Another silence, then a man laughed: "Is that what they call it down to
York, Mr. Burleson?"
"I think so."
"When a man wants to put up a skyscraper an' gits all but the key-lot,
an' if the owner of the key-lot holds out for his price, do they call it
blackmail?"
"No," said Burleson; "I think I spoke hastily."
Not a sound broke the stillness in the store. After a moment old man
Santry opened his clasp-knife, leaned forward, and shaved off a thin
slice from the cheese on the counter. This he ate, faded eyes fixed on
space. Men all around him relaxed in their chairs, spat, recrossed their
muddy boots, stretching and yawning. Plainly the conference had ended.
"I am sorry," said young Burleson; "I had hoped for a fair
understanding."
Nobody answered.
He tucked his riding-crop under one arm and stood watching them,
buttoning his tan gloves. Then with the butt of his crop he rubbed a dry
spot of mud from his leather puttees, freed the incrusted spurs, and
turned towards the door, pausing there to look back.
"I hate to leave it this way," he said, impulsively. "I want to live in
peace with my neighbors. I mean to make no threats--but neither can I be
moved by threats.... Perhaps time will aid us to come to a fair
understanding; perhaps a better knowledge of one another. Although the
shooting and fishing are restricted, my house is always open to my
neighbors. You will be welcome when you come--"
The silence was profound as he hesitated, standing there before them in
the sunshine of the doorway--a lean, well-built, faultless figure, an
unconscious challenge to poverty, a terrible offence to their every
instinct--the living embodiment of all that they hated most in all the
world.
And so he went away with a brief "Good-morning," swung himself astride
his horse, and cantered off, gathering bridle as he rode, sweeping at a
gallop across the wooden bridge into the forest world beyond.
The September woods were dry--dry enough to catch fire. His troubled
eyes swept the second growth as he drew bridle at a gate set in a fence
eight feet high and entirely constructed of wire net interwoven with
barbed wire, and heavily hedged with locust and buck-thorn.
He dismounted, unlocked the iron gate, led his horse through,
refastened the gate, and walked on, his horse following as a trained dog
follows at heel.
Through the still September sunshine ripened leaves drifted down through
interlaced branches, and the whispering rustle of their fall filled the
forest silence. The wood road, carpeted with brilliant leaves, wound
through second growth, following the edge of a dark, swift stream, then
swept westward among the pines, where the cushion of brown needles
deadened every step, and where there was no sound save the rustle of a
flock of rose-tinted birds half buried in the feathery fronds of a white
pine. Again the road curved eastward; skirting a cleft of slate rocks,
through which the stream rushed with the sound of a wind-stirred
woodland; and by this stream a man stood, loading a rusty fowling-piece.
Young Burleson had retained Grier's keepers, for obvious reasons; and
already he knew them all by name. But this man was no keeper of his; and
he walked straight up to him, bidding him a rather sharp good-morning,
which was sullenly returned.
Then Burleson told him as pleasantly as he could that the land was
preserved, that he could not tolerate armed trespassing, and that the
keepers were charged to enforce the laws.
"It is better," he said, "to have a clear understanding at once. I think
the law governing private property is clearly set forth on the signs
along my boundary. This preserve is posted and patrolled; I have done
all I could to guarantee public rights; I have not made any application
to have the public road closed, and I am perfectly willing to keep it
open for public convenience. But it is not right for anybody to carry a
gun in these preserves; and if it continues I shall surely apply for
permission to close the road."
"I guess you think you'll do a lot o' things," observed the man,
stolidly.
"I think I will," returned Burleson, refusing to take offence at the
insolence.
The man tossed his gun to his shoulder and slouched towards the
boundary. Burleson watched him in silence until the fellow reached the
netted wire fence, then he called out.
"There is a turnstile to the left."
But the native deliberately drew a hatchet from his belt, opened the
wire netting with one heavy slash, and crawled through. Then wheeling in
his tracks outside, he cursed Burleson and shook his gun at him, and
finally slouched off towards Fox Cross-roads, leaving the master of the
forest a trifle white and quivering under the cutting curb of
self-control.
Presently his spasmodic grip on the riding-crop relaxed; he looked about
him with a long, quiet breath, flicked a burr from his riding-breeches,
and walked on, head lowered and jaw set. His horse followed at his
heels.
