My audacity stupefied him. He blinked at me with scowling forehead--at
me and at the plant--probably deeming me crazy.
"I mean it," I insisted; "I'm not fooling with you. Tell me what that
thing is, if you know, and then I'll tell you what I'm doing out here in
the wilderness."
"That's a May apple," he said, suddenly and reluctantly.
"May apple!" I gasped, my high hopes shattered and gone. "I didn't know;
I'm obliged to you."
Then I told him the object of my stay in the hills, not sparing words to
prolong my story, and ended by asking him if he had ever seen the
life-plant, ever heard of it, or ever heard of anybody that had heard of
it. He shook his head to each question, then said, emphatically:
"They ain't no sich thing!"
I knew that the Dryad was safe and away by this time, so now I came back
to the topic of the moment. Indeed, the smith had listened to my speech
with ever increasing restlessness. I think he suspected I was trying to
delay my explanation, but I doubt if he guessed the true reason for it.
"You asked me at the beginning what I was doing here, and I'm going to
tell you, and tell you the _truth_; mind you that--the _truth_. I've
never told a lie since I was old enough to know how base a thing it
was." I took two steps toward him. "You suspect me, Buck Steele, of the
lowest, most contemptible, hell-born, dastardly trick one who calls
himself a man could commit. I'm not going to put it into words, because
it's too damnably vile!"
The smith began to move forward as I spoke; short, hurried steps, like
one takes when about to spring. But whatever his impulse he checked
himself, and waited, his broad chest heaving in troubled breaths, his
face contorted, his eyes veined and bulging. I knew that I fronted a
deadly peril. I knew the man was surely insane that moment; that reason,
argument or logic could find no place in his perceptions. He had grasped
the idea that I had knowingly and willingly violated the sanctity of
this secret place, and nothing that I could say would sweep that
illusion from his disordered brain. He saw red. The blood-lust was on
him in all its primal force; in every lineament of his twisted
countenance was written the word--"kill."
A strong gust of wind tore down the glen, shuddering among the murmuring
leaves, and with its coming the gloom deepened. The shape before me
assumed a more formidable aspect in the lessened light, but I felt no
fear. I thought of my revolver--and was ashamed. Still it might serve a
purpose. It might help bring this madman to his senses. I drew it
quickly from my pocket, and holding it out in the palm of my hand, said:
"I could kill you, man; I could shoot you down, and no one would ever
guess I did it. You're bent on trouble; you're prepared not to believe
anything I say. But for this revolver I am unarmed. I am not going to
take an unfair advantage of you. See?" I broke the weapon, emptied its
chambers, then put the cartridges and revolver in separate pockets.
The act had no apparent effect. It may be the look of ferocity deepened;
certainly there was no recognition of my attempt to place our relations
upon an equal basis. Now I knew that nothing short of physical violence
would bring about a reaction to sanity, and for an instant I hesitated.
The temptation to evade the whole truth assailed me wickedly. Something
within told me that I could not cope with this giant in a personal
encounter; that death or disablement awaited the revelation I was
contemplating. The something which gave this warning also suggested the
remedy--the lie whereby I might pass Buck Steele with a whole skin and
an outraged conscience. I believe I wavered. I believe that for the
shortest time I came near to yielding, then my manhood asserted itself
in a swift rush, before Buck's words stung my blood hot.
"Go on, yo' damn sneak'n' fox!--Whur'd yo' ben w'en I seen
yo'?--Whur?--Whur?"
I stripped off my coat as I answered, for I knew there was work ahead.
And Buck laughed as I cast the garment aside; a hoarse, growling laugh
in which dwelt no note of mirth. It was simply an indication that he was
pleased with the meaning of the act; that the pagan desire to give and
take blows which possessed him would be satisfied.
"I'm going to tell you. I went to Hebron this morning, and started home
by the railroad. I don't know this country as well as you, and as I was
making my way back toward Lessie's house--for I wanted to have a word
with her--I stumbled into this place."
A malevolent grin of disbelief greeted this speech. The fellow's
insolence nettled me, but I went on.
"I heard a bird-call which I knew--which I had heard her give before. I
went to look for her. I came to the line of bushes which fringe the
pool; I was preparing to pass through them in my search for her, when
the wind blew the leaves aside and I saw----"
With a roar like a wounded bull he was on me. He had been holding
himself back for this confession. Too late I realized that I had
blundered. I might have approached the denouement more circumspectly; I
might have prepared him for things as they actually had been, instead of
allowing him, by my extreme candor, to suppose that matters were worse
than they really were. He swung his club as he rushed, and it hissed
above me. I crouched and leaped aside, striking up blindly with all my
might. I had flung my left arm out to balance myself, and the descending
club caught my wrist a slanting blow. I am sure now it scarcely more
than touched it, but an arrow of acute pain shot through my entire arm.
