Days passed.
Every morning Helen awoke with a wondering question as to what this
day would bring forth, especially with regard to possible news from her
uncle. It must come sometime and she was anxious for it. Something about
this simple, wild camp life had begun to grip her. She found herself
shirking daily attention to the clothes she had brought West. They
needed it, but she had begun to see how superficial they really were.
On the other hand, camp-fire tasks had come to be a pleasure. She had
learned a great deal more about them than had Bo. Worry and dread
were always impinging upon the fringe of her thoughts--always vaguely
present, though seldom annoying. They were like shadows in dreams. She
wanted to get to her uncle's ranch, to take up the duties of her new
life. But she was not prepared to believe she would not regret this wild
experience. She must get away from that in order to see it clearly, and
she began to have doubts of herself.
Meanwhile the active and restful outdoor life went on. Bo leaned more
and more toward utter reconciliation to it. Her eyes had a wonderful
flash, like blue lightning; her cheeks were gold and brown; her hands
tanned dark as an Indian's.
She could vault upon the gray mustang, or, for that matter, clear over
his back. She learned to shoot a rifle accurately enough to win Dale's
praise, and vowed she would like to draw a bead upon a grizzly bear or
upon Snake Anson.
“Bo, if you met that grizzly Dale said has been prowling round camp
lately you'd run right up a tree,” declared Helen, one morning, when Bo
seemed particularly boastful.
“Don't fool yourself,” retorted Bo.
“But I've seen you run from a mouse!”
“Sister, couldn't I be afraid of a mouse and not a bear?”
“I don't see how.”
“Well, bears, lions, outlaws, and other wild beasts are to be met with
here in the West, and my mind's made up,” said Bo, in slow-nodding
deliberation.
They argued as they had always argued, Helen for reason and common sense
and restraint, Bo on the principle that if she must fight it was better
to get in the first blow.
The morning on which this argument took place Dale was a long time in
catching the horses. When he did come in he shook his head seriously.
“Some varmint's been chasin' the horses,” he said, as he reached for his
saddle. “Did you hear them snortin' an' runnin' last night?”
Neither of the girls had been awakened.
“I missed one of the colts,” went on Dale, “an' I'm goin' to ride across
the park.”
Dale's movements were quick and stern. It was significant that he chose
his heavier rifle, and, mounting, with a sharp call to Pedro, he rode
off without another word to the girls.
Bo watched him for a moment and then began to saddle the mustang.
“You won't follow him?” asked Helen, quickly.
“I sure will,” replied Bo. “He didn't forbid it.”
“But he certainly did not want us.”
“He might not want you, but I'll bet he wouldn't object to me,
whatever's up,” said Bo, shortly.
“Oh! So you think--” exclaimed Helen, keenly hurt. She bit her tongue to
keep back a hot reply. And it was certain that a bursting gush of anger
flooded over her. Was she, then, such a coward? Did Dale think this
slip of a sister, so wild and wilful, was a stronger woman than she? A
moment's silent strife convinced her that no doubt he thought so and
no doubt he was right. Then the anger centered upon herself, and Helen
neither understood nor trusted herself.
The outcome proved an uncontrollable impulse. Helen began to saddle her
horse. She had the task half accomplished when Bo's call made her look
up.
“Listen!”
Helen heard a ringing, wild bay of the hound.
“That's Pedro,” she said, with a thrill.
“Sure. He's running. We never heard him bay like that before.”
“Where's Dale?”
“He rode out of sight across there,” replied Bo, pointing. “And Pedro's
running toward us along that slope. He must be a mile--two miles from
Dale.”
“But Dale will follow.”
“Sure. But he'd need wings to get near that hound now. Pedro couldn't
have gone across there with him... just listen.”
