"I?" He turned to her with his smile of the eyes. "Why, I was in the
caboose. The coupling broke and separated the rest of the train from
the engine. It was the closest shave I ever had."
"And you never told me."
"The greatest devastator is the frost," he said after a moment. "It
drives the wedge ready for the heavy rains. But I remember a place on
the Snoqualmie that has been crossed by an avalanche of snow. It has
left a clean-swept track through the timber, and the trees, hurled with
incredible force, block the river from bank to bank. It's the most
terrible jam ever heard of. You know the place, Eben?"
But the settler answered only with a gentle nod. He sat with his chin
on his breast, holding his empty pipe on his knee. Martha nudged him,
but he slept placidly on.
Alice lifted her glance once more to the shadowy slope. Presently she
began to sing in a sweet undertone, "The Day Is Done." And after the
first measure Forrest took up the song, and the two voices, rising,
swelling, started a refrain from cliff and spur. The last echo drifted
and died in a far canyon. A great hush rested on the wilderness. There
was a soft illumination on a high peak, then every crest and shoulder
was silvered by the rising moon.
The song was followed by many; the parts of old operas which they had
been accustomed to sing with her sister and Philip, on winter evenings
in Judge Kingsley's parlor, or in summer time becalmed aboard the
_Phantom_. And at last it was Schubert's "Serenade."
Forrest rose to his feet and stood with his arms resting on the top of
the trunk behind her. This song had always been a favorite; they sang
it well together. But a new personality crept into the familiar tones;
an awakened sadness. And the romance of the place, the mystery of night
and the near heavens, gave setting to his part and spoke for him.
She took up the song, but it became suddenly, for the first time, too
difficult to sing. Her notes faltered and broke. He finished the part
alone.
*CHAPTER IV*
*"THER BIGGEST COWARD IN THER WOODS"*
Forrest was lying on his blanket, his feet to the camp-fire, hands
clasped under his head, his wakeful face raised to the near stars. An
arm's-length from him Myers slumbered, audibly. Stillness rested on the
small white tent. But presently his horse tramped uneasily, pulling on
his picket rope, and the young man rose and went over to him. "So,
Colonel," he said softly, "restless, too, are you? Steady, now, steady,
we'll work it off, old fellow, so."
He found the bridle and, mounting without a saddle turned up the lofty
slope. The horse flung his head, and with some airy stepping by the
white tent, set himself willingly to the ascent. The firelight, as he
passed, brought out the silver star between his intelligent eyes, the
one marking, from the tips of his sensitive ears to his nimble hind
feet, in a handsome, jet-black coat.
The settler stirred and rose on his elbow with an inquiring "Hello!"
And Forrest called back, "I'm just going up to the summit for another
look around, and to try to shape a course for the day's tramp."
Myers laughed and settled back comfortably to his blanket. "I 'low," he
told himself, yawning, "he ain't likely ter see much more'n fog."
Half way up the hill Forrest halted, breathing his horse on a level
spur, and looked down over the tops of the firs. "It's a natural town
site," he said aloud; "and when the country opens it's bound to be a
mining center. There's a fortune in that water power, but I should set
up my own stamp mills there at the falls, and build cottages for the men
to the right on that knoll. And meantime--meantime--what an Eden it
would make." He turned with a quick upward lift of his head. "Come,
Colonel, come," he said, "we must keep a tighter rein. It's summer now,
and she isn't over the novelty; but it won't last through the first
September rains. Even if she loved me--I could never ask her to bury
herself up here in the wilderness; her--with her ideals and dreams, and
all those nice, luxurious ways."
He rode on in silence. The moon paled; there were no longer stars, and,
as he reached the summit and looked eastward, he saw the first streak of
light broadening and toning to green on the horizon. The peaks and
shoulders of the Cascades loomed against it purplish black, but all
their base, the valleys, foothills, sank in a white fog that lifted
slowly to meet the dawn. The sky warmed to yellow; a far spur flushed.
He felt the rising moisture in the air, drew a damp breath. A belt of
high cloud crimsoned, and he saw nothing more.
The fog closed in, billow on billow, flooding the canyon, lapping the
ledge where he stopped. Then for a moment the white sea parted, and the
granite tower hung tilting over the abyss. It stood solitary, like a
lighthouse on a stormy coast, and in another instant was blotted out.