The bludgeon hit the earth with a force which splintered it into a dozen
pieces, and Buck wheeled more than half around, for my fist had found
his ribs. Even as he turned with a harsh, bellowing, wordless oath, I
was at him. I thrust deliberately, coolly, but with all my concentrated
power, aiming over his shoulder at his neck. He saw the stroke coming,
but, in the attitude where my former blow had forced him he could parry
but ineffectually. His shoulder went up, off and over it my fist slid
and with all the weight of my body behind it caught him on the ear. Then
back he staggered, his windmill arms waving hugely, aimlessly, his knees
wobbling, his feet slithering uncertainly over the short grass. Back and
back he went, seeming to try to stop, but couldn't, till fifteen paces
must have separated us. I did not follow him, though I suppose I should
have done so. I think I was a trifle dazed at my success, and the
spectacle of the great body of the smith moving crazily backward with
wide arms threshing the air over his head, must have unconsciously
served as a check for any further assault.
When nearly a score of yards lay between us Buck came to himself. His
arms dropped, he shook his shoulders, felt his damaged ear, now covered
with blood,--and saw me. Instantly he made ready to rush me. He
possessed to the full that instinct held by all fighting animals which
does not allow them to give up. As long as he could stand on his feet he
would do battle. I squared myself and awaited his onslaught. My
temporary advantage had not deceived me. I knew too well that chance had
a hand in the operations just concluded, and that if I ultimately
succeeded in whipping Buck Steele it would be a miraculous happening. I
saw him bend his body to advance, then earth and sky and air became
blended in one burning, blinding, deafening, fiery chaos. My eardrums
vibrated under a volume of sound such as I would not have deemed
possible; a white sword of dazzling brightness was laid across my eyes,
searing the balls and scattering a myriad colored sparks dancing and
ricocheting through my brain. Vaguely I seemed to see an oak tree back
of Buck slough its bark as a snake does its skin--shake it out and away
from its white trunk; saw it rip off its own limbs and cast them down;
saw it take its leaves by vast bunches, strip them from their hold, and
scatter them abroad like feathers. Accompanying this phenomenon I saw my
enemy sink down in his tracks. It all happened within the fractional
part of a second, for on the heels of the crash and the awful light, a
great blackness and silence settled over me.
I awoke with a quivering, indrawn breath, and knew that the little fists
of a heavy rain were pounding me in the face. Slowly my mind grasped the
situation. Struggling to my hands and knees, my arms trembling under my
weight, I looked at Buck. He lay perfectly still. He had been much
nearer the tree which had received the bolt than I, and the fear that he
was dead took hold of me. Painfully I dragged myself toward him over the
wet grass, my head buzzing and swimming, and throbbing with queer,
unnatural pains. I reached his side and grasped his wrist, sliding the
tips of my fingers back of the small bone where the pulse manifests
itself. I held my breath in fear, at once conscious of no perceptible
movement. A few moments longer I waited, but the signal of life failed
to come. Then I firmly seized the shirt where it opened at the neck, and
ripped off the remaining buttons with a quick jerk. A big, deep chest,
covered with black hair, was revealed. I know a moan came from me as I
drew my body over his, and fell across him with my ear pressed to his
heart. As I lay the pounding rain revived me more and more, the
thrumming in my head ceased, and then, muffled, weak, but real, I heard
the feeble beating of the engine of life. There was nothing I could do
for him, but I sat there and waited his return to consciousness, knowing
that it would be wrong to leave him absolutely helpless. My strength
came back momentarily, and when Buck began to stir I was capable of
standing erect. So presently I went away, realizing that his iron
constitution would quickly right him.
I did not have the heart to get dinner, but ate what cold stuff I could
find, then went to the seat under the tall pine, and thought. I was not
scared. Fright did not enter into my feelings in the smallest way,
although, when I reviewed the incident, I was confident Buck would have
worsted me had it not been for the unexpected and startling
intervention. He was unquestionably the stronger man, and had I defeated
him, it would have been due to my skill in fisticuffs. I was not a
stranger to the science of the ring, while abhorring prize-fighting. I
believe it every man's duty to himself and those he loves to equip
himself physically for life's battles. So I had trained, and kept myself
in training. But the smith had been transformed into a raging demon of a
man; his great natural power had been doubled, quadrupled, and had his
clutching hands once found me I would have fared as Carver Doone fared
at the hands of John Ridd.
