WHITHER AWAY?
It rained in the night, and blew so fiercely that the windows of the
little house rattled and the door shook upon its hinges. When Hugh got
up in the morning, all eagerness for the expedition, there was watery
sunlight showing, but great gusts of wind were still thundering down the
valley and the air was raw and chilly. The smiling autumn landscape of
scarlet and gold was totally transformed; the flaming leaves had
disappeared in one stormy night and the brown woods stood bare and bleak
and cold.
“I wish this storm had waited just one day longer,” said Oscar as they
were having breakfast before the welcome blaze of the big fire. “There
may even be snow now before many hours.”
He did not say, “If only you had remembered one day sooner what you saw
in the wood!” Hugh felt that the thought must be in his mind, so large
did it loom in his own. But Oscar’s fashion of never wasting words was
contagious, so he, too, said nothing.
As he opened the door to go out and feed Hulda, he heard, above the
booming of the wind, a steady dull roar that was quite new to his ears.
“That is the stream that runs this side of Jasper Peak,” Oscar
explained. “You could hardly believe how one night’s rain can carry it
over its banks. Even less of a storm than this will sometimes make it
impassable. Fortunately, where I want to go to-day is on this side and I
will not have to try to cross it. But I may not be back until long after
dark.”
It was not like Oscar to say “I” when there were two to talk about. Hugh
noted this with a sinking of the heart.
“Oscar,” he cried, turning back from the door, “am I not going, too?”
Oscar slowly shook his head.
“I’m so sorry,” he said with evident understanding of Hugh’s
disappointment, “but you see if Jake is really back we can’t risk
leaving the cabin alone. The claim is nearly established now and the
closer we come to the end, the closer we come to trouble. There is bound
to be one more row before the thing finally goes through.”
“What sort of a row, Oscar?”
Oscar looked down at his scarred hand and smiled reflectively.
“A row like the others we have had,” he said quietly, “only this time a
really good one. Good-by.”
He took up his pack and went out without another word. The furious wind
seemed to seize him and whirl him away the moment he stepped outside the
door. Hugh had not answered his farewell, for he was disappointed and
indignant at being left behind and he did not mind how plainly Oscar saw
it. After all, it was he himself who had seen the footprints by the
marsh; he ought to be the person to go and look for them again. He went
out to feed Hulda, slamming the door smartly behind him and never
looking at Oscar, who was still in sight, trudging along the open ridge
above the valley. Hugh understood now why Oscar had asked so many
questions about the region where the footprints had been seen, about how
long the boy had walked before he came in sight of the cabin, about the
contour of the land and the direction in which the shadows fell.
Hugh, as he moved sulkily toward the shed, began composing bitter
speeches to be launched at Oscar when he should return. He stopped for a
moment and looked across at Jasper Peak and the shack high up on its
rocky shoulder. Yes, there was the plume of smoke again, torn and
whirled about by the wind, but still sending up its ominous signal. He
turned to open the shed door. He would tell Oscar plainly that—that—But,
after all, why should Oscar have gone at all? It was a forlorn hope at
the best for which he was risking everything, leaving in Hugh’s
safe-keeping property that was infinitely valuable in the light of the
purpose it was to serve. A sudden change of feeling overcame Hugh,
filling him with shame for his blind ill-temper.
He ran back to the top of the hill to see Oscar just about to disappear
into the forest. It was too far for a shout to carry, but, yes, Oscar
looked back just as he plunged into the wood. Hugh raised his arm high
in a gesture of farewell and Oscar waved his woolen cap in
generous-hearted understanding. Thus good feeling was reëstablished
between them before they parted, parted for a longer time than either of
them could have thought.
Hugh went back to attend to Hulda’s wants for the day. She was a patient
cow, but even she looked around at him in reproachful surprise over the
awkwardness of his good offices.
“And I suppose I will have to try to milk her to-night,” he reflected
with some misgiving. He was not sure that her patience and forbearance
were great enough for him to attempt such a feat.