He dismounted, and with his hand on his horse's neck, his hat pushed
back, stood watching these waves, flowing, separating, rolling together,
rushing out. "And it's something you can't grapple with, or put down,"
he said at last. "You've got to push into it, blind, or wait for it to
break. It's like the future. That's it; I could give a year or two to
the grind at Freeport, easily enough, if I was only reasonably sure.
But it's all a chance. A chance that no other man will stumble on my
find, or want this section, or the water power, a chance,--" he began to
smooth the black's mane gently,--"a chance, old boy, that she will care
enough for me, some day, to wait for me."
The defiance faded from his face. He took his lariat coil, and seating
himself on a rock, allowed the horse to go the length of the rope,
seeking a scant forage. Presently he breathed a whistle; it settled
into a definite tune:
[Illustration: Music fragment]
He went over it again and again, with variations that were not the notes
of a flute, nor yet of a thrush but something of each and more; an
expression so sweet, so tender, so full of subtlety, that you must have
guessed the meaning even though you had never heard the words of the
song.
He broke off finally and sat for a long interval looking absently into
the fog. When he started to his feet a brisk wind was blowing and
overhead the mist was like pulverized gold. "Come, Colonel," he said,
"we must get out of this; I can't afford to wait any longer and you must
put me back in camp inside an hour."
But suddenly, as he turned his horse, picking up the thread of trail
which on rock and heather was repeatedly lost, a broad shaft of sunshine
struck the hilltop, and directly the crest of Mt. Rainier rose like a
phantom from the rushing sea. Then everywhere, through the fog that
parted and closed, and parted again like a rent curtain in the wind,
dome and pinnacle gleamed opal or rose in the full glory of the morning.
And the sun went with him down the slope, touching the higher spurs, the
tops of the firs, and finally the small white tent in the open, and the
edge of the dense undergrowth that followed the watercourse.
Myers welcomed him with a long "Hello," and the teacher waved her hand
and stood for a moment watching him as he wound down between the great
boles, then she turned her attention to the broiling trout which she
herself had caught below the falls. The soft flush of the early morning
was on her cheek; its sparkle was in her eyes.
But during breakfast he had little to say to her; he seemed more
interested in the settler and his views of homestead and pre-emption
rights, timber laws and government surveys.
"I 'low," said Eben, "you ain't countin' on takin' up ord'nary land,
yourself? You're jest huntin' fur a gold mine."
"There's nothing I would like better than to find and open up my lost
prospect," answered Forrest, "but, if I could spare the time now,
to-day, I should file on this section, right here in the heart of the
red firs. It's the best vacant piece I know of."
"Do you mean," asked Alice, with awakened interest, "that you would
homestead it, like any settler?"
"Yes; and put a timber filing on the quarter adjoining to take in those
fine old trees up the slope. It's one of the best stretches of red fir
in the whole Washington forest."
"But," she said thoughtfully, "there is plenty of fine standing timber
close to the Sound, where transportation to the lumber mills is easy;
here it would be a tremendous problem."
"True, and I shouldn't think of spoiling this park for years. It's just
a good section to hold for the future. And, well, I'm fond of the place;
I shall be sorry to know any other man has taken possession."
"I see," she said after a moment, "I see. And of course you would
secure the water power at the same time. And while you lived here you
would be close at hand to carry on your prospecting, perhaps
development."
"Yes, that's what I've wanted to do, but"--he shook his head and looked
at her with his smile of the eyes,--"that position at the Freeport mills
was too good to refuse; and if I do find my mine, it's going to call for
capital at the start. I can't expect to interest other money until I am
able to make some sort of a showing."
He rose to his feet and stood looking off to a high shoulder of the
hills. Then, presently, he and Eben were starting on their tramp, the
day of search for the lost prospect. The sun fell in long shafts
between the boughs and her glance followed him from light to shade.
Martha also, standing a few steps away, looked in the same direction,
her head bent a little forward, her knotted fingers shading her anxious
eyes.
"Ther ain't many like him," she said at length, dropping her hand.
"No," answered the teacher, absently, "no; walking or riding, it's a
pleasure to watch him. He is so strong, so self-reliant and yet
so--kind; in every way he is the finest man I know. He stands alone."
"I meant Eben," said Martha with her shadowy smile. She paused, watching
the teacher's face, for she flushed hotly to the ears. "He's
good-looking, an' he's got consider'ble grit when he gets started. He's
always a plannin' an' a studyin', but he ain't ever hed er show. Ef he
hed, I don't s'pose I'd ever a got him."
"I'm sure," said Alice warmly, "Mr. Myers himself won a great prize.