A mile beyond he met a keeper demolishing a deadfall along the creek,
and he summoned him with a good-humored greeting.
"Rolfe, we're headed for trouble, but it must not come--do you hear? I
won't have it if it can be avoided--and it must be avoided. These poor
devils that Grier hemmed in and warned off with his shot-gun patrol are
looking for that same sort of thing from me. Petty annoyance shall not
drive me into violence; I've made it plain to every keeper, every
forester, every man who takes wages from me. If I can stand insolence
from people I am sorry for, my employes can and must.... Who was that
man I met below here?"
"Abe Storm, sir."
"What was he doing--building deadfalls?"
"Seven, sir. He had three muskrats, a mink, and a string of steel traps
when I caught him--"
"Rolfe, you go to Abe Storm and tell him I give him leave to take
muskrat and mink along Spirit Creek, and that I'll allow him a quarter
bounty on every unmarked pelt, and he may keep the pelts, too."
The keeper looked blankly at the master: "Why--why, Mr. Burleson, he's
the dirtiest, meanest market hunter in the lot!"
"You do as I say, Rolfe," said the master, amiably.
"Yes, sir--but--"
"Did you deliver my note to the fire-warden?"
"Yes, sir. The old man's abed with miseries. He said he'd send his
deputy at noon."
Burleson laid his gloved hand on his horse's saddle, looking sharply at
the keeper.
"They tell me that Mr. Elliott has seen better fortune, Rolfe."
"Yes, sir. When the Cross-roads went to pot, he went too. He owned a
piece o' land that was no good only for the timber. He's like the rest
o' them, I guess--only he had more to lose--an' he lost it same as all
o' them."
Burleson drew out his watch, glanced at it, and then mounted.
"Try to make a friend of Abe Storm," he said; "that is my policy, and
you all know it. Help me to keep the peace, Rolfe. If I keep it, I don't
see how they're going to break it."
"Very well, sir. But it riles me to--"
"Nonsense! Now tell me where I'm to meet the fire-warden's deputy. Oh!
then I'll jump him somewhere before long. And remember, Rolfe, that it's
no more pleasure for me to keep my temper than it is for anybody. But
I've got to do it, and so have you. And, after all, it's more fun to
keep it than to let it loose."
"Yes, sir," said Rolfe, grinning like a dusty fox in July.
So Burleson rode on at a canter, presently slacking to a walk, arguing
with himself in a low, calm voice:
"Poor devils--poor, half-starved devils! If I could afford to pay their
prices I'd do it.... I'll wink at anything short of destruction; I can't
let them cut the pine; I can't let them clean out the grouse and deer
and fish. As for law-suits, I simply won't! There must be some decent
way short of a shot-gun."
He stretched out a hand and broke a flaming maple leaf from a branch in
passing, drew it through his button-hole, thoughtful eyes searching the
road ahead, which now ran out through long strips of swale bordered by
saplings.
Presently a little breeze stirred the foliage of the white birches to a
sea of tremulous gold; and at the same moment a rider appeared in the
marsh beyond, galloping through the blanched swale-grass, which rose
high as the horse's girth.
Young Burleson drew bridle; the slim youth who sat his saddle so easily
must be the deputy of the sick fire-warden; this was the time and the
place.
As the young rider galloped up, Burleson leaned forward, offering his
hand with an easy, pleasant greeting. The hand was unnoticed, the
greeting breathlessly returned; two grave, gray eyes met his, and
Burleson found himself looking into the flushed face of a young girl.
When he realized this, he took off his cap, and she inclined her head,
barely acknowledging his salute.
"I am Mr. Elliott's daughter," she said; "you are Mr. Burleson?"
Burleson had the honor of presenting himself, cap in hand.
"I am my father's deputy," said the girl, quietly, gathering her bridle
and wheeling her horse. "I read your note. Have you reason to believe
that an attempt has been made to fire the Owl Vlaie?"
There was a ring of business in her voice that struck him as amusingly
delightful--and such a sweet, clear voice, too, untinged with the
slightest taint of native accent.
"Yes," said Burleson, gravely, "I'm afraid that somebody tried to burn
the vlaie. I think that a change in the wind alone saved us from a bad
fire."
