A SHOT THAT TOLD
The life at Big Draw mining camp on Scupper Creek did not appeal to
Reynolds. He watched the men at work upon their various claims, and
noted how meagre was their success. They toiled like slaves, lured on
by the hope of a rich strike that never came. The principal place of
meeting was the roadhouse, where "Shorty" Bill held sway. He lodged
men, served meals, and conducted a bar. He was a good-hearted fellow,
rough and uncouth, but well liked by all, and a genial companion. It
was, therefore, but natural that at this place many of the men should
congregate at night, and at times during the day, for a brief respite
from their labors. It was here, too, that news would occasionally
drift in from the outside world, which would be discussed by the men as
they played cards, the only amusement for which they seemed to care.
When the mail arrived, as it did at irregular intervals, all work on
the creek was suspended, and the men flocked to the roadhouse to
receive their scanty dole of letters and papers. Shorty was the
custodian of the mail after its arrival, and he magnified his office.
With a quid of tobacco tucked away in his cheek, he would study each
address most carefully before calling forth the owner's name in a
stentorian voice.
Although mining was not in his line, Reynolds realised that he must do
something. As he studied the life of the camp, and watched the men at
their work, he thought of his friend, the editor. What an article he
might write for _The Telegram_ that would make the editor's eyes dance
with joy. And he could do it, too, he felt certain, if he could only
get up sufficient energy. He could add a number of sketches drawn from
life, which would be of much value. He thought of all this as he
wandered aimlessly around, and as he lay at night in his little tent.
Several days thus passed without anything being done. Frontier Samson
had again disappeared, and no one had any idea where he had gone.
Reynolds soon grew tired with having nothing to do, so he accordingly
turned his attention to the hills. Fresh meat was urgently needed for
the camp, as the miners would not spare the time to go after it
themselves. Wild sheep roamed the mountains, and Reynolds decided that
he could make more money by supplying the camp with meat than digging
for the uncertain gold. It would also satisfy his desire to get away
into the wilds, where he could explore to his heart's content the
mysteries of the foothills, the great valleys, and the vast expanses of
wild meadows.
Reynolds at once put this plan into execution, and each morning he left
camp for a day in the hills. At night he returned, loaded down with a
mountain sheep he had bagged, and which he readily sold for several
ounces of gold. When not hunting, he would spend his time either
exploring some creek or lying on the hillside studying the scenery
around him, and imbibing impressions for the masterpieces he planned to
produce.
But it was not always the beauties of nature which occupied his mind.
No matter where he went Glen was ever with him. In some mysterious
manner she seemed to be near, and he wondered if he should ever see her
again. He often looked away to the east, for there Frontier Samson had
told him she lived. How far off was the place? he asked himself, and
if he did find her what would her lion of a father do? He was tempted
to make the try, anyway, and find out for himself if Jim Weston was as
desperate a character as he had been painted. He could do no more than
kill him, and he did not fear death. Had he not often faced it on the
field of battle, and why should he shrink now?
The more Reynolds thought about this, the more inclined he became to
make the effort. It would be another grand adventure to once again go
over the top. He might fail, but he would have the satisfaction of
making the attempt and showing Glen that he was not a coward. He had
been longing for some wild undertaking, and here was the opportunity
right at hand. It would be far more preferable than spending his time
around camp, or even hunting mountain sheep.
He was thinking seriously of this one beautiful afternoon as he lay on
the side of a deep ravine beneath a big weather-beaten fir tree.
Below, a brook gurgled, now very small owing to the dryness of the
season, but at times swollen by floods into a raging torrent. Across
this ravine the mountain rose steep and rugged. Along its side a
narrow trail wound, worn smooth by the feet of Indians, mountain sheep,
and other denizens of the wild. Reynolds idly wondered whither the
trail led, and he was half tempted to start forth on an exploration
journey. But it was so comfortable there on the hillside that he gave
up the idea, so, lying full upon his back with his hands under his
head, he watched the tops of the far-off mountains, and the clouds
drifting across the great savannas of the blue.
For some time he remained thus, thinking of Glen and recalling the last
time he had seen her. He was trying once more to solve the mystery of
her disappearance from Whitehorse, when a sudden noise across the
ravine arrested his attention. Casting his eyes in that direction,
great was his surprise to see a woman mounted on a magnificent horse
riding slowly down that crooked and dangerous trail. Then his heart
leaped within him as he recognized Glen. What was he to do? he
intuitively asked himself. Should he remain where he was, or hurry
down to the brook to meet her? But what right had he to go near her?
