THE SUSPENSE AND WHAT HAPPENED AFTERWARDS
Peter Drummond, returning for the two girls with Donald, found Jack.
Elizabeth, who had not dared stir, could only point dumbly to the
overhanging abyss, without voice to express her terror.
Donald got his sister back to their hotel, and upstairs in the room with
her mother, without any member of the caravan party knowing of their
return.
In an incredibly short space of time men came with rope ladders to where
Peter watched and waited, and one of them brought Jack's body up,
putting it gently down on the grass. Some one else explained that a
famous doctor who was a guest at the hotel would be with them in a few
minutes.
So Mr. Drummond, alone of all her friends, knelt with the strange men
trying to find a spark of life in the unconscious form and still, cold
face of the girl who had been the embodiment of grace and vitality less
than a half hour before.
Jim, Ruth, the three other girls and Carlos were having their breakfast
in the dining room, when the head waiter came and told Jim that Mr.
Drummond wished to speak to him for a moment alone on business.
No one was in the least uneasy about Jack's failure to return. As it was
natural to suppose it would take some time to see Elizabeth escorted
home in safety, they had decided not to wait for her. Besides, no one
ever thought that anything could happen to Jack; she seemed one of the
persons in the world best fitted to care for herself and to help look
after other people. Here was the old story once more repeating itself:
when the beloved one was in grave danger, as Jack was during the night
of her enforced stay in the wilderness, on the trip to Miner's Folly,
she had turned up serene and unhurt; now when trouble was the farthest
thing from their imagination, she was being brought back to them and no
one knew whether she were alive or dead.
One sight of Peter's haggard face told Jim that something had happened,
but he supposed Elizabeth Harmon to be the victim. Peter was wise
enough not to delay in letting him know the truth. There is no easy way
to break bad news, for the shock must always come in the end, so it is
best to make the suspense as short as possible. Besides, Mr. Drummond
knew that the physician was even now having Jack carried home to the
hotel and the little procession might arrive at any moment.
The girls had thought nothing of Jim's disappearance, from the table,
but Ruth had not liked the expression on the face of the man who called
him away. Suddenly she was seized with a premonition of disaster.
Excusing herself, with the explanation that she wanted something in her
room, she slipped out after Jim so quietly that neither he nor Mr.
Drummond saw or heard her approach until Peter's story was told. And
then it was not Ruth, but Jim Colter who broke down. The big, strong man
staggered, and such a queer sound came from between his white lips that
Ruth laid a shaking hand on him and Mr. Drummond caught him by the arm.
"Remember the girls, Jim," Ruth said almost sternly. "This is the time
to think of _them_, not of our own feelings. Mr. Drummond, I must go
back to them first. Will you see that everything is----"
Ruth could not go on, but Peter understood. He was to see that all
necessary arrangements were made to receive the doctor, who was still to
find out if there was any chance of restoring Jack to consciousness.
By the time Ruth returned to the dining room the news of the accident
had somehow spread among most of the guests at breakfast. Only the ranch
girls were entirely unconscious. Jean was teasing Frieda and Olive was
laughing at them, when Ruth put her hand on Jean's shoulder. "Come out
of the room with me as quickly and quietly as possible," she whispered.
"It's Jack, isn't it?" Olive asked with the calmness that so often comes
in the first moment of sorrow, and Ruth silently bowed her head.
For an hour Ruth and the girls waited in their room. Ruth and Olive had
asked to see Jack, but were not allowed to stay with her. Now and then
Mr. Drummond, or Donald Harmon, or Jim would come in to them for a few
moments, but would soon slip out again promising to return when there
was news. Jean and Frieda cried in each other's arms until they were
blind and sick, but neither Olive nor Ruth shed a tear, so differently
do people bear trouble. It seemed that half a lifetime must have passed
when the door was suddenly flung open and Jim Colter walked into the
room and dropped into a chair. The big, weather-beaten man was crying
like a child and shaking as though he were in a chill. Frieda ran to him
and climbed into his lap, putting her arms about his neck and burying
her face on his shoulder. Olive and Jean opened their mouths to speak,
but no words came from their dry lips. The hope that had been sustaining
them vanished at the sight of Jim's broken appearance. Only Ruth
understood.