Why, you plow, sow, reap; you milk and drive the herds. You carry on
the whole farm. He never could do without you."
"He always 'lowed I was a good worker," and Martha turned to gather up
the breakfast things.
Presently the teacher asked, "With a clear trail, about how long would
it take to ride from here to the schoolhouse?"
"Why, I jedge you could do it in erbout five hours. It's roundabout,
you see, an' you'd hev ter go clear to our place an' ercross."
"But with a new branch cut directly through?"
"Land, you could do it in half ther time, an' take er stepper like
Colonel, he could make it in two hours, or likely one an' er half."
The teacher began to walk back and forth through the open. Her hands
were clasped loosely behind her, she looked off absently through the
trees, and her swift thoughts alternately clouded and brightened her
speaking face. After a while she approached Forrest's picketed horse.
He lifted his head from the luscious grass and she stood for a moment
smoothing his ruffled mane. "If we only could do it," she said softly,
"if we only could, Colonel; it would pay your hire."
Later, while they were walking to the river, she, herself, displayed a
sudden interest in homestead laws, gathering from Mrs. Myers both small
and valuable detail as to the methods of clearing land and building a
cabin.
Martha found a seat below the falls and took out her knitting, a sock
for Eben, while the teacher chose a place a little down-stream and
opened her sketchbook. She began to outline the cataract, but she
studied the perspective less and less and finally not at all. Then for
an idle interval she leaned on the boulder at her elbow and looked
dreamily up through the great park. When she bent again to her work,
behold, the torrent was but a background for a figure, young, well-knit,
in short sack coat and trousers bound in leggins. And so engrossed was
she in producing those strong lines of brow and chin, the quiet,
searching, humor-haunting eyes, the mouth severe yet tender, that she
did not know that Martha had risen quickly, and stood listening with her
alert gaze searching the jungle directly behind her. She was only
roused by the close snapping of a branch and a sudden sense of peril.
She started to her feet, dropping the book, and faced the thicket. The
color went from her lips. There, in a tangle of hazel, tawny, handsome,
with swaying tail and brilliant eyes fixed on her, stood a well grown
cougar.
The next instant Martha reached her side. She had caught up from the
ground a stout bough, and she swung it, thrust it at the brute,
shouting. Alice, quick to grasp the expedient, armed herself with
another fallen branch. The beast gave back a step, another, and the two
women pressed him slowly, cautiously. At length he turned and slunk
reluctantly away into the timber.
"Ef Eben hed left ther gun," said Martha, wiping the perspiration from
her face, "it 'ud saved us consider'ble bother. But I jedge we best get
back ter the open an' hev er look at ther horses."
Alice stood with her eyes fixed on the point where the cougar had
disappeared. Her breast heaved with deep, quick breaths and she still
grasped her heavy hemlock bough with both hands. At last she dragged
her gaze away and met Martha's serious glance. She could not speak but
her spirit rose and recognized in silent tribute, the great soul of the
pioneer.
Martha put her shoulder to an encroaching bough and led the way back to
the stream. Presently she stooped and picked up the sketchbook, and,
having smoothed the leaves, gave it to the artist. Then Alice said
slowly, "I shall always remember--as long as I live--what you did."
"Oh, land," and Martha smiled, "it wa'n't much ter do. An' a cougar's
ther biggest coward in ther woods. He wouldn't dast ter tech er man,
lest he was cornered or hungry; but I 'low he hed er pretty good chanct
when he kem ercross you."
A little farther on she possessed herself of her dropped knitting, and,
having gained the path, she moved towards camp, setting her needles and
picking up lost stitches. But her knotty fingers worked mechanically;
they trembled slightly, and her anxious eyes repeatedly swept the
jungle. She knew that a cougar, hunting, does not so easily abandon his
quarry. Though cautious, hesitating, he trails his game for hours,
constantly preparing for, while he is diverted from an attack. She also
knew that, like the human coward, once assailed and cornered, he becomes
a fury.
In the open they found Ginger standing with hoofs planted like a figure
in stone; but the black, in his terror, had circled and recircled the
alder to which he was tied, winding his lariat, and, reduced to an
arm's-length of rope, he made short and frenzied plunges to break free.
Suddenly he stopped, dragged back the limit of the line, and stood
trembling.
Instantly Martha understood. She ran forward, dropping her knitting,
and picked up another bough. The cougar had reached a vine maple a few
rods from the black. She saw his tawny body outstretched on the great
curving branch of the parted bole. "Pile them pieces o' spruce on ther
fire," she said coolly. "Make er smoke. Then slack up Colonel's rope
an' get him back behind it."