The wild note of the hound manifestly stirred Bo to irrepressible
action. Snatching up Dale's lighter rifle, she shoved it into her
saddle-sheath, and, leaping on the mustang, she ran him over brush and
brook, straight down the park toward the place Pedro was climbing. For
an instant Helen stood amazed beyond speech. When Bo sailed over a big
log, like a steeple-chaser, then Helen answered to further unconsidered
impulse by frantically getting her saddle fastened. Without coat or hat
she mounted. The nervous horse bolted almost before she got into the
saddle. A strange, trenchant trembling coursed through all her veins.
She wanted to scream for Bo to wait. Bo was out of sight, but the deep,
muddy tracks in wet places and the path through the long grass afforded
Helen an easy trail to follow. In fact, her horse needed no guiding. He
ran in and out of the straggling spruces along the edge of the park, and
suddenly wheeled around a corner of trees to come upon the gray mustang
standing still. Bo was looking up and listening.
“There he is!” cried Bo, as the hound bayed ringingly, closer to them
this time, and she spurred away.
Helen's horse followed without urging. He was excited. His ears were up.
Something was in the wind. Helen had never ridden along this broken end
of the park, and Bo was not easy to keep up with. She led across bogs,
brooks, swales, rocky little ridges, through stretches of timber and
groves of aspen so thick Helen could scarcely squeeze through. Then
Bo came out into a large open offshoot of the park, right under the
mountain slope, and here she sat, her horse watching and listening.
Helen rode up to her, imagining once that she had heard the hound.
“Look! Look!” Bo's scream made her mustang stand almost straight up.
Helen gazed up to see a big brown bear with a frosted coat go lumbering
across an opening on the slope.
“It's a grizzly! He'll kill Pedro! Oh, where is Dale!” cried Bo, with
intense excitement.
“Bo! That bear is running down! We--we must get--out of his road,”
panted Helen, in breathless alarm.
“Dale hasn't had time to be close.... Oh, I wish he'd come! I don't know
what to do.”
“Ride back. At least wait for him.”
Just then Pedro spoke differently, in savage barks, and following that
came a loud growl and crashings in the brush. These sounds appeared to
be not far up the slope.
“Nell! Do you hear? Pedro's fighting the bear,” burst out Bo. Her face
paled, her eyes flashed like blue steel. “The bear 'll kill him!”
“Oh, that would be dreadful!” replied Helen, in distress. “But what on
earth can we do?”
“HEL-LO, DALE!” called Bo, at the highest pitch of her piercing voice.
No answer came. A heavy crash of brush, a rolling of stones, another
growl from the slope told Helen that the hound had brought the bear to
bay.
“Nell, I'm going up,” said Bo, deliberately.
“No-no! Are you mad?” returned Helen.
“The bear will kill Pedro.”
“He might kill you.”
“You ride that way and yell for Dale,” rejoined Bo.
“What will--you do?” gasped Helen.
“I'll shoot at the bear--scare him off. If he chases me he can't catch
me coming downhill. Dale said that.”
“You're crazy!” cried Helen, as Bo looked up the slope, searching for
open ground. Then she pulled the rifle from its sheath.
But Bo did not hear or did not care. She spurred the mustang, and he,
wild to run, flung grass and dirt from his heels. What Helen would have
done then she never knew, but the fact was that her horse bolted after
the mustang. In an instant, seemingly, Bo had disappeared in the gold
and green of the forest slope. Helen's mount climbed on a run, snorting
and heaving, through aspens, brush, and timber, to come out into a
narrow, long opening extending lengthwise up the slope.
A sudden prolonged crash ahead alarmed Helen and halted her horse. She
saw a shaking of aspens. Then a huge brown beast leaped as a cat out of
the woods. It was a bear of enormous size. Helen's heart stopped--her
tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. The bear turned. His mouth was
open, red and dripping. He looked shaggy, gray. He let out a terrible
bawl. Helen's every muscle froze stiff. Her horse plunged high and
sidewise, wheeling almost in the air, neighing his terror. Like a stone
she dropped from the saddle. She did not see the horse break into the
woods, but she heard him. Her gaze never left the bear even while she
was falling, and it seemed she alighted in an upright position with her
back against a bush. It upheld her. The bear wagged his huge head from
side to side. Then, as the hound barked close at hand, he turned to run
heavily uphill and out of the opening.
