A RECKLESS JOURNEY
The rising moon hung low above the lofty pines behind the city, when
Millicent sank shivering into a chair beside the window of her bedroom.
Under the impact of the blow her teeth had gashed her upper lip, but
she did not feel the pain as she sat with hands clenched, looking down
on the blaze of silver that grew broader across the inlet. She was
faint and dizzy, incapable as yet of definite thought; but confused
memories flashed through her brain, one among them more clearly than
the rest. Instead of land-locked water shimmering beneath the Western
pines, she saw dim English beeches with the coppery disk of the rising
moon behind, and she heard a tall man speak with stinging scorn to one
who cowered before him among the shadows.
"I was mad that night, and have paid for the madness ever since. Now
when it is too late I know what I have lost!" she gasped with a catch
of the breath that was a sob repressed.
There was a heavy step on the stairway, and Millicent shrank with the
nausea of disgust as somebody tried the door. She drew a deep breath
of relief, when the steps passed on unevenly.
The memories returned. They led her through a long succession of
mistakes, falsehoods, slights and wrongs up to the present, and she
shivered again, while a heavy drop of blood splashed warm upon her
hand. Then she was mistress of herself once more, and a hazy purpose
grew into definite shape. She could at least warn the man whom she had
wronged, and so make partial reparation. It was not a wish for revenge
upon her husband which prompted her to desire that amends might be made
for her past treachery. Smarting with shame, she longed only to escape
from him. After the day's revelations she could never forgive that
blow.
Millicent was a woman of action, and it was a relief to consider
practical details. She decided that a telegram might lie for days at
the station nearest the canyon, while what distance divided one from the
other she did not know. There was no train before noon the next day,
and she feared that the plot might be put into execution as soon as
Geoffrey left his camp. Therefore, she must reach it before he did so.
Afterwards--but she would not consider the future then, and, if she
could but warn him, nothing mattered greatly, neither physical peril
nor the risk of her good name.
It was long before Millicent Leslie had thought all this out, but when
once her way seemed clear, exhausted by conflicting emotions, she sank
into heavy slumber, and the sun was high before she awakened. Leslie
had gone to his office, and she ate a little, chose her thickest furs,
and waited for noon in feverish suspense. Her husband might return and
prevent her departure by force. She feared that, should he guess her
intention, a special locomotive might be hired, even after the train
had started. It was, therefore, necessary to slip away without word or
sign, unless, indeed, she could mislead him, and, smiling mirthlessly,
she laid an open letter inside her writing-case.
At last the time came, and she went out carrying only a little
hand-bag, passed along the unfrequented water side to the station by
the wharf, and ensconced herself in the corner of the car nearest the
locomotive, counting the seconds until it should start. Once she
trembled when she saw Shackleby hurry along the platform, but she
breathed again when he hailed a man leaning out from the vestibule of a
car. At last, the big bell clanged, and the Atlantic express, rolling
out of the station, began its race across the continent.
It was nearly dusk when, with a scream of brakes, the cars lurched into
a desolate mountain station, and Millicent shivered as she alighted in
the frost-dried dust of snow. A nipping wind sighed down the valley.
The tall firs on the hillside were fading into phantom battalions of
climbing trees, and above them towered a dim chaos of giant peaks,
weirdly awe-inspiring under the last faint glimmer of the dying day. A
few lights blinked among the lower firs, and Millicent, hurrying
towards them at the station agent's direction, was greeted by the odors
of coarse tobacco as she pushed open the door of the New Eldorado
saloon.
A group of bronze-faced men, some in jackets of fringed deerskin and
some in coarse blue jean, sat about the stove, and, though Millicent
involuntarily shrank from them, there was no reason why she should feel
any fear in their presence. They were rude of aspect--on occasion more
rude of speech--but, in all the essentials that become a man, she would
have found few to surpass them in either English or Western cities.
There was dead silence as she entered, and the others copied him when
one of the loungers, rising, took off his shapeless hat, not
ungracefully.
"I want a guide and good horse to take me to Thurston's camp in the
Orchard River Canyon to-night," she said.