She stepped between the horse and the cougar, again lifting the heavy
limb, swinging it, thrusting it, but avoiding direct contact with the
beast, and renewing her shouts. Before she had finished her directions
Alice had caught up a resinous branch and thrown it on the embers. It
crackled noisily and sent out a great cloud of smoke, which the wind,
setting from the river, carried directly into the eyes and nostrils of
the panther. He began to retreat, snarling, along the maple. Presently
he dropped to the ground, and while Martha pressed him, step by step,
the girl, who had succeeded in loosening the lariat, urged the horse
around the fire.
Again the cougar turned and disappeared. Colonel was finally picketed
near the old cedar trunk, and they piled fresh boughs on the fire, still
pursuing the panther with thick, pungent smoke. Then they rested,
gathering themselves, in the brief reprieve, for his certain return.
The black, less panic-ridden, continued to listen or tug at his rope.
The other horse began to browse. The suspense pressed. Then, suddenly,
a rifle shot startled the solitudes. And while the two women stood
marking the puff of smoke, which rose a few yards off, there came a
clamor of snarls. Two hounds slunk through the underbrush into the open
and waited, shaking. A second report rang through the hills, then, the
cries having ceased, one of the dogs plucked up courage and sounded a
clarion. After a moment his mate returned into the thicket, alert,
cautious, feeling ground. The first hound crept in his wake, and
directly their baying, multiplied as by a score of throats, filled the
wood.
The dogs were Laramie's, and the women followed them, seeking their
master, but the hunter was Mose. The cougar was stretched in his death
throes before him, on a bed of trampled fern and broken boughs.
"Saprie," he exclaimed as the teacher approached, "if I ees have dat gun
of Laramie's I doan' have some trouble to keel heem de firs' shot. But
dis gun dat Yelm Jim ees lend to me, he ees buy long tam 'go to de
Hudson Bay Companee; an' for sure dey ees sell heem one no 'count Injun
gun."
"Oh," said Alice, her voice shaking, "it was a grand shot--Mose. And
you--you came--just--in time."
"Monjee, Mees, ees it dis cougar ees give you some trouble, a'ready?"
She could not speak again directly; she could only nod her head,
affirmatively. But Martha smiled grimly. "Wal, yes," she said; "he's
be'n er trailin' us, off 'n on, fur a good spell; an' Eben, he's
prospectin' down ther canyon with ther rifle."
"So," said Mose, "so, but it ees good t'ing I come 'long den. You see
dose dogs ees track me las' night to Yelm Jim's cabane, an' I ees keep
dem to hunt some mowitch to-day. Dey ees fine dogs for trail de deer,
ya-as, but A'm mooch shame how dey ees scare' of dis cougar. Cultus
Pichou." He paused to cuff aside one of the snuffing hounds. "So you
ees come back now, hey? You ees have de brave heart now dat you ees see
dis cougar ees be keel. Nawitka, Mees, you doan' have to be some more
'fraid. Dis sacre cougar," and he thrust his foot against the lax body,
"he ees sure 'nough dead."
They went back to the open, but in a little while, when Mose had been
shown the maple where the cougar had crept in ambush, and the clump of
hazels where he had first appeared, the boy returned to secure the pelt.
Martha joined him, but Alice stopped at the old cedar trunk and sank
down into its chairlike arms. On a log near her Mrs. Myers had left the
provision bag, and not far from it, against a fir, Mose had stood the
musket. She felt a security in the gun and in having him within call,
and she closed her eyes, relaxing her strained muscles and nerves.
She was roused by some moving body in the underbrush, and she started up
instantly, at tight tension once more. A man was retreating from the
open into the jungle, riverward. He looked back, scowling over his
shoulder at her, and she recognized the shaggy, unkempt head and gaunt
face of Slocum. The next moment he was gone, and with him had
disappeared the food supply and Yelm Jim's musket.
She ran, calling Mose, and met him returning with the pelt. But there
was nothing he could do. It was useless, unarmed, to trail the
trespasser. He stood staring in the direction the man had taken; the
color glowed in his cheeks. He dropped the skin in a heap on the ground
and clenched his hands, slowly, twice, as he had the day at school when
Laramie struck him. But his volubility died. The Indian in him wakened
and effaced the White. His lips set in a thin line; his face became a
mask through which his eyes only flamed heat. Presently he turned and
stalked swiftly away, towards the settlement. He stopped once to
whistle the dogs, but when Alice followed him, calling him back, it was
as though he had not heard.
