He helped her over rough places and up the steep climbs. Hand in
hand they ran down the slopes like two children out for play; their
merry laughter ringing out, forgetful of the recent dangers through
which they had passed; forgetful, too, of perilous possibilities
before them. It was enough that the day was fresh, the sun was
shining, their strength renewed, and they were together. Each was
occupied most with the fact of the other and the day.
They ate their berries before the heat of the noon was fully come,
and hurried on. But Holt could see that his companion was growing
weary, for the excitement of the night before had left her shaken,
and more and more she faltered and leaned heavily upon him up the
hills. Then he found a quiet resting place under some trees and bade
her sleep, and while she slept he hovered not far away.
He found a pool where by a skill he had long practised he could catch
some very small fish; and with due patience he at last secured enough
to make a meal. Then with infinite pains and his knowledge of
woodcraft, he accomplished a fire once more and cooked the fish, so
that when she awoke there was dinner spread under a tree--broiled
fish, with clear water from the brook to drink.
Holt was in a hurry to get on, for he was growing uneasy about the
direction they were taking. It seemed as if they were off the
regular line of habitation and travel. Was it possible he had turned
too much to the north and was set to enter the desert at the most
remote and lonely part, where they might travel for days without
meeting anyone?
He changed the direction slightly and they started on again, the
young man watching the sun anxiously from time to time. And now he
kept the girl's arm, touching her elbow lightly to be ready with help
when it was needed. Often he drew her arm within his own and fairly
lifted her over hard places; and so they came to higher ground and
looked out before them once more. The sun was lower now, and growing
redder as it went down with premonition of the night. The man could
see that the girl's steps were slower, and that her face was pale
with weariness, though she said not a word and plodded cheerfully on
by his side. He could see that she looked anxiously about on all
sides whenever they came to the higher ground, and knew that she was
thinking all this time of her mother.
The fair, weary face and bright, determined countenance touched his
heart deeply, and brought out all the latent tenderness in his
nature; and there arose in him a great longing to help her that made
him wonder at himself.
At last as they reached another slight elevation he looked to the
west and to his relief saw a small house with horses and cattle
moving about in the fields. He showed it to her and her eyes lighted
with joy.
"Oh, that is so good! I was worried, for I know I'm a burden. You
would have gone the distance twice if you had been alone."
His hand touched her arm more reverently close. "I am glad I was not
alone," he said earnestly. "And I'm glad you were not alone."
She looked up to meet his eyes and there leaped from each to the
other a wonderful realization of the beauty of the companionship they
had held that day.
"Yes, I am glad I was not alone," she said with deep feeling, "for,
oh, it would have been dreadful! And this has been--beautiful," she
finished, and wondered at herself for speaking so freely. Then each
was suddenly silent at the appalling realization that the free
companionship of the day was almost at an end. They were coming to
the world of convention and form again, where words and actions were
weighed and motives questioned. There had been nothing of that here,
for necessity and common peril had blotted them out of existence for
the time, and it had been blessed. Now the thought came
simultaneously to both. Would they ever see one another again and be
friends?
The way wound down into a ravine, and the heavy growth of trees
shadowed the path. It was rough and he guided her tenderly,
respectfully, as one might guide a little child one loved. She felt
his care in every step she took, and her heart responded gratefully
to his gentleness. Her own father could not have been more
thoughtful; and there was nothing familiar or presuming in his touch.
He might have been a mother, the tenderness he showed. Perhaps Jean
felt it more because she was so very tired, and realized her lonely
position now that night was coming on again.
In the valley they came to the bank of a stream, deep and turbulent;
and standing upon its brink, looking either way, there seemed no
possible ford. How deep it was they could not guess, but there was
plainly a strong current.
Holt stood a moment, surveying the barrier to their progress, walked
a few steps up the bank and down, and looked up at the westering sky.
Then he deliberately walked out into the stream.
The girl on the bank caught her breath but said nothing. Must they
swim across? Was there no other way? She watched Holt standing,
strong and manly, in the middle of the stream, the water above his
waist. Presently, when he had gone more than half way across he
turned and came back to her.
She was white with excitement, but her lips were set and her eyes
were bright with the intention of doing his bidding.
"I am sorry. There is no other way, and we must hurry, for the sun
is getting low. We should reach that house before dark."
