I got him to the little brook and poked his head into the icy water,
and after a while he sat up pluckily.
To an indignant question he replied: "Naw, I ain't a-cussin' you.
Lemme be or I'll have fits."
"Was it that sound that scared you?" I asked.
"Ya-as," he replied with a dauntless shiver.
"Was it the voice of the mammoth?" I persisted, excitedly. "Speak,
William, or I'll drag you about and kick you!"
He replied that it was neither a mammoth nor a dingue, and added a
strong request for privacy, which I was obliged to grant, as I could
not torture another word out of him.
I slept little that night; the exciting proximity of the unknown land
was too much for me. But although I lay awake for hours, I heard
nothing except the tinkle of water among the rocks and the plover
calling from some hidden marsh. At daybreak I shot a ptarmigan which
had walked into camp, and the shot set the echoes yelling among the
mountains.
William, sullen and heavy-eyed, dressed the bird, and we broiled it
for breakfast.
Neither he nor I alluded to the sound we had heard the night before;
he boiled water and cleaned up the mess-kit, and I pottered about
among the rocks for another ptarmigan. Wearying of this, presently, I
returned to the mules and William, and sat down for a smoke.
"It strikes me," I said, "that our instructions to 'await further
orders' are idiotic. How are we to receive 'further orders' here?"
William did not know.
"You don't suppose," said I, in sudden disgust, "that Miss Smawl
believes there is a summer hotel and daily mail service in the Hudson
Mountains?"
William thought perhaps she did suppose something of the sort.
It irritated me beyond measure to find myself at last on the very
border of the unknown country, and yet checked, held back, by the
irresponsible orders of a maiden lady named Smawl. However, my salary
depended upon the whim of that maiden lady, and although I fussed and
fumed and glared at the mountains through my glasses, I realized that
I could not stir without the permission of Miss Smawl. At times this
grotesque situation became almost unbearable, and I often went away by
myself and indulged in fantasies, firing my gun off and pretending I
had hit Miss Smawl by mistake. At such moments I would imagine I was
free at last to plunge into the strange country, and I would squat on
a rock and dream of bagging my first mammoth.
The time passed heavily; the tension increased with each new day. I
shot ptarmigan and kept our table supplied with brook-trout. William
chopped wood, conversed with his mules, and cooked very badly.
"See here," I said, one morning; "we have been in camp a week to-day,
and I can't stand your cooking another minute!"
William, who was washing a saucepan, looked up and begged me
sarcastically to accept the _cordon bleu_. But I know only how to cook
eggs, and there were no eggs within some hundred miles.
To get the flavor of the breakfast out of my mouth I walked up to my
favorite hillock and sat down for a smoke. The next moment, however, I
was on my feet, cheering excitedly and shouting for William.
"Here come 'further instructions' at last!" I cried, pointing to the
southward, where two dots on the grassy plain were imperceptibly
moving in our direction.
"People on mules," said William, without enthusiasm.
"They must be messengers for us!" I cried, in chaste joy. "Three
cheers for the northward trail, William, and the mischief take
Miss--Well, never mind now," I added.
"On them approachin' mules," observed William, "there is wimmen."
I stared at him for a second, then attempted to strike him. He dodged
wearily and repeated his incredible remark: "Ya-as, there
is--wimmen--two female ladies onto them there mules."
"Bring me my glasses!" I said, hoarsely; "bring me those glasses,
William, because I shall destroy you if you don't!"
Somewhat awed by my calm fury, he hastened back to camp and returned
with the binoculars. It was a breathless moment. I adjusted the lenses
with a steady hand and raised them.
Now, of all unexpected sights my fate may reserve for me in the
future, I trust--nay, I know--that none can ever prove as unwelcome as
the sight I perceived through my binoculars. For upon the backs of
those distant mules were two women, and the first one was Miss Smawl!
Upon her head she wore a helmet, from which fluttered a green veil.
Otherwise she was clothed in tweeds; and at moments she beat upon her
mule with a thick umbrella.
Surfeited with the sickening spectacle, I sat down on a rock and tried
to cry.
"I told yer so," observed William; but I was too tired to attack him.
When the caravan rode into camp I was myself again, smilingly prepared
for the worst, and I advanced, cap in hand, followed furtively by
William.
"Welcome," I said, violently injecting joy into my voice. "Welcome,
Professor Smawl, to the Hudson Mountains!"
"Kindly take my mule," she said, climbing down to mother earth.
"William," I said, with dignity, "take the lady's mule."
Miss Smawl gave me a stolid glance, then made directly for the
camp-fire, where a kettle of game-broth simmered over the coals. The
last I saw of her she was smelling of it, and I turned my back and
advanced towards the second lady pilgrim, prepared to be civil until
snubbed.
Now, it is quite certain that never before had William Spike or I
beheld so much feminine loveliness in one human body on the back of a
mule. She was clad in the daintiest of shooting-kilts, yet there was
nothing mannish about her except the way she rode the mule, and that
only accentuated her adorable femininity.
I remembered what Professor Lesard had said about blue stockings--but
Miss Dorothy Van Twiller's were gray, turned over at the tops, and
disappearing into canvas spats buckled across a pair of slim
shooting-boots.
"Welcome," said I, attempting to restrain a too violent cordiality.
"Welcome, Professor Van Twiller, to the Hudson Mountains."
"Thank you," she replied, accepting my assistance very sweetly; "it is
a pleasure to meet a human being again."
I glanced at Miss Smawl. She was eating game-broth, but she resembled
a human being in a general way.
"I should very much like to wash my hands," said Professor Van
Twiller, drawing the buckskin gloves from her slim fingers.