As he returned to the cabin he was wondering how he was to spend the
lonely day. There were, he found, however, any number of things to be
done, pans to be cleaned, water to be carried, some last weeds and dried
stalks to be cleared from Oscar’s vegetable garden and in the small
field that he had cultivated. Oscar had managed to raise quite a store
of wheat, had ground it by hand in the rude little mill that he had
constructed himself and had put it aside for use during the winter. He
had potatoes, too, and beans, turnips and other vegetables that could be
dried or stored, so that the supplies that must be carried so
laboriously from Rudolm need be the fewest possible.
After he had finished his work in the cabin and had cooked his dinner,
trying to imitate Oscar’s skill in tossing flapjacks and not succeeding
very well, Hugh took an ax and went out to the edge of the forest to cut
wood. Gathering the winter’s fuel was an endless task, one upon which he
and Oscar spent all of their extra time. He looked across at Jasper Peak
again as he came out, but a curtain of rain was falling between him and
the mountain and the cabin opposite was invisible. It was growing colder
and colder, the wind coming in icy gusts and the roar of the flooded
stream becoming louder as darkness fell. Hugh worked actively all
afternoon, as much for the sake of keeping warm and occupied, as for
what he might accomplish. He had a generous store of wood to reward him
for his heavy toil when at last it grew so late that he could see to
wield the ax no longer. He walked heavily back to the cabin, wet and
weary and wishing that Oscar would come home. In the shelter of the
trees he had not noticed the wind and was amazed at its strength when he
crossed the open ridge and ran for the cabin door.
On looking at the clock he realized that he had spent more time in the
forest than he had intended and that he must make haste about his
evening tasks. The fire was nearly out and did not wish to burn, for the
wood was wet and the wind, whistling down the chimney, filled the room
with sparks and smoke. He grew impatient and irritated at last, kicked
the logs into place and received in return such a puff of ashes in his
face that he was nearly choked. As he went to the door for a breath of
fresh air, he remembered, with sudden dismay, that he must milk Hulda.
For a long time after, Hugh preferred not to remember that interview
between himself and the indignant cow. Even when he did think of it, he
realized that Hulda showed the greatest forbearance and that the kick
she gave him was probably an involuntary one, administered when cow
nature could endure no more. She looked around at him a moment later
with apology in her mild brown eyes, encouraging him to forget his
smarting knee, to sit down upon the stool and attempt the task again. At
last he straightened his aching back and stood gazing with pride at the
bucket half full of foaming milk.
“You are a good cow, Hulda,” he confided to her; “there are not many who
would stand for what you have.”
Very carefully he carried his prize back to the house, slipping and
stumbling on the wet path, but taking the greatest care that not a drop
should be spilled. He felt prouder of having milked Hulda without
assistance than of anything he had ever before achieved; he did wish
that Oscar would come home to see. He stood a minute by the cabin door,
trying with vain eyes to peer through the darkness. Nothing was visible,
hardly even the hand he held before his face, nothing would pierce that
heavy blackness but the rushing of the flooded stream and the calling of
the wind. With a great sigh he turned at last, fumbled for the latch of
the door and stepped inside.
The fire had burned up during his absence, making the room look warm and
cozy, a welcome sight after the storm and rain without. He lit the lamp
upon the table, then looked up uneasily at the clock on the wall. Its
hands pointed to nine. He carried the lamp to the window, drew back the
curtains and set it on the sill.
“I wish Oscar would come,” he said aloud.
So busy had he been that he had not had his supper yet. His unaccustomed
hands and his great hunger both served to make the process a lengthy
one, so that when he had finished and set things in order again, it was
nearly eleven. To tell the truth, he had kept himself occupied as long
as he could in an effort to ignore the fact that the storm, bad as it
had been all day, was growing worse. Rain thundered on the roof of the
cabin with a noise that was almost deafening, paused a moment, then came
pouring down again. The windows shook and the lamp flared and flickered
in the sudden gusts that seemed to be trying to snatch the little
dwelling from its foundations. Once during a momentary pause in the
tumult he heard the sharp crack and then the slow crashing of a tree
blown down in the forest. How could a storm be so terrible and still
grow ever worse? Oh, why did not Oscar come home?