I was sick at heart because of what these things which had just
transpired foretold. Would Buck voice his hellish belief in my
poltroonery to Lessie? A shiver shook me at the thought; it seemed as if
a thousand-legged worm with feet of ice was laid along my spine. Then my
neck and face burned, and my throat grew tight, so that my breath came
hard. What ailed me? Never before had such a sensation possessed me. Why
did it matter so very greatly what Buck told? I knew that I was entirely
innocent of any wrong--what else mattered? I know the good opinion of
our fellow creatures is worth striving for and maintaining, but why
should I be so concerned as to what these hill people thought of me? A
few months more and I would be gone, would never see them again in all
my life. Why--then suddenly, in the midst of my reflections the Dryad's
face swam before my mind, and I saw it as it would look when Buck,
crudely but earnestly, told her what he believed to be true. I saw the
expression on her face when she heard the hateful words; the swift,
responsive blood bathing her cheeks into red peonies--the terror and
shame in her eyes--the anguish of betrayed faith--and in that moment I
knew that I cared more for what Buck should say to Lessie than for
anything else in all the world. I got up, breathing fast, and looked out
over the great valley of billowing trees. In former days this sight had
a magical effect; it brought a sweet calm and content. This afternoon I
did not feel the response to which I was accustomed. Instead, I knew
that war was in my breast, and that every passing moment loosened a
lurking devil with a shape of fear. Peace cannot come from without when
there is strife within. Had Buck already told her? I found myself
wondering. Had he gone direct to her after he recovered, and poured out
the poisoned tale? He would do it, I felt assured. His passion had
reached a stage which not only suggested, but declared this course, and
he, rough, untrained, with no restraining leash of civilization and
refinement to hold him back, would make instant capital of his supposed
discovery to further his wooing. If I could see her first--
Down my hill of refuge I tore, bareheaded, coatless. Along the familiar
route I ran, to Dyrad's Glade, to the creek which flowed south, to the
tree spanning the creek. Midway across the tree sat the object of my
quest, fishing. A pool of some depth spread out beneath her, and here
her hook was cast. Her rod was a slender hickory pole, while a rusty tin
can at her side held her bait--the fishing-worms of our boyhood. As I
appeared she drew up and at once became engaged in impaling a fat bait
on the hook. With the greatest nonchalance she drew the wriggling thing
over the barb, and sighted me just as the operation was concluded. She
smiled, and the relief wave which swept over me threatened to inundate
me root and branch. By this I knew I had reached her first. Then, as I
climbed eagerly up, she deliberately pursed her lips and spat on that
worm!
"Hello!" she said, and cast her line.
I did not say hello, nor anything else for a time--for an appreciable
time. I felt foolish; light-headed, light-footed, light all over.
Something inside my breast seemed spreading and spreading, and I wanted
to sing--to shout insanely. This most candid confession will probably
arouse grave suspicions in the mind of the reader, but that is so much
in favor of a narrative which always sticks closely to the truth. Had I
intended to practice any deception, just here is where I would have
begun, for I realize, after writing the above, that I am laying myself
liable to almost any charge one would care to bring along the line of
general idiocy. Just why the ordinary sight of a girl on a log
fishing--a back country girl at that--should make a man of the world who
has long since left the adolescent stage behind feel like singing and
dancing and yelling, is beyond my ability to explain. Let him who reads
draw his own conclusions.
"You did that for luck, didn't you?" I asked, when I was seated tailor
fashion beside her. It had been a boyhood belief of mine; I had simply
outgrown it. She was still primitive.
She nodded, and put a finger on her lips, turning to me wide eyes of
warning. She evidently harbored the other belief that fish won't bite if
you talk. I turned to her cork--an old bottle stopper--and saw that it
was bobbing; short little ducks sideways which suggested a minnow to me.
But the Dryad was all engrossed with the prospects, and watched the
stopper's movements intently. Presently it went under in a slanting
sweep, and the pole came up promptly and vigorously. A sun perch the
size of a small leaf glinted and leaped at the end of the line.
Dexterously the girl swung her prize within reach, skilfully removed the
hook from its hold in a gill, and dropped her catch in a tin milk bucket
at her other side.
"I tol' you!" she said, triumphantly, referring to her treatment of the
worm before committing it to the stream.