"Tell us at once, Jim. It isn't fair to make us wait," she said quietly,
guessing that his tears were the tears of relief. "She will live?"
Jim nodded. "Jack opened her eyes a minute ago and said, 'Hello, Jim,'"
he answered brokenly. "The doctor says she is pretty badly hurt, but she
will pull through."
Then Ruth, hardly knowing what she was doing, leaned over and kissed Jim
on his forehead under the line of his black hair, and above the level of
his deeply blue Irish eyes. Quite unexpectedly she and Olive now began
to cry for the first time, while Jean and Frieda and Jim were radiant
with relief.
Ten days later the family from the Rainbow Ranch, accompanied by Mr.
Drummond, left the Yellowstone Park for a small town on its borders.
Jack was able to be moved, and they had rented a little furnished house
on the outskirts of the near-by village, hoping that the quiet and
change of scenery might benefit her. She had broken her leg by her fall
over the precipice, but something else more serious appeared to be the
matter with her, something that the doctor did not exactly understand.
She had not been able to sit up since the accident.
A week before the ranch party left the hotel, the Harmons went back to
the Lodge. When Don and his mother found they could be of no service, it
was thought best to take Elizabeth away, for she had never ceased to
insist that the tragedy was her fault and to demand to see Jack; and
this was impossible. But Mr. Drummond had stayed on and on. Even after
he had seen Jack safely moved he seemed unwilling to leave. The little
house was so tiny that there was only room for them and on the front
porch for one cot and one chair, but he lived at a hotel and came each
day to talk to the invalid and to take the other girls for long walks.
Peter had a long, confidential talk with Ruth and Jim, and made them
promise that unless Jack grew better after the summer's rest they would
bring her on to New York in the fall to consult with famous specialists.
He did not dream that they would have to sell a part of the ranch to
manage it; but this was what they had quietly made up their minds to do,
although Jack was not to be told, for fear of upsetting her, and Jim did
not mean to close the bargain with Mr. Harmon until he was able to get
back to the ranch.
The tiny house had been a haven of refuge for two weeks when Peter
Drummond found that he was obliged to leave. He had persuaded the girls
and Ruth to go for a last walk with him, leaving Jim as Jack's guardian.
She was asleep on the porch when they slipped out the back door so
quietly she had not awakened.
You would hardly have known Jack, so great a change had the last few
weeks wrought in her. She had suffered a great deal and the radiant
color had gone from her face, leaving it white and drawn; her full,
crimson lips were pale and drooping now; her dark, level eyebrows looked
like thin lines of black penciling and her lashes made a shadow against
the pallor of her cheeks. Only her hair, the color of burnished copper,
shone with its old beauty. It was Olive's special care, and now hung in
the two familiar braids almost reaching to the porch floor.
Jack had been awake for some time before Jim realized it. She had been
very quiet during her illness, and to the relief of them all had asked
no questions about herself, apparently taking it for granted that she
was not to be allowed to sit up and could only be moved lying down.
Jack's leg was in a plaster cast and her friends believed she regarded
this as a sufficient reason for being kept perfectly quiet. Yet all the
time she knew that had her leg been the only trouble she would have been
allowed to get about on crutches and to sit up to eat her meals, instead
of being eternally propped on pillows when she tried to stir.
Jack had asked no questions, because she did not wish to give anyone the
pain of telling her the truth until she was strong enough to bear it.
But there had not been a waking hour in the day or night when the
vision of Elizabeth Harmon's misfortune had not been present before her
mind, and the idea that she might have a greater sorrow to face. Frank
Kent had telegraphed to ask if he might come to his friends, but Jack
had asked that he wait; she could not bear to see even him just yet.
Jim Colter's eyes were fixed on Jack as sadly and tenderly as her
father's could have been, had he been alive, when unexpectedly she
lifted her lashes and her gray eyes met her friends with their old brave
spirit. She stared a long time with her lips twitching before she spoke.
"What is it, boss? You've got something on your mind that you want to
speak about, haven't you?" Jim inquired gently. "The girls think it's a
good sign you don't ask questions, but I'm not so sure. You are like
some men. Dear, I know you. You can take your medicine when you have to,
but you can't be left in the dark. Ask Jim anything you like, and I
promise I'll tell you the truth."