He built up the dying fire and established himself in the rough armchair
to wait. He blinked up at the clock; it was midnight now. In spite of
his discomfort, in spite of all his anxiety and his determination to
keep awake, he fell into a doze.
A sound aroused him, he had no idea just how much later. It was a
strange noise at the door, one that at first made him think that here
was Oscar come home at last. He jumped up and ran eagerly to admit him,
but stopped with his hand almost upon the latch. It was not Oscar, it
was no human being that was making that panting sound outside, that
pushing and shouldering of some huge body against the door. His heart
seemed to stand still as he waited for a second, watching the rude
boards shake and tremble under the impact of that strange pressure.
Something sniffed and snuffled along the crack at the threshold,
something padded back and forth out there in the dark, then the soft
fumbling and shouldering began again.
“If I push the table across the door—” thought Hugh, but the idea came a
second too late.
The latch suddenly gave way, the door flew open, letting in a blast of
wind and rain and blowing out the lamp, so that the cabin was left in
inky darkness. A vast white form sprang into the room, knocking Hugh
into a corner, striking against a chair and upsetting it with a crash.
Then there was utter silence, broken only by a quick panting over by the
inner doorway where the invading creature must be standing.
With a great effort Hugh managed to close the door against the fury of
the wind. Still there was quiet, no movement from that corner whence the
quick breathing came. Very slowly he took up the lamp, managed to steady
his shaking hand and fumble for a match. He set the lamp on the table,
lit the wick and turned the light full upon his strange visitor. Even
when he saw the creature clearly he could not, for a moment, grasp what
it really was. It was a dog, but such an enormous dog as Hugh had never
seen before. Its shaggy coat was white, and so wet with the rain that
water dripped from it and ran pattering to the floor. Motionless, it
stood there, still panting from the effort of forcing its way in, and
gazing steadily at Hugh with its great melancholy black eyes. He had
never seen such an animal before, still there was something
familiar—yes, he could have no doubt. It was the dog of the picture,
Dick Edmonds’ dog, it was Nicholas!
The two stood long, staring at each other without moving, then the dog
advanced very slowly and began sniffing delicately at the edge of Hugh’s
coat. For all his size, he seemed to be shy and nervous, jumping back
when the boy sought to lay a hand on his long head, advancing again when
he was not looking to sniff at his clothes again and determine whether
this was friend or foe. All his dignity disappeared, however, when Hugh
brought some food and set it upon the hearth before him. He fell upon it
with wolfish ferocity, as though he had not eaten a full meal in weeks.
He tore at the meat, crunched the bones and looked gratefully up at Hugh
from time to time, wagging his long brush of a tail that swept the
floor. But he did not eat all the food, ravenous as he seemed to be.
When the first edge of his starvation was dulled, when the warmth of the
fire had dried and warmed him so that he ceased to shiver, he stopped
eating, went to the door and whined to be gone.
“What’s the matter, old fellow, aren’t you happy here?” Hugh asked,
whereat the dog came to him, nuzzled his hand with his long wet nose,
then ran to the door again.
His insistence was so great that at last Hugh felt forced to lift the
latch, open the door and let him go. He bounded over the sill and
disappeared instantly into the dark. Not for long, however, for Hugh had
not had time to close the door before he was back again, shoving his
nose beseechingly into the boy’s hand, jumping about him and whining
again and again. There was no doubting what it was he wished.
“It’s a nice night for you to be asking me to go out with you,”
remonstrated Hugh, “but—well, you are Dick Edmonds’ dog and we have been
looking for you and him for a long time.”