"Oh," she said, returning to Martha, "Yelm Jim will blame him. He may
punish him, cruelly."
"Land, no," answered Martha. "Ef it hed be'n Laramie's gun, I 'low Mose
'ud get licked in an inch o' his life, but Yelm Jim ain't goin' ter
blame him. He's more likely ter watch fur a good chanct to take it
out'n some white man. Don't matter who, long's he's white."
She went over and picked up the cougar skin and spread it on the earth,
showing it from tip to tip. "Mose took him here in the shoulder," she
said, "an' his second shot fixed him right atween ther eyes. Measures
'bout nine feet."
But the teacher had turned away. She went back to the cedar stump and
stood leaning weakly on it, looking off in the direction of the canyon.
It seemed very far off.
Presently Martha joined her. She had prepared a pointed stick by
holding it in the fire, and the end of it still smouldered. "I'm goin'
down-stream ter dig wapato," she said. "Them two prospectors is goin'
ter be terrible hungry when they get back, an' it'll taste pretty good."
Alice had seen this edible root, which is a favorite food among the
Indians; it grew in profusion along the watercourse. "I will go with
you and help," she said, "unless I had better stay to watch the horses."
Martha stood a thoughtful moment looking at the black. "I dunno," she
said, "how Dick Slocum kem to leave Colonel. He hed er mighty good
chanct to take er horse that 'ud carry him out er ther country, easy.
But he was mighty scared o' makin' er noise, an' got erway in er
terrible hurry. I jedge he didn't 'low ther was only one gun in ther
crowd; he hedn't located Eben an' ther rifle."
But evidently the outlaw had located the rifle, for, lifting her keen
eyes Martha discovered Forrest, the gun in the curve of his arm, coming
swiftly down the glade. His glance swept the open anxiously, as he
approached, but at sight of the girl, unharmed, the tense lines softened
in his face. "I thought I heard a shot," he said, and his look again
searched the place for the hunter; "I fixed it at about here. But I see
I was mistaken. The truth is," he shook his head, smiling at his folly,
"I got it into my head that you needed me. I couldn't think of anything
else. You see you were so incautious yesterday, at the river; then,
too, I blamed myself for leaving you without the protection of Eben's
rifle. And I had forgotten to give you your book. You dropped it
yesterday at the canyon, and I was afraid the time would drag without
anything to read."
He drew the little volume from his pocket, and flushing, conscious of
the shallowness of his excuse, looked off, riverward.
"I jedge," said Martha briefly, "ef you head right off fur ther river,
up-stream, you kin hit Dick Slocum's trail. He's jest gone off 'ith ther
rations, bag an' all. Keep ther rifle handy; he's took Mose Laramie's
gun."
Then for the first time Forrest looked straight at the girl. The line
drew black between his brows. He saw that her face was grimy with smoke
and moisture; that the hand which had taken the book was scratched,
bruised, stained. "Slocum? Then I did hear a shot." His voice was
quiet, but it took a new quality, the streak of iron outcropping in the
man. "He did not offer to touch you?"
"No, oh, no." She swayed a little on her feet; it was difficult to find
words. "The shot you heard was Mose's. He--"
But that was enough. Forrest was off, pushing swiftly towards the
river, picking up the fugitive's trail. Martha followed him a short
distance, then turned down-stream. It was not her way to wait in
idleness for the chance rescue of the provision bag, and she began
industriously to dig the wapato. Presently she selected a more stubborn
plant and dropped to her knees. "He kem back jest ter bring that ther
book," she said slowly, thrusting the sharpened stick deep into the
earth, "an' mebbe ther rifle. Lost 'bout half er day's prospectin'.
An' he 'lowed he only hed one ter spare. Ef it don't beat all."
But the complete day was lost. The rich ledge, of which he had once
found strong indications, remained locked in that secret passage of the
hills for any chance comer to stumble upon. The search for Slocum also
proved fruitless. Even Myers, who sauntered into camp an hour after
Forrest, to learn what kept the young prospector, failed to trail the
outlaw beyond a rocky point half a mile up-stream, where he presumably
had taken advantage of low water to push up the gravelly bars of the
river bed.
The two searchers returning met near camp. "I jedge," said Eben dryly,
"ther next time we count on doin' any prospectin', we'll leave ther
women folks ter home."