He stooped and gathered her in his strong arms, lifting her shoulder
high, and stalked out into the stream before she knew what he was
doing.
"Oh, please, I can walk as well as you," she deprecated.
"Put your arms around my neck, please," he commanded, and waded in,
holding her high and dry above the water.
She obeyed instantly, in trust and shy wonder, and the water rose
about them, but did not touch her.
Once, when they were in the middle of the stream, Holt's foot slipped
and for an instant it seemed as though he would lose his balance, but
he lifted her the higher and almost instantly recovered himself. In
a moment more they had crossed the stream, and he had set her down
upon the bank and was shaking the water from his garments as if it
were a common thing which he had done and he enjoyed it. She looked
down at herself. Not a shred of her garments was wet, while he was
drenched almost to the arm-pits.
"You are all wet!" she exclaimed, conscience-stricken.
"You wouldn't expect me to keep dry in all that, would you?" he
asked, with his eyes dancing.
Then they laughed like two children, and a frightened chipmunk ran
chattering away in the trees.
"Are you all right?" he asked solicitously. "Are you perfectly dry?"
His voice was husky with emotion and his eyes tender.
"Of course I'm dry," she answered dubiously, as if half ashamed of
the fact. "Why wouldn't I be when I'm treated like a baby? It seems
to me, you didn't quite keep to the terms of our partnership."
"This was one of the big things," he said, "only I didn't want you to
know it. To tell you the truth, I didn't know whether that stream
was fordable or not; and, besides, I knew that if you got your
clothes wet again it would hinder you in walking. Come, we must make
that house before dark. I'm hungry, aren't you? And we're pretty
sure to find bacon and corn bread at least. How does that sound?"
"Good!" she cried, laughing, and took the hand that was held out to
her. Together they ran on over the rough ground toward supper and
rest.
But the way was longer than they thought, and Holt had not been able
to calculate on the slow steps of the girl who was unused to such
long tramps, nor to going without adequate food. The sun went down
and the darkness was upon them before they were anywhere near the
little house.
Once Jean stumbled and almost fell, and a sound like a half sob came
from her throat as she clutched at his arm to save herself. It was
then he picked her up like a tired child and carried her over the
rough ground, until she protested so vigorously that he was forced to
set her down and both stopped to rest. For, indeed, Holt's own
strength was somewhat spent by this time, though he showed no outward
sign of fatigue, having been trained in a school that endures until
it drops.
By this time they felt as if they had known each other for years, tor
there is nothing like a common peril and a common need to make souls
know one another, and to bring out the true selfishness or
unselfishness of each character. Because these two had been
absolutely forgetful of self, each felt for the other a most
extraordinary attraction and reverence.
As they sat silently under the stars, resting, it came to their minds
how far from strangers they now seemed, and yet how little they knew
about each other's lives; and they felt they needed not to know
because of what each had been to the other during the night and the
day that were passed.
When they started on their way again arm in arm, they walked silently
for a time, marvelling at what the day had brought them in knowledge
of the other's fineness.
"I cannot be mistaken," thought Jean. "He is fine and noble--all
that a man ought to be. He looks as if he had never done anything
wrong, yet is strong enough to kill the devil if he would."
By this time the little house in the distance had put a light in its
window, and guided them twinklingly to its door, where three great
dogs greeted them from afar and disputed their entrance.
The house was not very large, only three rooms. A man and his wife
and some hired hands huddled around a kerosene light, the men smoking
and playing cards; the wife knitting silently in the rear.
They looked up curiously to hear the stranger's story, half
incredulous. They had not heard of any railroad accident. They
lived twenty miles from the railroad and went to town only once a
fortnight.
"This your wife?" questioned the householder of Holt.
Jean's face flamed scarlet as a new embarrassment faced her. She had
not thought of proprieties until now. Of course they existed even in
the wilderness.
Holt explained haughtily.
"H'm!" said the man still incredulous. "Any more in your party?
Wal, my woman'll take keer your woman fer t'night, an' in the mornin'
we ken talk business. Yas, I've got horses, but I need 'em." The
man looked cunningly from one to the other of the men.
Jean looked at Holt, and thought how far above these people he seemed
as he stood haughtily by the door in his wet and draggled clothing,
with the bearing of a young king.
"Oh, I can pay for the horses," said Holt, "and see that they are
returned, too, if that is what is the matter." And he pulled out a
roll of bills and threw several carelessly on the table.