"Are we by ourselves?" Jack asked huskily, and Jim nodded. "Then will
you tell me please if I am ever going to be able to walk again?" she
queried without hesitating or faltering, keeping her clear eyes still on
Jim's.
"We don't know, Jack," Jim replied, like a soldier, "but I believe you
will. The doctors we have seen out here don't seem able to say just what
is the matter with you. They tell us to give you a chance to get
stronger this summer and then take you east."
Jack closed her eyes for a few moments and lay perfectly still. Then she
opened them and smiled a queer, little, twisted smile. "We haven't got
the money to take me east, pard," she murmured, "and don't you sell any
part of our ranch. I'll fool the doctors yet, but if I've got to
be--ill," Jack ended, "why I'd rather be sick at home than any place in
the world."
Jim cleared his throat and moved his chair so his companion could not
look directly at him.
"Pardner," Jack said a few minutes afterwards, "I don't want to be
impatient, but I do want to go home _now_. Couldn't you write and ask
Mr. Harmon to give up the ranch a little sooner than October? They can't
want to be at Rainbow Lodge as much as I do." She looked at the dark
hill that rose straight up in front of their tiny verandah and dreamed
of the beautiful, spacious piazza in front of her home, with the grove
of cottonwood trees ahead and on every side the stretch of the broad,
wind-swept prairies, and sighed.
Jim felt such a rush of anger that his collar choked him. "I have
written Mr. Harmon to ask him to let us come back; I knew you was
homesick, boss," he returned slowly. "But Mr. Harmon says he can't give
up the Lodge until his contract is over, says it's doing his daughter
such a lot of good and she hasn't yet recovered from her nervous shock.
Fine behavior from a man, when you saved his child's life!"
In half an hour, Ruth, Mr. Drummond, the girls and Carlos came trooping
back from an effort to buy out the village. Peter was going to say
good-by to Jack, and, as Ruth saw she was even paler than usual, she
persuaded Jean to take the two children indoors. They had brought Jack
everything they could find in the town, and Olive had a large package
addressed to her friend in Elizabeth Harmon's writing, which she found
at the post office. Listlessly Jack allowed Olive to cut the string and
unwrap the pasteboard from about the flat envelope. Then Olive held up
before them all a new and beautiful photograph of the Rainbow
Lodge--Aunt Ellen and Uncle Zack were standing in the yard, old Shep was
resting on the steps of the porch and there was a suggestion of Jean's
and Frieda's violet beds to one side. Poor Elizabeth had thought to give
Jack a pleasure, but instead the sight of the home she longed for so
intensely was more than the girl could bear after the strain of the
afternoon. Suddenly she gave way and sobbed as she had not done since
her accident. "I want to go home, I want to go home," Jack repeated,
like a sick child.
Ruth dropped on the porch, hiding her face in the shawl that covered
Jack. Olive and even Mr. Drummond were too choked to think of anything
comforting to say. And as for Jim Colter, he got up and stalked off the
verandah, marching up and down in the little yard like a caged animal
whose anger and bitterness cannot be quietly endured.
Five minutes later it was surprising to see him reappear with a radiant
expression, every wrinkle miraculously smoothed out of his face and his
blue eyes smiling. He sat down in his chair and tenderly patted Jack's
hand, then struck his knee with such a resounding clap that everybody
jumped and Jack laughed.
"What is it, Jim?" she inquired. "I am sorry I have been such a goose."
"Why, I have just been thinking what a parcel of idiots we are," he said
happily. "You girls ain't ever thought much of it, but I want you to
know that Rainbow Lodge ain't the only house on our place. What's the
matter with the rancho? We ain't rented _it_ to the Harmons, and the
cowboys would be only too glad to turn out with me into some tents and
hand our house over to you girls. What do you say to our taking the
train for the Rainbow Ranch about the day after to-morrow? That will
give me time to telegraph the boys to vacate. Think you could manage to
make the trip in a sleeper, old girl, with me to see after you?" he
demanded of Jack.
And the radiance of Jack's face, into which a slow rose color was
creeping, was enough answer for them all.