Forrest made no answer and the settler put his shoulder to a clump of
alders and pushed through. The late sun, slanting between the branches,
was in his eyes, but across the open he saw his wife at the camp-fire,
preparing her dish of wapato. "I dunno," he added, "but what Marthy's
er pretty good hand ter have erlong sometimes. An' I 'low ef she hed hed
ther rifle she'd er fetched that ther cougar. Marthy's er mighty fine
shot."
"Cougar?" repeated Forrest, "what cougar?"
Eben stopped and looked back. "Didn't they tell you 'bout that cougar?
Mose kem erlong an' killed him; they was keepin' him off with bresh.
An' Mose was takin' ther pelt when Slocum sneaked in an' lit out with
his gun."
Forrest asked no more. He pushed by Myers into the open, and stumbled
over something damp and soft that clung to his shoes. It was the skin;
the hairy side, turned back at the end where he had tripped, was of the
tawny, unmistakable color familiar in those days to every woodsman on
Puget Sound.
Alice was coming across the grass to meet him. He moved back a step,
steadying himself with one hand on an alder. His whole young, well-knit
body shook. "Alice," he said, and his voice rang, deepened, and broke.
"Alice--what happened?"
"Nothing--" she looked at the skin,--"Mose killed him. Nothing
happened. But Paul,--it was the closest--" she laughed a little,
bravely--"'_the closest--shave--I ever had._'"
*CHAPTER V*
*STRATTON'S WAY*
"Yes, sir, he's ther great tyee, an' I've hed him spotted sence spring."
Lem waded a few steps to a flat rock under the bank and seated himself
disgustedly. "An' I hed him hooked, an' er clawin' fur all he was worth
in er riffle, 'ithout 'nough water ter carry him over, when you kem
poundin' up ther trail an' scared him clear outn his skin. Picked
hisself up like er reg'lar grasshopper an' got erway 'ith er bran' new
line."
"Too bad." Stratton checked his restless horse and sat looking down at
the boy with his mocking smile. "But here is the price of the best
tackle to be had at Yelm Station. Better luck next time."
Lem caught the piece of silver and studied it closely.
"Oh, gee!" he began but clapped his hand over his mouth, and put the
coin swiftly away into his pocket. He sprawled out on the rock and
trailed the toes of one bare foot sensuously in the stream, regarding
the rider with a sidelong look that said plainly, "I bet you want
somethin' o' me."
"I suppose," said Stratton, "that Miss Hunter, the teacher, has gone
home?"
"Naw." Lem cast up his eyes with a grim smile. "She stopped ter write
er letter to her sister after school; takes her a good spell, an' I kem
on erhead to wait round here at ther creek. She ain't needin' me so
much on ther trail sence ther timber-cruiser left his horse fur her."
"The timber-cruiser?" repeated Stratton. "I see, you mean Forrest. And
he left the black for her use?"
"You bet; ther ain't nothin' half-way 'bout him; an' I 'low he thinks
when it kems to ther schoolmarm ther ain't nothin' too good fur her."
"Yes?" Stratton checked his horse again, watching the boy quizzically.
"What grounds have you for believing that, Jonathan?"
"My name's Lemuel; you kin call me Lem fur short." He paused long
enough to give the correction weight, then said, "I dunno. He ain't
ther kind ter make much show, but I bet ther roots strikes deep. An'
ma, she calc'lates he thinks ther sun 'bout rises an' sets in ther
school-marm."
"Yes?" repeated Stratton dryly. "Well, I should not wonder. Your
mother is a shrewd and practical judge."
"Dad," the boy continued, warming to his subject, "he 'lowed ther
schoolmarm must have give him ther cold shoulder that time up in ther
hills. He didn't seem to care er durn 'bout losin' his hull day o'
prospectin'; never said er word, an' he'd be'n countin' on findin' that
ther lost mine o' his fur more'n er year. But ma, she jedged he was
jest all broke up on 'count o' that cougar."
Stratton had heard the story. It was one to carry far, to gather weight
with repetition, and Eben, as the settlement historian, had been
particularly glad to add it to his repertoire. There was a brief
silence, during which the rider waited, smiling a little, and Lem
thoughtfully trailed his other foot in the current, then, "Mebbe she has
took the bit in her teeth fur er spell," he went on, "but ef he jest
keeps er stiff upper lip she'll kem 'round. Er girl's bound ter show
some spirit ef she's any 'count. Er man's got ter handle her 'bout like
that ther sorrel filly of Mill Thornton's. He kin chase her all over
ther pasture fur half er day, an' she'll keep gettin' more skittish an'
shy, but ther minute he lets on he don't give er durn, an' goes an' sets
down by ther bars fur er rest, she'll kem nosin' over his shoulder,
huntin' his pockets fur sugar. Mill hisself 'lows girls is 'bout that
erway, an' he'd orter know."