"Shall we ride over?" inquired the girl, moving forward with unconscious
grace.
Burleson ranged his big horse alongside; she set her mount at a gallop,
and away they went, wheeling into the swale, knee-deep in dry, silvery
grasses, until the deputy fire-warden drew bridle with a side-flung
caution: "Muskrats! Look out for a cropper!"
Now, at a walk, the horses moved forward side by side through the pale,
glistening sea of grass stretching out on every side.
Over a hidden pond a huge heron stood guard, stiff and shapeless as a
weather-beaten stake. Blackbirds with crimson-slashed shoulders rose in
clouds from the reeds, only to settle again as they passed amid a
ceaseless chorus of harsh protest. Once a pair of summer duck came
speeding overhead, and Burleson, looking up, exclaimed:
"There's a bird I never shoot at. It's too beautiful."
The girl turned her head, serious gray eyes questioning his.
"Have you ever seen a wood-duck?--a drake? in full plumage?" he asked.
"Often--before Mr. Grier came."
Burleson fell silent, restless in his saddle, then said:
"I hope you will see many wood-duck now. My boats on Spirit Water are
always at Mr. Elliott's disposal--and at yours."
She made the slightest sign of acknowledgment, but said nothing. Once or
twice she rose upright, standing straight in her stirrups to scan the
distance under a small, inverted hand. East and north the pine forest
girdled the vlaie; west and south hardwood timber laced the sky-line
with branches partly naked, and the pine's outposts of white birch and
willow glimmered like mounds of crumpled gold along the edges of the sea
of grass.
"There is the stream!" said Burleson, suddenly.
[Illustration: "AWAY THEY WENT, KNEE-DEEP IN DRY SILVERY GRASSES"]
She saw it at the same moment, touched her mare with spurred heels, and
lifted her clean over with a grace that set Burleson's nerves thrilling.
He followed, taking the water-jump without effort; and after a second's
hesitation ventured to praise her horse.
"Yes," she said, indifferently, "The Witch is a good mare." After a
silence, "My father desires to sell her."
"I know a dozen men who would jump at the chance," said the young
fellow. "But"--he hesitated--"it is a shame to sell such a mare--"
The girl colored. "My father will never ride again," she said, quietly.
"We should be very glad to sell her."
"But--the mare suits you so perfectly--"
She turned her head and looked at him gravely. "You must be aware, Mr.
Burleson, that it is not choice with us," she said. There was nothing of
bitterness in her voice; she leaned forward, patting the mare's chestnut
neck for a moment, then swung back, sitting straight as a cavalryman in
her saddle. "Of course," she said, smiling for the first time, "it will
break my heart to sell The Witch, but"--she patted the mare again--"the
mare won't grieve; it takes a dog to do that; but horses--well, I know
horses enough to know that even The Witch won't grieve."
"That is a radical theory, Miss Elliott," said Burleson, amused. "What
about the Arab and his loving steed?"
"That is not a legend for people who know horses," she replied, still
smiling. "The love is all on our side. You know horses, Mr. Burleson. Is
it not the truth--the naked truth, stripped of poetry and freed from
tradition?"
"Why strip poetry from anything?" he asked, laughing.
She rode on in silence for a while, the bright smile fading from lips
and eyes.
"Oh, you are quite right," she said; "let us leave what romance there
may be in the world. My horse loves me like a dog. I am very happy to
believe it, Mr. Burleson."
From the luminous shadow of her sombrero she looked out across the
stretch of marsh, where from unseen pools the wild-duck were rising,
disturbed by the sound of their approach. And now the snipe began to
dart skyward from under their horses' feet, filling the noon silence
with their harsh "squak! squak!"
"It's along here somewhere," said Burleson, leaning forward in his
saddle to scan the swale-grass. A moment later he said, "Look there,
Miss Elliott!"
In the tall, blanched grasses a velvety black space marked the ashes of
a fire, which had burned in a semi-circle, then westward to the water's
edge.
"You see," he said, "it was started to sweep the vlaie to the pine
timber. The wind changed, and held it until the fire was quenched at the
shore."
"I see," she said.
He touched his horse, and they pressed forward along the bog's edge.