The men looked at one another, and the one who rose first replied:
"Sorry to disappoint you, ma'am, but it's clean impossible. We'll have
snow by morning, and it's steep chances a man couldn't get through in
the dark now the shelf on the wagon trail's down."
"I must go. It is a matter of life and death, and I'm willing to pay
whoever will guide me proportionate to the risk," insisted Millicent,
shaking out on the table a roll of bills. Then, because she was a
woman of quick perceptions, and noticed something in the big axeman's
honest face, she added quickly, "I am in great distress, and disaster
may follow every moment lost. Is there nobody in this settlement with
courage enough to help me?"
This time the listeners whispered as they glanced sympathetically at
the speaker. The big man said:
"If you're willing to face the risk I'll go with you. You can put back
most of your money; but, because we're poor men you'll be responsible
for the horses."
Millicent felt the cold strike through her with the keenness of steel
when the went out into the night. Somebody lifted her to the back of a
snorting horse, and a man already mounted seized its bridle. There was
a shout of "Good luck!" and they had started on their adventurous
journey. Loose floury snow muffled the beat of hoofs, the lights of
the settlement faded behind and the two were alone in a wilderness of
awful white beauty, wherein it seemed no living thing had broken the
frozen silence since the world was made. Staring vacantly before her
Millicent saw the shoulders of the mighty peaks looming far above her
through a haze of driving snow, which did not reach the lower slopes,
where even the wind was still. The steam of the horses hung in white
clouds about them as they climbed, apparently for hours, past scattered
vedettes of dwindling pines. After a long pull on a steep trail the
man checked the horses on the brink of a chasm filled with eddying mist.
"That should have been our way, but the whole blame trail slipped down
into the valley," the man said. "Let me take hold of your bridle and
trust to me. We're going straight over the spur yonder until we strike
the trail again."
It was no longer a ride but a scramble. Even those sure-footed horses
stumbled continually, and where the wind had swept the thin snow away,
the iron on the sliding hoofs clanged on ice-streaked rock, or
hundredweights of loose gravel rattled down the incline. Then there
was juniper to be struggled through. They came to slopes almost
precipitous up which the panting guide somehow dragged the horses, but,
one strong with muscular vigor and the other sustained by sheer force
of will, the two riders held stubbornly on. Millicent had risen
superior to physical weakness that night.
"Four hours to the big divide! We've pretty well equaled Thurston's
record," said the guide, striking a match inside his hollowed palm to
consult his watch. "It's all down grade now, but we'll meet the wind
in the long pass and maybe the snow."
Millicent's heart almost failed her when, as the match went out, she
gazed down into the gulf of darkness that opened at her feet, but she
answered steadily: "Press on. I must reach the camp by daylight,
whatever happens."
They went on. The pace, instead of a scramble, became in places a wild
glissade, and no beast of burden but a mountain pack-horse could have
kept its footing ten minutes. Dark pines rose up from beneath them and
faded back of them, here and there a scarred rock or whitened boulder
flitted by, and then Millicent's sight was dimmed by a whirling haze of
snow. How long the descent lasted she did not know. She could see
nothing through the maze of eddying flakes but that a figure, magnified
by them to gigantic proportions, rode close beside her, until they left
the cloud behind and wound along the face of a declivity, which dipped
into empty blackness close beneath.
Suddenly her horse stumbled; there was a flounder and a shock, and
Millicent felt herself sliding very swiftly down a long slope of
crusted snow. Hoarse with terror, she screamed once, then something
seized and held her fast, and she rose, shaking in every limb, to cling
breathless to the guide.
"Hurt bad?" he gasped. "No!--I'm mighty glad. Snow slide must have
gouged part of the trail out. Can you hold up a minute while I 'tend
to the horse?"
"I don't think I am much hurt," stammered Millicent, whose teeth were
chattering, and the man floundering back a few paces, stooped over a
dark object that struggled in the snow. She fancied that he fumbled at
his belt, after which there was a horrible gurgle, and he returned
rubbing his fingers suggestively with a handful of snow.
"Poor brute's done for--I had to settle him," he explained. "It will
cost you--but we can fix that when we get through. I'll have to change
your saddle, and the sooner we get on the better. Won't keep you five
minutes, ma'am."
