A SHOT FROM THE GOLDEN CREST
Glen was greatly agitated when her father summoned Reynolds into his
presence. She felt that the critical moment had arrived, and she
dreaded what might follow. Although she loved her father, yet at times
she feared him. Suppose he should send Reynolds away at once, and
forbid his return to Glen West? He had treated others in a harsh
manner, and why should he act differently now? Her only ray of hope
lay in the thought that he had allowed the young man to stay at the
house over night, and had permitted him to sleep in the room which had
never before been occupied.
She sat for some time after Reynolds had left, with her elbows upon the
table, and her hands propping her chin. Her appetite had suddenly left
her, and her coffee remained untasted. The morning sun flooding the
room, fell upon her hair and face, and had her lover seen her then, he
would have admired her more than ever. She was in a most thoughtful
mood, and at the same time she listened intently for any sound of
strife that might come from her father's study.
At length she arose, picked up her broad-rimmed straw-hat, and went out
of doors. It was a hot morning with not a breath of wind astir. The
water was like a mirror, and the high hills were reflected in its clear
depths. It called to her now, and appealed to her as of yore, and
urged her to seek comfort upon its placid bosom.
Walking swiftly down to the wharf, she launched her light canoe, one
which had been brought in from the outside for her own special use.
Sconda was standing near _The Frontiersman_, and he offered to
accompany her. But Glen smilingly told him that she wished to be alone
this morning, and that perhaps Klota needed him more than she did. The
Indian was quite surprised at her refusal, and somewhat piqued as well.
It was the first time she had ever spoken to him in such a manner, and
he stood silently watching the girl as she settled herself in the
canoe, and dipped her paddle into the water. Then he wended his way
slowly homeward, wondering what had come over his young imperious
mistress.
But Glen was not thinking about Sconda, and she had no idea that she
had in any way annoyed the faithful native. She paddled straight
across the creek until she reached the opposite side. Here she ran the
canoe ashore, and watched most intently the big house in the distance.
She remained here for some time anxiously observing all that was taking
place around the house, expecting at any moment to see Reynolds come
forth. And when he did come, would he at once go down to the village,
to be conducted beyond the pass? Perhaps her father might send for the
guard, who would lead him forth as a prisoner. At this thought a
tremor shook her body, and she nervously drove the paddle into the
water, and sent the canoe reeling from the shore. Only in action now
could she endure the strain of waiting.
She had just reached the middle of the creek, when, glancing toward the
house, her heart gave a great leap, for there coming down to the wharf
was the very one of whom she was thinking. He was walking rapidly and
at the same time waving his hand to her. Instantly she headed the
canoe for the shore, and when its graceful bow touched lightly against
the wharf, he was standing there waiting to receive her. The smile
upon his face and light of joy in his eyes told her that all was well,
and so great was her happiness that for a moment she had no word to
say. Her cheeks were flushed with the invigorating exercise, and the
eyes which were turned to her lover's were moist with tears, and
gleamed like sparkling diamonds. Reynolds, too, was speechless for a
few seconds. A feeling of almost sacred awe swept upon him as he
looked upon that fair pure face. Although his life was clean and above
reproach, yet he felt most unworthy when in the presence of such a
beautiful, unsullied being. It never had affected him so intensely as
on this bright morning on the shore of that inland water. What right
had he to presume to love such a girl? he asked himself.
For several seconds neither spoke. It was that mysterious silence
which sometimes comes when heart responds to heart, and where love is
true and deep. Then they both laughed and the spell was broken. Just
why they laughed they could not tell, although they felt very happy.
"Come for a spin," Glen suggested. "I want to hear all. You paddle,"
she ordered, as she turned herself about in the canoe. "I have already
had my morning's exercise."
"And so have I," Reynolds laughingly replied, as he seated himself
astern and sent the canoe from the wharf.
"But of a different nature, though?" and Glen looked quizzically into
his face.
"Quite different. I exercised my lungs, and your father did the same."
"Not in anger, I hope."
"Oh, no. We had a great heart to heart talk, and got on splendidly.
We parted like two lambs, and are the best of friends."
"You are!" The girl's lips merely breathed the words, but they told of
her great relief.
"Yes, it is true. And more than that, we have already planned for a
trip together in the hills, and you are to go with us, that is, if you
wish to go."