"Here," he pointed out, "they fired the grass again, you see, always
counting on the west wind; and here again, and yonder too, and beyond
that, Miss Elliott--in a dozen places they set the grass afire. If that
wet east wind had not come up, nothing on earth could have saved a
thousand acres of white pine--and I'm afraid to say how many deer and
partridges and woodcock.... It was a savage bit of business, was it not,
Miss Elliott?"
She sat her horse, silent, motionless, pretty head bent, studying the
course of the fire in the swale. There was no mistaking the signs; a
grass fire had been started, which, had the west wind held, must have
become a brush fire, and then the most dreaded scourge of the north, a
full-fledged forest-fire in tall timber. After a little while she raised
her head and looked full at Burleson, then, without comment, she wheeled
her mare eastward across the vlaie towards the pines.
"What do you make of it?" he asked, pushing his horse forward alongside
of her mare.
"The signs are perfectly plain," she said. "Whom do you suspect?"
He waited a moment, then shook his head.
"You suspect nobody?"
"I haven't been here long enough. I don't exactly know what to do about
this. It is comparatively easy to settle cases of simple trespass or
deer-shooting, but, to tell the truth, Miss Elliott, fire scares me. I
don't know how to meet this sort of thing."
She was silent.
"So," he added, "I sent for the fire-warden. I don't know just what the
warden's duties may be."
"I do," she said, quietly. Her mare struck solid ground; she sent her
forward at a gallop, which broke into a dead run. Burleson came pounding
along behind, amused, interested at this new caprice. She drew bridle at
the edge of the birches, half turned in her saddle, bidding him follow
with a gesture, and rode straight into the covert, now bending to avoid
branches, now pushing intrusive limbs aside with both gloved hands.
Out of the low bush pines, heirs of the white birches' heritage, rabbits
hopped away; sometimes a cock grouse, running like a rat, fled, crested
head erect; twice twittering woodcock whirred upward, beating wings
tangled for a moment in the birches, fluttering like great moths caught
in a net.
And now they had waded through the silver-birches which fringed the
pines as foam fringes a green sea; and before them towered the tall
timber, illuminated by the sun.
In the transparent green shadows they drew bridle; she leaned forward,
clearing the thick tendrils of hair from her forehead, and sat
stock-still, intent, every exquisite line and contour in full relief
against the pines.
At first he thought she was listening, nerves keyed to sense sounds
inaudible to him. Then, as he sat, fascinated, scarcely breathing lest
the enchantment break, leaving him alone in the forest with the memory
of a dream, a faint aromatic odor seemed to grow in the air; not the
close scent of the pines, but something less subtle.
"Smoke!" he said, aloud.
She touched her mare forward, riding into the wind, delicate nostrils
dilated; and he followed over the soundless cushion of brown needles,
down aisles flanked by pillared pines whose crests swam in the upper
breezes, filling all the forest with harmony.
And here, deep in the splendid forest, there was fire,--at first nothing
but a thin, serpentine trail of ashes through moss and bedded needles;
then, scarcely six inches in width, a smouldering, sinuous path from
which fine threads of smoke rose straight upward, vanishing in the
woodland half-light.
He sprang from his horse and tore away a bed of green moss through which
filaments of blue smoke stole; and deep in the forest mould, spreading
like veins in an autumn leaf, fire ran underground, its almost invisible
vapor curling up through lichens and the brown carpet of pine-needles.
At first, for it was so feeble a fire, scarcely alive, he strove to
stamp it out, then to smother it with damp mould. But as he followed its
wormlike course, always ahead he saw the thin, blue signals rising
through living moss--everywhere the attenuated spirals creeping from the
ground underfoot.
"I could summon every man in this town if necessary," she said; "I am
empowered by law to do so; but--I shall not--yet. Where could we find a
keeper--the nearest patrol?"
"Please follow me," he said, mounting his horse and wheeling eastward.
In a few moments they came to a foot-trail, and turned into it at a
canter, skirting the Spirit Water, which stretched away between two
mountains glittering in the sun.
"How many men can you get?" she called forward.
"I don't know; there's a gang of men terracing below the lodge--"
"Call them all; let every man bring a pick and shovel. There is a guard
now!"