The instant of his disappearance was one of collapse for Helen. Frozen
with horror, she had been unable to move or feel or think. All at once
she was a quivering mass of cold, helpless flesh, wet with perspiration,
sick with a shuddering, retching, internal convulsion, her mind
liberated from paralyzing shock. The moment was as horrible as that
in which the bear had bawled his frightful rage. A stark, icy, black
emotion seemed in possession of her. She could not lift a hand, yet all
of her body appeared shaking. There was a fluttering, a strangling in
her throat. The crushing weight that surrounded her heart eased before
she recovered use of her limbs. Then, the naked and terrible thing was
gone, like a nightmare giving way to consciousness. What blessed relief!
Helen wildly gazed about her. The bear and hound were out of sight, and
so was her horse. She stood up very dizzy and weak. Thought of Bo then
seemed to revive her, to shock different life and feeling throughout all
her cold extremities. She listened.
She heard a thudding of hoofs down the slope, then Dale's clear, strong
call. She answered. It appeared long before he burst out of the woods,
riding hard and leading her horse. In that time she recovered fully,
and when he reached her, to put a sudden halt upon the fiery Ranger, she
caught the bridle he threw and swiftly mounted her horse. The feel of
the saddle seemed different. Dale's piercing gray glance thrilled her
strangely.
“You're white. Are you hurt?” he said.
“No. I was scared.”
“But he threw you?”
“Yes, he certainly threw me.”
“What happened?”
“We heard the hound and we rode along the timber. Then we saw the
bear--a monster--white--coated--”
“I know. It's a grizzly. He killed the colt--your pet. Hurry now. What
about Bo?”
“Pedro was fighting the bear. Bo said he'd be killed. She rode right up
here. My horse followed. I couldn't have stopped him. But we lost Bo.
Right there the bear came out. He roared. My horse threw me and ran off.
Pedro's barking saved me--my life, I think. Oh! that was awful! Then the
bear went up--there.... And you came.”
“Bo's followin' the hound!” ejaculated Dale. And, lifting his hands to
his mouth, he sent out a stentorian yell that rolled up the slope, rang
against the cliffs, pealed and broke and died away. Then he waited,
listening. From far up the slope came a faint, wild cry, high-pitched
and sweet, to create strange echoes, floating away to die in the
ravines.
“She's after him!” declared Dale, grimly.
“Bo's got your rifle,” said Helen. “Oh, we must hurry.”
“You go back,” ordered Dale, wheeling his horse.
“No!” Helen felt that word leave her lips with the force of a bullet.
Dale spurred Ranger and took to the open slope. Helen kept at his heels
until timber was reached. Here a steep trail led up. Dale dismounted.
“Horse tracks--bear tracks--dog tracks,” he said, bending over. “We'll
have to walk up here. It'll save our horses an' maybe time, too.”
“Is Bo riding up there?” asked Helen, eying the steep ascent.
“She sure is.” With that Dale started up, leading his horse. Helen
followed. It was rough and hard work. She was lightly clad, yet soon she
was hot, laboring, and her heart began to hurt. When Dale halted to
rest Helen was just ready to drop. The baying of the hound, though
infrequent, inspirited her. But presently that sound was lost. Dale said
bear and hound had gone over the ridge and as soon as the top was gained
he would hear them again.
“Look there,” he said, presently, pointing to fresh tracks, larger than
those made by Bo's mustang. “Elk tracks. We've scared a big bull an'
he's right ahead of us. Look sharp an' you'll see him.”
Helen never climbed so hard and fast before, and when they reached the
ridge-top she was all tuckered out. It was all she could do to get on
her horse. Dale led along the crest of this wooded ridge toward the
western end, which was considerably higher. In places open rocky ground
split the green timber. Dale pointed toward a promontory.