At these words, Glen's face underwent a marvellous change.
"Don't go," she pleaded. "Stay where you are."
"Why, what is the matter?" and Reynolds looked his surprise as he
paused in a stroke.
"Have you forgotten your dream last night? It was bad, and first
dreams in a new place are sure to come true."
Reynolds laughed, as he again dipped the paddle into the water.
"Surely you are not superstitious, Miss Weston. Why should one be
alarmed at dreams? They are nothing."
"That may be true," and Glen trailed her hand in the water. "But an
uneasy feeling has taken possession of me which I cannot banish. I was
brought up among Indians, you know, and they are naturally
superstitious."
"And they have filled your mind with nonsense, I suppose."
"I am afraid so," and the girl gave a deep sigh.
They were some distance up the creek now, and the canoe was gliding
almost noiselessly through the water. Glen asked Reynolds about his
conversation with her father, and he told her all that had taken place.
She listened with the keenest interest. Her face was aglow with
animation, and her eyes shone with the light of astonishment.
"I can hardly believe it," she exclaimed when Reynolds had finished.
"Anyway, I am so thankful that daddy did not get angry, I hope he will
not change his mind. He is so gentle and good at times, and again he
is so stern and harsh. Oh! what is that?" she cried, as something
struck the water with a zip near the canoe.
Reynolds had ceased paddling, and was staring back at a spot where the
water had been ruffled, but not by the motion of the canoe. Then he
glanced shoreward, and his eyes keenly searched the high ridge of the
Golden Crest.
"It must have been a fish leaping for a fly," he somewhat absently
suggested.
"But I heard the report of a rifle," Glen declared. "It came from up
there," and she motioned to the right.
"Perhaps someone is hunting, and a stray bullet may have come this way."
"It may be so, but let us go home." Glen's face was pale, and her eyes
bore an anxious expression.
Reynolds at once swung the canoe around, and paddled with long steady
strokes toward the village. He knew that Glen was somewhat unnerved,
and he upbraided himself for telling her about his dream. Why are some
people so foolish as to believe in such things? he asked himself.
"Suppose we go over to Sconda's," Glen suggested. "I want to see
Klota. She is doing some work for me."
"I understand," Reynolds replied. "You wish to find out how that
bearskin is getting along."
Glen glanced quickly at him, smiled, and slightly blushed.
"You saw it, then? You recognized it?"
"Sconda showed it to me. It is a beauty."
"Do you want it?"
"Oh, no. I have no place to keep such a thing. It pleases me to know
that you are anxious to have it as a----"
"As a souvenir of my deliverance," the girl assisted, as Reynolds
hesitated.
"And of our first meeting," he added.
Glen did not reply, but looked thoughtfully out over the water toward
the shore. She was glad that Reynolds believed she wished to go to
Sconda's merely to see about the skin. But in truth, there was
something far more important, and it was this which now disturbed her
mind. She did not wish to exhibit her anxiety, so the idea of viewing
the bearskin was as good a pretext as any other.
They found Klota at the back of the house busily engaged upon the skin,
which was stretched over a log. She paused in her work and smiled as
the two approached. Glen spoke to her in Indian, and asked her how she
was getting along. Seeing Sconda across the street talking with an
Indian, Reynolds went at once to him to discuss the proposed trip into
the hills. This suited Glen, as she wanted to be alone for a time with
Klota.
"Is Sconda going with us on our trip?" she asked.
"Ah, ah. Sconda is going," was the reply. Then an anxious expression
appeared in the old woman's eyes as she turned them upon her fair
visitor. "Don't you go," she warned. "Stay home."
"Why, Klota?" Glen asked as calmly as possible, although her
fast-beating heart told of her agitation.
"Something might happen out there," and the Indian woman motioned to
her left.
"What has Klota seen? Has she heard anything?"
"Klota has seen and heard. Don't go."
"What have you seen and heard?" Glen urged.
"Bad, ugh! Bad dream. Bad white man."
"Curly?" Glen's face was very white.
"Ah, ah, Curly. Bad, all same black bear. Don't go."