He had never spoken a word to her, and as she did not even know who he
was, she might resent his appearance. Would it not be better for him
to remain where he was, and worship at a distance? But was it
gentlemanly that he should stay there and watch her when she was
unaware of his presence?
And all this time Glen was coming slowly down that winding trail.
Reynolds watched her almost spell-bound. She was a superb horsewoman,
and rode as one born to the saddle. How graceful was her figure, and
how perfectly the noble animal she was riding responded to the lightest
touch of the rein as he cautiously advanced. Reynolds could see the
girl most plainly now. She sat astride the saddle, with the reins in
her right hand, and a small riding-whip in the other. She wore
buckskin riding-breeches, a khaki-colored blouse, open at the throat,
and a soft felt hat of the same color. The sleeves of her blouse were
rolled up to her elbows, thus exposing her strong, supple arms. All
this Reynolds quickly noticed, and he believed that he had never before
beheld a more beautiful picture of true virile womanhood.
The horse was jet-black, and although walking on such a perilous and
difficult trail, it was easy to tell at the first glance that it was a
splendid thoroughbred. The animal's carriage showed not only pride in
bearing such a beautiful rider, but a full sense of its responsibility
as well. Fine were its proportions, reminding Reynolds more of some
victor of the race-track than the rough and hardy cayuses of the north.
And even as he looked and wondered from whence such a pair of creatures
had so unexpectedly come, the horse gave a terrified snort, threw up
its head, and recoiled back upon its haunches. The cause of this
fright was at once apparent, for around a huge boulder a large hear had
suddenly made its appearance. Reynolds saw at a glance that it was a
grizzly, the most formidable animal of the north, and the terror of the
trails. Although greatly startled at meeting the horse and its rider,
the bear had no idea of retreating. They were blocking his lordly
advance and it made him angry. Its coarse savage growl sawed the air
as it moved menacingly forward.
All this Reynolds noted as he kneeled upon the ground, firmly clutching
his rifle with both hands. Beads of perspiration stood out upon his
forehead as he watched the scene across the deep gulch. The horse was
rearing wildly, and backing slowly up the trail. There was no room to
turn around, so with remarkable coolness and self-control the fair
rider was keeping him pressed close to the bank and face to face with
the on-coming grizzly. At any instant the horse might disregard the
guiding hand as well as the friendly words of encouragement, and in mad
terror attempt to swerve suddenly around, and thus hurl itself and
rider into the yawning abyss below.
All this passed through Reynolds' mind with lightning rapidity, and he
realised that there was not a moment to lose. The bear was advancing
more rapidly now, and in a twinkling he might hurl his full weight of
eight hundred pounds of compact flesh, bone and muscle upon horse and
rider. But ere it could do this, Reynolds brought the rifle to his
shoulder, took a quick, steady aim, and fired. The bullet sped true
and pierced the bear's body just back of its powerful right shoulder.
The great brute stopped dead in its tracks. It swayed for an instant,
and then with a roar that drove the recoiling horse almost frantic with
terror, it leaped sideways and plunged down the precipice, carrying
with it a small avalanche of rocks, earth, and rattling stones.
Reynolds watched the bear until it had plowed its way to the ravine
below, where it remained a confused and motionless heap. Then a smile
of satisfaction over-spread his face as he lowered his rifle and lifted
his eyes to the trail above. The girl had the horse under control now,
and was urging him slowly down the narrow way. But the animal's fear
was most apparent, for he was advancing very timidly, his whole body
quivering with excitement. The fair rider, however, seemed perfectly
at ease, and not the least disturbed at what had just happened.
After she had passed the spot where the bear had first appeared, she
reined up the horse and looked across to where Reynolds was standing
watching her most intently. Waving her band in friendly salutation,
she called aloud:
"Come on over."
The young man obeyed with alacrity. He sped down the hill, leaped
across the narrow stream, and hurried up the trail. He was panting
heavily when he reached the girl's side, and the perspiration was
streaming down his face. She looked at him curiously, and her eyes
danced with merriment.
"Do you always do that?" she questioned.
"Do what?" Reynolds asked in reply.
"Hustle like that at a woman's call?"
"I never did so before, simply because I never had the chance. This is
a new experience to me."
The girl looked at him steadily for a few seconds. Then she smiled and
held out her hand.