Helen saw a splendid elk silhouetted against the sky. He was a light
gray over all his hindquarters, with shoulders and head black. His
ponderous, wide-spread antlers towered over him, adding to the wildness
of his magnificent poise as he stood there, looking down into the
valley, no doubt listening for the bay of the hound. When he heard
Dale's horse he gave one bound, gracefully and wonderfully carrying his
antlers, to disappear in the green.
Again on a bare patch of ground Dale pointed down. Helen saw big round
tracks, toeing in a little, that gave her a chill. She knew these were
grizzly tracks.
Hard riding was not possible on this ridge crest, a fact that gave Helen
time to catch her breath. At length, coming out upon the very summit
of the mountain, Dale heard the hound. Helen's eyes feasted afar upon
a wild scene of rugged grandeur, before she looked down on this western
slope at her feet to see bare, gradual descent, leading down to sparsely
wooded bench and on to deep-green canuon.
“Ride hard now!” yelled Dale. “I see Bo, an' I'll have to ride to catch
her.”
Dale spurred down the slope. Helen rode in his tracks and, though she
plunged so fast that she felt her hair stand up with fright, she saw him
draw away from her. Sometimes her horse slid on his haunches for a
few yards, and at these hazardous moments she got her feet out of the
stirrups so as to fall free from him if he went down. She let him choose
the way, while she gazed ahead at Dale, and then farther on, in the hope
of seeing Bo. At last she was rewarded. Far Down the wooded bench she
saw a gray flash of the little mustang and a bright glint of Bo's hair.
Her heart swelled. Dale would soon overhaul Bo and come between her and
peril. And on the instant, though Helen was unconscious of it then,
a remarkable change came over her spirit. Fear left her. And a hot,
exalting, incomprehensible something took possession of her.
She let the horse run, and when he had plunged to the foot of that slope
of soft ground he broke out across the open bench at a pace that made
the wind bite Helen's cheeks and roar in her ears. She lost sight of
Dale. It gave her a strange, grim exultance. She bent her eager gaze to
find the tracks of his horse, and she found them. Also she made out the
tracks of Bo's mustang and the bear and the hound. Her horse, scenting
game, perhaps, and afraid to be left alone, settled into a fleet and
powerful stride, sailing over logs and brush. That open bench had looked
short, but it was long, and Helen rode down the gradual descent at
breakneck speed. She would not be left behind. She had awakened to a
heedlessness of risk. Something burned steadily within her. A grim, hard
anger of joy! When she saw, far down another open, gradual descent, that
Dale had passed Bo and that Bo was riding the little mustang as never
before, then Helen flamed with a madness to catch her, to beat her in
that wonderful chase, to show her and Dale what there really was in the
depths of Helen Rayner.
Her ambition was to be short-lived, she divined from the lay of the land
ahead, but the ride she lived then for a flying mile was something that
would always blanch her cheeks and prick her skin in remembrance.
The open ground was only too short. That thundering pace soon brought
Helen's horse to the timber. Here it took all her strength to check his
headlong flight over deadfalls and between small jack-pines. Helen lost
sight of Bo, and she realized it would take all her wits to keep from
getting lost. She had to follow the trail, and in some places it was
hard to see from horseback.
Besides, her horse was mettlesome, thoroughly aroused, and he wanted a
free rein and his own way. Helen tried that, only to lose the trail and
to get sundry knocks from trees and branches. She could not hear the
hound, nor Dale. The pines were small, close together, and tough. They
were hard to bend. Helen hurt her hands, scratched her face, barked her
knees. The horse formed a habit suddenly of deciding to go the way he
liked instead of the way Helen guided him, and when he plunged between
saplings too close to permit easy passage it was exceedingly hard on
her. That did not make any difference to Helen. Once worked into a
frenzy, her blood stayed at high pressure. She did not argue with
herself about a need of desperate hurry. Even a blow on the head that
nearly blinded her did not in the least retard her. The horse could
hardly be held, and not at all in the few open places.
At last Helen reached another slope. Coming out upon canuon rim, she
heard Dale's clear call, far down, and Bo's answering peal, high and
piercing, with its note of exultant wildness. Helen also heard the bear
and the hound fighting at the bottom of this canuon.