He stepped back into the cabin with Nicholas at his heels and took up
his coat and cap. At the sight of this, the dog’s joy knew no bounds; he
leaped about so that the furniture of the little cabin rocked and swayed
under the force of his gigantic delight. Hugh put on his warmest
clothes, got out a pack and put into it blankets, food, matches,
anything he could think of that might be needed. He had no idea how far
Nicholas would lead him, how long he would be gone or what he should
find. At the last minute he took Oscar’s revolver down from the wall;
there had been two, but one his friend had evidently taken with him. He
quenched the fire, put out the light and was finally ready. With
Nicholas running ahead, barking in loud delight now that his desire was
understood at last, they set out into the storm.
The rain was still driving in sheets across the hill and the wind
sweeping furiously along the open spaces. The darkness was so dense that
at first Hugh could do nothing but feel his way down the trail which
Nicholas so unhesitatingly followed. When his eyes became a little more
used to the dark, however, and the trees began to shelter him from the
stinging rain, he could make out the windings of the steep path, could
distinguish the dog, white and ghostly, traveling steadily ahead of him,
and finally could see the foaming white flood of the stream that poured
downward to the lake between him and Jasper Peak. Nicholas advanced to
the very edge of the creek, stopped and looked back.
“You don’t mean that we are to cross that?” exclaimed Hugh in dismay,
gazing down at the tossing water.
Such, however, was plainly Nicholas’ intention, for without further
hesitation he plunged in and began to swim across. The wild current
caught him and whirled him down the stream, as Hugh could just make out.
The black mass of a floating log shot by and barely missed him, but none
the less he struggled on and finally, a dim white form in the dark,
scrambled out upon the opposite bank.
What a dog could just barely accomplish was certainly impossible for a
boy with a heavy pack. Hugh remembered that half a mile up the stream a
huge tree had fallen across from bank to bank, making a bridge by which
he might get over if the rush of the flood had not carried it away.
Nicholas, whining with anxiety, followed along on the other shore, as
Hugh made his way with difficulty to where the tree should be. Yes, it
was still there, high out of water at each end but with the furious
current pouring across it in the middle. It looked like none too safe a
crossing, but it was the only one. He attempted, at first, to walk
upright, but soon found that impossible, so stooped, and was at length
reduced to crawling painfully along on hands and knees. The cold water
swirled about him as he approached the center of the stream, the current
seemed trying, with direct intent, to tear loose his hold and wash him
away. The tree-trunk quivered and trembled under the mighty force that
was hurled against it, but it held under his weight as slowly he crawled
along, felt the current lessen, came into quieter water and was at last
safe on the other side, with Nicholas standing up to lick his face.
“Now, then, where next?” questioned Hugh as the dog immediately set off
up the mountain. The rain and wind were less violent on this side of the
ravine, so that their progress was quicker as they climbed upward. It
was fortunate that it was so dark, Hugh thought, for it seemed as though
they were about to pass uncomfortably close to the Pirate’s cabin. He
plodded on, stumbling over roots, scrambling through bushes, finding the
way very rough indeed. It was not until they came to the edge of a
clearing and saw before him a little house with one lighted window and
with Nicholas standing waiting on the doorstep that he realized what was
to be the goal of this strange night journey.
Even then he thought of turning back. The perils of the rain-swept
forest and of the swollen floods were as nothing to the dangers lurking
in that evil dwelling that blinked at him with one staring red eye. Had
not Nicholas run quickly through the dark to lick his hand, had he not
thought once more of the lost Edmonds brothers and how he had pledged
himself to help them, it is possible that he might not have gone on. Yet
at last he stepped out of the woods, and, very firm and straight, walked
across the clearing to the house.
He stopped for a moment upon the step and listened. There was not a
sound from within. Was the place empty, or had some one heard him coming
and was waiting, in stealthy quiet, until he should enter? What was
that, a sigh perhaps, more like a stifled moan? Without further
hesitation he pushed open the door and stepped inside.