Millicent felt very cold and sick, for the unfortunate horse still
struggled feebly, while the gurgle continued, and she was devoutly
thankful when they continued their journey. The traveling was, if
possible, more arduous than before. At times they forced a passage
through climbing forest, and again over slopes of treacherous shale
where a snow slide had plowed a great hollow in the breast of the hill.
The puffs of snow which once more met them grew thicker until Millicent
was sheeted white all over. At last the man said:
"It can't be far off daylight and I'm mighty thankful. I've lost my
bearings, but we're on a trail, which must lead to somewhere, at last.
Stick tight to your saddle and I'll bring you through all right, ma'am."
Millicent was too cold to answer. A blast that whirled the drifts up
met her in the face, numbing all her faculties and rendering breathing
difficult. The hand that held the bridle was stiffened into
uselessness. Still, while life pulsed within her, she was going on,
and swaying in the saddle, she fixed her eyes ahead.
At last the trail grew level, the snow thinner. In the growing light
of day a cluster of roofs loomed up before her, and she made some
incoherent answer when her guide confessed:
"I struck the wrong way at the forking of the trail. Here's a ranch,
however, and the camp can't be far away. Horse is used up and so am I,
but you could get somebody to take Thurston a message."
Some minutes later he lifted Millicent from the saddle, and she leaned
against him almost powerless as he pounded on the door. The loud
knocking was answered by voices within, the door swung open, and
Millicent reeled into a long hall. Two women rose from beside the
stove, and, for it was broad daylight now, stared in bewilderment at
the strangers.
The guide leaned wearily against the wall, while Millicent, overcome by
the change of temperature, stood clutching at the table and swaying to
and fro. Then her failing strength deserted her. Somebody who helped
her into a chair presently held a cup of warm liquid to her lips. She
gulped down a little, and, recovering command of her senses, found
herself confronted by Helen Savine. It was a curious meeting, and even
then Millicent remembered under what circumstances they had last seen
each other. It appeared probable that Helen remembered, too, for she
showed no sign of welcome, and Mrs. Thomas Savine, who picked up the
fallen cup, watched them intently.
"I see you are surprised to find me here," said Millicent, with a gasp.
"I left the railroad last night for Geoffrey Thurston's camp. We lost
the trail and one of the horses in the snow, and just managed to reach
this ranch. We can drag ourselves no further. I did not know the
ranch belonged to you."
"That's about it!" the guide broke in. "This lady has made a journey
that would have killed some men--it has pretty well used me up, anyway.
I'll sit down in the corner if you don't mind. Can't keep myself right
end up much longer."
"Please make yourself comfortable!" said Helen, with a compassionate
glance in his direction. "I will tell our Chinaman to see to your
horse." She turned towards Millicent, and her face was coldly
impassive. "Anyone in distress is welcome to shelter here. You were
going to Mr. Thurston's camp?"
Even Mrs. Savine had started at Millicent's first statement, and now
she read contemptuous indignation in Helen's eyes. It was certain her
niece's voice, though even, was curiously strained.
"Yes!" answered Millicent, rapidly. "I was going to Geoffrey
Thurston's camp. It is only failing strength that hinders me from
completing the journey. Somebody must warn him at once that he is on
no account to leave for Vancouver as he promised me that he would.
There is a plot to ruin him during his absence--a traitor among his
workmen, I think. At any moment the warning may be too late. He was
starting west to-day to call on me."
Millicent was half-dazed and perhaps did not reflect that it was
possible to draw a damaging inference from her words. Nevertheless,
there was that in Helen's expression which awoke a desire for
retaliation.
Helen asked but one question, "You risked your life to tell him this?"
and when Millicent bent her head the guide interposed, "You can bet she
did, and nearly lost it."
"Then," said the girl, "the warning must not be thrown away.
Unfortunately, we have nobody I could send just now. Auntie, you must
see to Mrs. Leslie; I will go myself."
"I'm very sorry, miss. If you like I'll do my best, but can hardly
promise that I won't fall over on the way," apologized the guide; but
Helen hastened out of the room, and now that the strain was over,
Millicent lay helpless in her chair. Still, she was conscious of a
keen disappointment. After all she had dared and suffered, it was
Helen who would deliver the warning.