Here Helen again missed the tracks made by Dale and Bo. The descent
looked impassable. She rode back along the rim, then forward. Finally
she found where the ground had been plowed deep by hoofs, down over
little banks. Helen's horse balked at these jumps. When she goaded him
over them she went forward on his neck. It seemed like riding straight
downhill. The mad spirit of that chase grew more stingingly keen to
Helen as the obstacles grew. Then, once more the bay of the hound and
the bawl of the bear made a demon of her horse. He snorted a shrill
defiance. He plunged with fore hoofs in the air. He slid and broke a way
down the steep, soft banks, through the thick brush and thick clusters
of saplings, sending loose rocks and earth into avalanches ahead of him.
He fell over one bank, but a thicket of aspens upheld him so that he
rebounded and gained his feet. The sounds of fight ceased, but Dale's
thrilling call floated up on the pine-scented air.
Before Helen realized it she was at the foot of the slope, in a narrow
canuon-bed, full of rocks and trees, with a soft roar of running water
filling her ears. Tracks were everywhere, and when she came to the first
open place she saw where the grizzly had plunged off a sandy bar into
the water. Here he had fought Pedro. Signs of that battle were easy to
read. Helen saw where his huge tracks, still wet, led up the opposite
sandy bank.
Then down-stream Helen did some more reckless and splendid riding. On
level ground the horse was great. Once he leaped clear across the brook.
Every plunge, every turn Helen expected to come upon Dale and Bo facing
the bear. The canuon narrowed, the stream-bed deepened. She had to slow
down to get through the trees and rocks. Quite unexpectedly she rode
pell-mell upon Dale and Bo and the panting Pedro. Her horse plunged to a
halt, answering the shrill neighs of the other horses.
Dale gazed in admiring amazement at Helen.
“Say, did you meet the bear again?” he queried, blankly.
“No. Didn't--you--kill him?” panted Helen, slowly sagging in her saddle.
“He got away in the rocks. Rough country down here.”
Helen slid off her horse and fell with a little panting cry of relief.
She saw that she was bloody, dirty, disheveled, and wringing wet with
perspiration. Her riding habit was torn into tatters. Every muscle
seemed to burn and sting, and all her bones seemed broken. But it was
worth all this to meet Dale's penetrating glance, to see Bo's utter,
incredulous astonishment.
“Nell--Rayner!” gasped Bo.
“If--my horse 'd been--any good--in the woods,” panted Helen, “I'd not
lost--so much time--riding down this mountain. And I'd caught you--beat
you.”
“Girl, did you RIDE down this last slope?” queried Dale.
“I sure did,” replied Helen, smiling.
“We walked every step of the way, and was lucky to get down at that,”
responded Dale, gravely. “No horse should have been ridden down there.
Why, he must have slid down.”
“We slid--yes. But I stayed on him.”
Bo's incredulity changed to wondering, speechless admiration. And Dale's
rare smile changed his gravity.
“I'm sorry. It was rash of me. I thought you'd go back.... But all's
well that ends well.... Helen, did you wake up to-day?”
She dropped her eyes, not caring to meet the questioning gaze upon her.
“Maybe--a little,” she replied, and she covered her face with her hands.
Remembrance of his questions--of his assurance that she did not know
the real meaning of life--of her stubborn antagonism--made her somehow
ashamed. But it was not for long.
“The chase was great,” she said. “I did not know myself. You were
right.”
“In how many ways did you find me right?” he asked.
“I think all--but one,” she replied, with a laugh and a shudder. “I'm
near starved NOW--I was so furious at Bo that I could have choked her. I
faced that horrible brute.... Oh, I know what it is to fear death!... I
was lost twice on the ride--absolutely lost. That's all.”
Bo found her tongue. “The last thing was for you to fall wildly in love,
wasn't it?”
“According to Dale, I must add that to my new experiences of
to-day--before I can know real life,” replied Helen, demurely.
The hunter turned away. “Let us go,” he said, soberly.