"I wish to thank you for what you have done for me to-day," she naïvely
told him. "I am certain you saved my life. My, that was a great shot
you made!"
Reynolds took her hand in his, and a thrill of joy swept through his
body. It was not a soft hand, but brown and firm as if accustomed to
toil. Her eyes met his and there was something in her look which
aroused the noblest within him. It was an expression of admiration,
almost hero-worship, and confidence. It said to him, "I know I can
trust you, for you are worthy. You are different from most men in this
region. Why are you up here?"
"I am glad that I happened to be near," Reynolds replied. "I was
merely resting and enjoying the scenery when you and the bear appeared.
You must be more careful in the future, as I might not be around."
The girl gave a merry laugh, and brushed back a wayward tress of hair
that had drifted temptingly over her right cheek.
"I forgot to bring my gun," she explained, "and so the bear had me at
its mercy. It is always the way, isn't it? Something is sure to
happen when you are not prepared."
"And do you always ride alone in such dangerous places?" Reynolds asked.
"Oh, yes," and again the girl smiled. "Midnight and I know the trails
well, don't we, old boy?" and she affectionately patted the horse's
sleek neck. "But we came farther to-day than usual. But it was worth
it, though, just to see that shot you made. Won't daddy be interested
when I tell him about it."
"It was nothing much," Reynolds replied, although the sudden flush
which mantled his face told Glen that he was pleased at her words of
praise. "I am used to shooting brutes. In fact, it was my special
work for several years."
"Grizzlies?" the girl queried.
"Worse than grizzlies, and far more ugly, crafty, and brutal."
"My, I never heard of such creatures," and the girl's eyes grew big
with astonishment.
"Oh, I guess you have," and Reynolds smiled. "They raise and train
them in Germany. I met them in France."
"What! were you over there?" Glen's interest and admiration were
intense now.
"Yes, almost from the beginning of the war. I was a sharpshooter, you
see, and so had excellent practice."
"Oh!" It was all the girl said, but it thrilled the young man's very
soul, and when his eyes again met hers a sudden embarrassment came upon
him.
"Do you live here?" he unexpectedly asked.
This question aroused Glen, and she at once assumed the defensive. The
expression in her eyes changed, and she looked apprehensively around.
"A long way from here," she replied. "I must be off at once."
"Let me go with you, Miss Weston," Reynolds suggested. "You are
unarmed, and may meet another grizzly before you reach home."
"How do you know who I am?" the girl asked. "You never saw me before,
did you?"
"We travelled up the coast together on the _Northern Light_," Reynolds
explained. "I was the one who drew the captain's attention to that
canoe when the fog-bank lifted. You remember that, I suppose."
"Indeed I do, and too well at that. I wish that the fog had not lifted
just then. Your eyes were too sharp that morning."
"But the men in the canoe were not sorry, though. They seemed to be
mighty glad to be picked up."
"It is too bad that the fog lifted when it did," and the girl gave a
deep sigh.
"You know the men, then?"
"Only one, but he is enough."
"I saw you with him at the dance. I suppose he is the one you mean."
"Where is he now?" There was a note of sternness in the girl's voice.
"At Big Draw. Any message I can take to him?"
The girl's face underwent a marvellous change. It was like the sweep
of a cloud over a sunny landscape. She touched Midnight with her whip,
and he sprang forward. Down the trail he clattered at a reckless gait,
and when he had reached the level below his rider swung him sharply
around. Then he bounded upward, and when near to where Reynolds was
standing, Glen pulled him up with a sudden jerk.
"There is no message," she announced. "Why have you misjudged me? Are
all men alike? Thank you for what you did for me to-day. Good-by."
She again lifted her whip and it was about to fall upon Midnight's
flank when Reynolds stepped forward and laid his right hand upon the
horse's bridle.
"Forgive me," he pleaded. "I meant nothing. I was merely joking.
Perhaps I understand more than you realise. May I accompany you home?
It is not safe for you to travel alone, unarmed as you are, in a place
like this."
"No, no, you must not come," the girl protested. "It is much safer for
me than it would be for you. Never cross the Golden Crest. I have
warned you, so remember."
Again she touched her whip to Midnight, who leaped forward up the steep
trail, pleased to be away from the place where he had received such a
fright. Only once did the girl look back to wave a friendly hand to
Reynolds ere a sharp turn in the trail hid her from view.