Thurston was standing knee-deep in ground-up stone and mire, inside a
coffer dam about which the river frothed and roared, when a man brought
him word that Miss Savine waited for him. He hurried to meet her, and
presently halted beside her horse--a burly figure in shapeless slouch
hat, with a muddy oilskin hanging from his shoulders above the stained
overalls and long boots.
Helen sat still in the saddle, a strange contrast to him, for she was
neat and dainty down to the little foot in Indian dressed deerskin
against the horse's flank. She showed no sign of pleasure as she
returned his greeting, but watched him keenly as she said:
"Mrs. Leslie arrived this morning almost frozen at the ranch. She left
the railroad last night to reach your camp, but her guide lost the
trail."
The man was certainly startled, but his face betrayed no satisfaction.
It's most visible expression was more akin to annoyance.
"Could she not have waited?" he asked impatiently, adding somewhat
awkwardly, "Did Mrs. Leslie explain why she wanted to see me so
particularly?"
"Yes," was the quick answer. "She has reason to believe that while you
journeyed to Vancouver to visit her, an attempt would be made to wreck
these workings. She bade me warn you that there is a traitor in your
camp."
"Ah," replied Geoffrey, a flush showing through the bronze on his
forehead. He thought hastily of all his men and came back to the
consciousness of Helen's presence with a start. "It was very good of
you to face the rough cold journey, but you cannot return without rest
and refreshment," he said with a look that spoke of something more than
gratitude. "I will warn my foremen, and when it seems safe will ride
back with you."
If Helen had been gifted with a wider knowledge of life she might
perhaps have noticed several circumstances that proved Thurston
blameless. As it was she had a quick temper, and at first glance facts
spoke eloquently against him.
"You cannot," was the cold answer. "The warning was very plain, and
considering all that is at stake you must not leave the workings a
moment. Neither are any thanks due to me. I am an interested party,
and the person who has earned your gratitude is Mrs. Leslie. The day
is clear and fine, and I can dispense with an escort."
"You shall not go alone," declared Thurston, doggedly. "You can choose
between my company and that of my assistant. And you shall not go
until you rest. Further, I must ask you a favor. Will you receive
Mrs. Leslie until I have seen her and arranged for her return? There
is no married rancher within some distance, and I cannot well bring her
here."
"You cannot," agreed Helen averting her eyes. "If only on account of
the service she has rendered, Mrs. Leslie is entitled to such shelter
as we can offer her, as long as it appears necessary."
"Thanks!" said Thurston, gravely. "You relieve me of a difficulty."
Then, stung by the girl's ill-concealed disdain into one of his former
outbreaks, he gripped the horse's bridle, and backed the beast so that
he and its rider were more fully face to face.
"Am I not harassed sufficiently? Good Lord! do you think----" he began.
"I have neither the right nor desire to inquire into your motives,"
responded Helen distantly. "We will, as I say, shelter Mrs. Leslie,
and, since you insist, will you ask your assistant to accompany me?"
Geoffrey, raising his hat a moment, swung round upon his heel, and blew
a silver whistle.
"Tom," he said to the man who came running up, "tell John to get some
coffee and the nicest things he can in a hurry for Miss Savine.
Straighten up my office room, and lay them out there. English Jim is
to ride back with Miss Savine when she is ready. Send a mounted man to
Allerton's to bring Black in, see that no man you wouldn't trust your
last dollar to lay's hand on a machine. That would stop half the work
in camp? It wouldn't--confound you--you know what I mean. Call in all
explosives from the shot-firing gang. Nobody's to slip for a moment
out of sight of his section foreman."
Helen heard the crisp sharp orders as she rode up the hill, and glanced
once over her shoulder. She had often noticed how the whole strength
of Geoffrey's character could rise to face a crisis. Still,
appearances were terribly against him.
Geoffrey, taking breath for a moment, scowled savagely at the river.
"If ever there was an unfortunate devil--but I suppose it can't be
helped. Damn the luck that dogs me!" he ejaculated as he turned to
issue more specific commands.