"Yes? And why should he, particularly, know?"
"On 'count o' Cousin Samanthy. Ther hull settlement's be'n calc'lating
what she'll do 'bout Mill, fur ther last year."
"And who is Cousin Samantha?"
"Land, don't you know? Her dad owns that ther ranch down ter the
prairie, close ter Yelm Station. Likely she was tendin' Post Office, ef
it was train time, when you kem past."
"Yes, yes, she was." Stratton laughed softly, and allowed his horse to
pace down into the stream. "So that pretty coquette I saw at the
Station is your cousin. Well, well."
"You bet. I 'low she's pretty 'nough, an' sassy, too, as ther Lord
makes 'em. An' she always lets on she thinks er sight more o' that
there sorrel filly than she does o' Mill."
Stratton laughed again, and the chestnut splashed on through the ford
and trotted up the opposite bank. A little later he stopped at the
schoolhouse, and the young man dismounted and went up to the open door.
The teacher was there, writing at her desk. She looked up, and, seeing
him on the steps, continued her paragraph. She had thought over that
chance meeting at the canyon a good many times, wondering at Forrest's
behavior, yet assuring herself that his reason was just; it gathered
weight since he had not been able to give her an explanation. Paul was
not a man of moods; it was his way to see any man's best until he had
strong proof of his other side. Still, this stranger was so
interesting, so polished, so well accoutered, so altogether different
from any she had met on the Nisqually trail, or for that matter,
anywhere, it was a pity there should be something objectionable in the
way of knowing him. She told herself this while she wrote her signature,
and folding the sheet, fitted it in an envelope, which she sealed and
addressed before she again raised her eyes.
He waited, watching her, smiling a little, interested, but embarrassed
not at all. "Now may I come in?" he asked.
She did not answer, but she rose from her chair, and surprised, holding
her head high, stood with the lovely color coming and going in her face,
while he walked up the aisle.
"I am sure, Miss Hunter," he said, "that you must have heard all about
me by now. I know your sister so well; but I have somewhere,"--he felt
in one pocket, then another,--"the necessary introduction from the
Captain, your brother-in-law. Ah, here it is."
So he had a letter from Philip. Of course that changed the situation.
She could not be rude to him, but--she _would be careful_. And his
manner in presenting the note was after all irreproachable. He had at
once the grace of a Southerner, and the unhurried pose of an English
gentleman; there was, too, the touch of an accent in his deliberate
speech, at times almost a drawl, that made her wonder if it had been
inherited, with his long black lashes, from a French or perhaps Spanish
mother.
"Of course," she said, "I am always glad to meet my sister's or the
Captain's friends. You must have come directly from him; perhaps you
have seen her lately."
"Yes, I saw them both in Olympia the day before yesterday. In fact your
sister made me the bearer of a good many messages to you. I wish I
could remember them all. But, most important, she is coming out,
herself, to see you within a week. The Captain is getting an outfit
together for a trip to Mt. Rainier, and he hopes, if you can arrange for
a short vacation, to take you and Mrs. Kingsley as far, at least, as the
warm springs."
"Oh," she said, and the coolness dropped from her face like a broken
mask, "it will be lovely. Lovely. I knew he would let me go. And I
can arrange a week of vacation; the directors have been considering it,
for the older boys are needed through harvest."
"Then," he said, and his own face seemed to catch and reflect the light
in hers, "I am doubly glad that the Captain has asked me to complete the
party."
Her position on the edge of the platform brought her eyes almost on a
level with his, and she met his look for a steady, searching,
questioning instant. "Lem is waiting for me at the creek," she said,
and went down and took her hat from its peg on the wall.
*CHAPTER VI*
*MOSE*
Yelm Jim sat brooding in his lodge. He was wrapped in his blanket and
an old campaign hat shaded his eyes from the fire, which was kindled on
the packed earth floor, and found partial vent through an opening in the
roof, around which hung haunches of drying venison and bear. The squaw
Clak-la-sum-kah was cooking bread, an unleavened mixture of flour and
water, in a frying-pan over the coals. At the same time she watched
some fine trout, which were suspended from a rod set in forked stakes
above the embers. Mose, who had caught these fish, lounged on a couch
that, built of shakes, extended along three sides of the room, and was
furnished with woven mats of ribbon grass or the bast of cedar. The wall
behind him also was covered with this fabric, which was of the color of
ripened maize.