"Wal, that alters the case," said the man more suavely, "of course,
fer a consideration----"
"Can we get some supper?" asked Holt, cutting him short. "We've had
very little to eat all day, and this lady is tired and hungry."
The man's wife bustled forward.
"Fer the land sake!" she exclaimed, "hungry this time o' night? We
ain't got much ready, but there was some corn bread and po'k lef from
supper, ef they'll do. The men is powah'ful eatahs."
She set out the best her house afforded, eyeing Jean's tattered silk
robe enviously between trips to the cupboard. The men went on with
their card game and Jean and Holt ate in silence. The girl was
beginning to dread the night and to wish for the silence of the
starlit world and the protection of her strong, true friend. She did
not like the look of the men who fumbled the dirty cards and cast
bold glances in her direction.
She was even more frightened when she learned the arrangements that
were to be made for the night. She was assigned to a bunk in a small
closet-like room opening from the big room in which they were all
sitting--which appeared to be kitchen, parlor and dining-room
combined, and was to be, for that night at least, sleeping room for
Holt and the other men, several rolls of army blankets being the only
visible provision made for their comfort.
Holt managed to get opportunity to whisper to her as the men were
disputing over their game while the housewife retired to the guest
chamber to "red up."
"Don't you worry," he reassured her softly. "I'll bunk across in
front of your door. You can sleep and trust me."
She flashed up at him a bright, weary smile that sent a thrill of joy
through him and made him feel that nothing in all life could be
better than to defend this girl who trusted him.
In the early rose and gold of the morning Jean awoke to the smell of
cooking ham and the sizzle of eggs frying just the other side of her
thin partition, and knew that she had slept in safety under guard of
her new found friend.
"Jasper! Jasper Holt!" said a strange sweet voice within her soul,
and she wondered at the beauty of the name and the thrill of
possession she felt in it.
Jean had a little money carefully sewed inside her clothing. It was
to have done for her whole western trip and bought gifts for the dear
ones at home before her return. Now she realized it was her fortune.
She made a bargain with the woman of the cabin for a khaki skirt and
blouse, of doubtful cut and shabby mien, but whole and clean. For
these she gave two dollars and the remains of the once treasured, but
now tattered and travel-stained silk robe she wore. And so it was as
a Western girl, in riding skirt and blouse, that she emerged from the
little closet where she had slept, but so wholly was she able to
subjugate her clothes, and so exquisitely did her flower face and
golden-brown hair set them off that they took on a style and beauty
entirely out of their nature; and their former owner stared in wonder
and sighed with envy as she beheld. It had not been the silken
garment that made this girl a queen, but her own beauty of
countenance and regal bearing; for here were her own old clothes worn
like a royal robe, making the stranger lovely as the morning.
Holt looked at the girl in startled wonder when she appeared, so trig
and sweet in her travelling garb, ready for the next stage of her
journey, and trembled with joy at the day that was before him; albeit
the end of the journey would bring sadness and parting, he knew. He
wanted to knock down the men who stared insolently, offering audible
comments on her complexion and bearing that made the swift,
frightened color come to her cheeks. He ate his breakfast in haughty
silence, sitting between Jean and one of the men, and shielding her
as far as possible from any need of conversation save with her
hostess who waited on them all and hovered admiringly round her young
guest's chair with offers of molasses and mush that were fairly
overwhelming.
"Any need fer a clergyman?" asked the ugliest of the three men,
leaning forward across the table, his knife and fork held
perpendicular each side of his plate, a large piece of ham aloft on
his fork. He gave an ugly wink at the others and they laughed
coarsely and meaningly.
"Yas, you could git the elder by goin' about ten mile out o' yer
way," added another, and devoted himself audibly to his thick cup of
muddy coffee.
Holt ignored these remarks and began asking questions of his host
about the crops and the exact location of the house with regard to
railroads, wondering meanwhile, if Jean understood their rough jokes,
and hoping she did not.
If she did she was serene with it all, and smiled her very sweetest
on her hostess, making her heart glad at the parting by the gift of a
pair of cheap, but pretty, little cuff pins that had been fastened on
the front of her travelling robe.
So they mounted and rode away, Jean like the queen of a girl that she
was, and her companion no less noble in his bearing. The joy they
felt in the day and each other was only equalled by their own shyness
in speaking of it.