Klota resumed her work upon the skin, and although Glen questioned her
further, she only shook her head, and refused to talk. What had this
woman heard? Glen asked herself, or was it only a dream? She knew how
much stress the Indians laid upon dreams, and how she herself had been
so strongly influenced since childhood by weird stories she had heard
from the natives.
She was unusually silent and thoughtful as she and Reynolds walked
slowly up the street toward the big house. She longed to tell her
companion what Klota had said, but she hesitated about doing so. Would
he not consider her weak and foolish? She knew that her father would
only laugh at her if she told him. She did not wish to make herself
ridiculous in their eyes, and yet she could not get her lover's dream
nor Klota's warning out of her mind. She thought of them that
afternoon as she made preparations for the journey. Her father had
told her that they were to start early the next morning, and if she
wished to go she must be ready. She did want to go, for she enjoyed
the life in the hills. Nevertheless, she often found herself standing
at the window looking out over the lake. Why should she go if there
was any risk? she asked herself. She knew that Curly was capable of
almost any degree of villainy, but was he not far away at Big Draw? It
was hardly likely that he would again venture near the Golden Crest.
But if he did, would she not have her father and Reynolds to protect
her?
Hitherto she had only thought of harm to herself. But there suddenly
came into her mind the fear that something might happen to another, and
she flushed as she thought who that other would be. Had she not seen
Curly's face, and heard some of his terrible words the day of his
arrest as he was being taken up the street? It would, therefore, be
upon Reynolds that he would endeavor to give vent to his rage. Just
how he would do this, she could not tell, but it would be necessary for
her to be ever on guard.
A feeling of responsibility now took possession of her such as she had
never known before. She felt that the life of her lover was in her
keeping, and perhaps her father's as well. She knew that they would
not listen to any warning from her, and so she might as well keep
silent. The dream and Klota's words might amount to nothing, yet it
was well to be ready for any emergency.
Opening a drawer in her dresser, she brought forth a revolver, and held
it thoughtfully in her hand for a few minutes. As a rule she carried
it with her on all her trips beyond the Golden Crest, and she had been
well trained in the use of the weapon since she was a mere girl. She
was a good shot, and was very proud of her accomplishment.
"A girl should always be able to take care of herself," her father had
told her over and over again.
"In a country such as this one never knows what might happen, and it is
well to be prepared."
That evening as she sat at the piano and played while Reynolds sang,
she forgot for a time her anxiety. His presence dispelled all gloomy
fears, and the sound of his voice thrilled her very being. They were
both happy, and all-sufficient to each other.
Across the hall in his own room, Jim Weston sat alone, ensconced in a
big comfortable chair. He was re-reading one of his favorite books,
"Essays of Nature and Culture." He was engrossed in the chapter, "The
Great Revelation," and as he read, the music across the way beat upon
his brain, and entered into his soul. "Every bit of life is a bit of
revelation; it brings us face to face with the great mystery and the
great secret." . . . He paused, and listened absently to the music.
"All revelation of life has the spell, therefore, of discovery." . . .
The words of the song the young people were now singing again arrested
his attention. He liked "Thora"; it was a song of the north, and Glen
had often sung it to him. "There is the thrill, the wonder, the joy of
seeing another link in the invisible chain which binds us to the past
and unites us to the future." The words of the essay startled him. He
laid aside the book, and rested his head upon his hand. "Another link
in the invisible chain which binds us to the past." He thought of her
who had made his life so pleasant. He glanced above his desk, and a
mistiness came into his eyes. Memory now was the only link which bound
him to the past, to those sweet days of long ago.
And as he sat there, the singing still continued. He only half
comprehended the meaning of the words, for he was living in another
world. But presently he started, clutched the arms of his chair, and
bent intently forward.
"'Tis a tale that is truer and older
Than any the sagas tell;
I loved you in life too little,
I love you in death too well!"
In the adjoining room the happy young couple went on with their
singing, and when the song was finished, they stopped, said something
in a low voice, and then laughed joyously. But the ruler of Glen West
paced restlessly up and down his study. He heard no more singing that
night, for he had softly closed the door. Long after the rest had
retired, and the house was wrapped in silence, he continued his pacing,
only stopping now and then to gaze longingly at the picture above his
desk. Since his return from the hills Jim Weston had learned a new
lesson, but before it could be applied, it was necessary for him to
undergo the severest mental and spiritual struggle he had ever known.