It was one of those intervals when the boy, having incensed his father,
sought refuge with his mother's people while Laramie's wrath cooled. At
such times the Indian in Mose effaced the white. He bound his head in a
crimson handkerchief, and wrapped himself in a blanket, which
Clak-la-sum-kah had adorned with many buttons for her grandson's use.
He looked a true Klickitat, straight as a young hemlock, lithe as a
nearly grown cougar in the woods. His face was a bronze oval, sharply
chiseled, and he had the eyes of a hawk. He recalled to the old chief
his own youth, when, having a different and much hyphened name, he had
been a leader among the young braves of the powerful Yakima nation
beyond the Cascades; when, hunting the buffalo, he had crossed the
Rockies and skirmished with the Blackfeet, or, exacting tribute from
weaker neighbors, had driven home numberless horses to pasture on the
vast Palouse plains. He found in the boy an appreciative and tireless
listener when he recounted these past glories, and he painted them
brilliantly, in sharp contrast to the colorless present. Mose had no
brave companions, no followers in the hunt, no tribe.
And the whites were responsible for this; they only were to blame. Not
the Hudson Bay men, who, trading for furs, brought guns and many useful
things to the Indians, but the "Bostons," who came at the first to rob
them of their country. From the beginning the Yakimas had understood
and opposed them, and, when at last a thousand warriors had crossed the
Cascades to fall on the white settlements of the salt water, Yelm Jim
had been among them. They had met defeat, and he, himself, had spent
breaking years in the strong house of the "Bostons," and at the end of
his captivity he had found himself poor and forgotten and another tyee
raised in his place. For this reason the old chief had not returned to
his people, but had buried himself in the forest.
But already the white settlers pressed hard on his retreat; axes, the
rasp of saws, their shrill voices scattered the deer. He must go
farther and farther in search of grouse that once had nested almost at
his door; and now, since Slocum had robbed Mose of the musket, the old
chief must set laboriously to work and shape the miserable arrow points
of agate.
When Yelm Jim thought of this final outrage he drew yet more fiercely at
his pipe, and in the shadow of his ragged hatbrim his brows beetled and
gloomed. It was not the right moment for young Kingsley to darken the
doorway.
One of Laramie's hounds, which had again tracked Mose, sprang up
growling, but at a word from the boy settled back whimpering, with his
nose between his paws. His mate, snuffing suspiciously, moved to the
intruder's feet.
His familiar "Clahowya," said in a big, frank voice, startled the lodge
and the first dog belled a note.
"Clahowya," he repeated. "Hello."
Still no answer except a longer note from the hound.
The young man stopped in the entrance and took off his hat, using it
slowly as a fan. His close-cropped hair clung in damp, blond waves to
his shapely head. The tan of a brief outing had not spoiled his unusual
fairness; his face in the shadows was white, but his black eyes gathered
depth and brilliancy.
"I think you are the young fellow I'm looking for," he said, addressing
the indifferent boy on the couch. "It's dark to one coming in from the
sunlight, and that blanket and handkerchief hardly tally with the
description I had of you, but you must be Mose."
The boy regarded the trout which the squaw was turning. "Nawitka," he
said.
"You are? Well then, Mose, I want you to guide us to Mt. Rainier." He
paused, but the boy was silent and the old chief continued to draw
deeply at his pipe. "You understand," he went on, "we are going to the
mountain and want you to show us the way. If the weather stays fine I
mean to try for the summit. Nika cumtux?" And he repeated in Chinook
with an elaborate gesture, "Copa si-yah top."
Mose expressed his appreciation of the man's attempt at the language in
a fleeting smile, but he made no reply. Yelm Jim also was silent, but he
drew yet more furiously at his pipe.
"Let him go with us," continued Kingsley, addressing the chief, "and you
shall have that pair of brown blankets you were so interested in
yesterday, at the camp."
Still another pause. "If he goes with me up the mountain you can have
all my blankets, the tents, the whole outfit, when we come back," added
Kingsley.
Then Clak-la-sum-kah rose from her squatting posture by the fire and
said in her vehement guttural, "Wake, wake. Mose wake clatawa. Wake
clatawa copa si-yah illahee. Tyee Sahgalee hyas solleks. Hy-as
solleks. Mose wake clatawa."