At once her tapering fingers began burrowing in the dirt which half
filled the can, in search of more bait.
"Hold on, Dryad!" I whispered. "Let up on fishing a few minutes, unless
you'll allow me to talk, too. I've something to tell you. Don't you know
it seems an age since I saw you last?"
"I tol' you not to come no more," she said, eyeing me closely to see the
effect of her words.
"But you didn't believe I would stay away!" I retorted, and her face
instantly lighted with laughter. "You rogue!" I went on; "I have stayed
longer than I should as it is."
One of the quick transitions which marked her now took place, and in a
twinkling she was serious, and her eyes grew darker, as still water
changes when a cloud hides the sun.
"If Buck sees you here there'll be trouble; you'd better 'a' kep' to
Baldy."
"Buck saw me to-day, and there was trouble," I answered. "Now let me
tell you all about it."
How frightened she was, although I endeavored to speak in a
matter-of-fact way. She regarded me as though she found it difficult to
believe that I really existed after "trouble" with Buck, and her face
turned white, leaving her freckles oddly prominent. Her pole dipped,
too, so that its further end went under the water. So she sat, her hands
in her lap, her feet with the ugly, shapeless little shoes swinging, and
listened to my story. I told it with absolute truthfulness, but very
carefully, even condoning Buck's jealous frenzy. She remained very still
while I was talking, but when I came to the place where I had
inadvertently glimpsed her in the pool she dropped her head with a
short, shuddering gasp, and grew crimson. I, too, looked away then, and
tried to tell her how sorry I was of the incident, at the same time
endeavoring to make it plain that I was the victim of an accident. I did
not dwell upon the situation, but soon hurried on to my encounter with
the smith.
"I wanted you to hear just how it was," I ended; "because Buck will tell
you another story. You believe me, don't you, Dryad; and we are good
friends still, aren't we?"
I did not get an immediate reply. Her head remained sunk, and I could
not see much of her face. The portion which I saw was still flushed, but
not violently. I waited, knowing that I had stated my case as well as I
could, and believing that further argument would be dangerous. The spot
where we sat was the natural abode of silence. Now I could hear only the
gentle breath of the low wind rustling the leaves, the musical gurgle of
water, and the sweet song of a thrush hidden in the foliage to my left.
I grew restless as the silence continued: apprehensions arose, and the
sinister form of fear cast its shadow over my heart. Was she offended
past forgiveness? Had Fate prepared this trap for me to rob me of--what
was I thinking? What was this girl to me that I should wait her next
words with set teeth and softly drawn breath? That I should now behold
the wonder of her hair and the marvel of her face with inward quaking,
fearing that they might depart from me forever? That the echo of her
voice became a mocking, maddening refrain to my consciousness, and the
sorcery of her simple presence made my brain swim? This waif of the
woods; this fragment from one of the lower stratas of civilization; this
half wild, ignorant, nameless, plebeian creature--what was she to chill
my blood with the dread thought that from this meeting we went as
strangers? I cannot answer. Leave the solution to biologist or
sociologist. I only know the fact as it existed. I had rather have seen
those gray eyes flashed upon me in perfect trust that moment than to
have seen the sun rise the next morning!
What was she thinking? No movement, no sound, no sign. Like an image
fashioned of flame and snow and draped with a moss-green garment, there
she sat by my side, so close--so close. Then I knew something of what
Tantalus felt when the cool water arose just beneath his cracked and
burning lips, and receded as he bent to drink. So close I could have
drawn her to me with a sweep of my arm, but mute and changeless as
though made of stone.
Presently I could stand it no longer. I placed my palms upon the tree on
either side of me, and leaned forward.
"Dyrad--Lessie--little girl! For God's sake--speak!"
Then came the miracle.
Again she started, as from a revery rudely interrupted. Her head was
lifted quickly, gladly, and her big moist eyes gazed into mine glowing
with tender faith. I know the dawn of an eternal Day will never thrill
me as did this. I drew my face closer to hers.
"Then you--do forgive? Why were you silent so long, Dryad?"
"I's thinkin' 'bout--if Buck--ur th' light'n'--had killed you!"
"_Who-a-a-a--Lessie! Who-a-a-a--Lessie! Whur air yo'?_"
We jumped, and a revulsion of feeling which came near to suffocating me
swelled in my throat. Granf'er was coming down the winding path from the
house. He had a brown jug in one hand. He had halted to give his hail,
and an instant later Lessie was on her feet, waving her sunbonnet and
sending back a lusty yell.