JACK
For many a minute she waited by that camp-fire, but there was never a
sign of the builder of it, though she centered all her will in making
her eyes and ears sharper to pierce through the darkness and to gather
from the thousand obscure whispers of the forest any sounds of human
origin. So she grew bold at length to take off the pack and the
saddles; the camp was hers, built for her coming by the invisible power
which surrounded her, which read her mind, it seemed, and chose
beforehand the certain route which she must follow.
She resigned herself to that force without question, and the worry of
her search disappeared. It seemed certain that this omnipotence,
whatever it might be, was reading her wishes and acting with all its
power to fulfill them, so that in the end it was merely a question of
time before she should accomplish her mission--before she should meet
Pierre le Rouge face to face.
That night her sleep was deep, indeed, and she only wakened when the
slant light of the sun struck across her eyes. It was a bright day,
crisp and chill, and through the clear air the mountains seemed leaning
directly above her, and chief of all two peaks, almost exactly similar,
black monsters which ruled the range. Toward the gorge between them
the valley of the Old Crow aimed its course, and straight up that
diminishing cañon she rode all day.
The broad, sandy bottom changed and contracted until the channel was
scarcely wide enough for the meager stream of water, and beside it she
picked her way along a narrow bridle-path with banks on either side,
which became with every mile more like cliffs, walling her in and
dooming her to a single destination.
It was evening before she came to the headwaters of the Old Crow, and
rode out into the gorge between the two mountains. The trail failed
her here. There was no semblance of a ravine to follow, except the
mighty gorge between the two peaks, and into the dark throat of this
pass she ventured, like some maiden of medieval romance riding through
a solemn gate with the guarding towers tall and black on either side.
The moment she was well started in it and the steep shadow of the
evening fell across her almost like night from the west, her heart grew
cold as the air of that lofty region. A sense of coming danger filled
her, like a little child when it passes from a lighted room into one
dark and still. Yet she kept on, holding a tight rein, throwing many a
fearful glance at the vast rocks which might have concealed an entire
army in every mile of their extent.
When she found the cabin she mistook it at first for merely another
rock of singular shape. It was at this shape that she stared, and
checked her horse, and not till then did she note the faint flicker of
a light no brighter or more distinct than the phosphorescent glow of
the eyes of a hunted beast.
All her impulse was to drive her spurs home and pass that place at a
racing gallop, but she checked the impulse sharply and began to reason.
In the first place, it was doubtless only the cabin of some prospector,
such as she had often heard of. In the second place, night was almost
upon her, and she saw no desirable camping-place, or at least any with
the necessary water at hand.
What harm could come to her? Among Western men, she well knew a woman
is safer than all the law and the police of the settled East can make
her, so she nerved her courage and advanced toward the faint, changing
light.
The cabin was hidden very cunningly. Crouched among the mighty
boulders which earthquakes and storms of some wilder, earlier epoch had
torn away from the side of the crags above, the house was like another
stone, leaning its back to the mountain for support.
When she drew very close she knew that the light which glimmered at the
window must come from an open fire, and the thought of a fire warmed
her very heart. She hallooed, and receiving no answer, fastened the
horses and entered the house. The door swung to behind her, as if of
its own volition it wished to make her close prisoner.
The place consisted of one room, and not a spacious one at that, but
arranged as a shelter, not a home. The cooking, apparently, was done
over the open hearth, for there was no sign of any stove, and,
moreover, on the wall near the fireplace hung several soot-blackened
pans and the inevitable coffee-pot.
There were two bunks built on opposite sides of the room, and in the
middle a table was made of a long section split from the heart of a log
by wedges, apparently, and still rude and undressed, except for the
preliminary smoothing off which had been done with a broad-ax.
The great plank was supported at either end by a roughly constructed
saw-buck. It was very low, and for this reason two fairly square
boulders of comfortable proportions were sufficiently high to serve as
chairs.
For the rest, the furniture was almost too meager to suggest human
habitation, but from nails on the wall there depended a few shirts and
a pair of chaps, as well as a much-battered quirt. But a bucket of
water in a corner suggested cleanliness, and a small, round, highly
polished steel plate, hanging on the wall in lieu of a mirror, further
fortified her decision that the owner of this place must be a man
somewhat particular as to his appearance.
Here she interrupted her observations to build up the fire, which was
flickering down and apparently on the verge of going out. She worked
busily for a few minutes, and a roaring blaze rewarded her; she took
off her slicker to enjoy the warmth, and in doing so, turned, and saw
the owner of the place standing with folded arms just inside the door.
"Making yourself to home?" asked the host, in a low, strangely pleasant
voice.
"Do you mind?" asked Mary Brown. "I couldn't find a place that would
do for camping."
And she summoned her most winning smile. It was wasted, she knew at
once, for the stranger hardened perceptibly, and his lip curled
slightly in scorn or anger. In all her life Mary had never met a man
so obdurate, and, moreover, she felt that he could not be wooed into a
good humor.
"If you'd gone farther up the gorge," said the other, "you'd of found
the best sort of a campin' place--water and everything."
"Then I'll go," said Mary, shrinking at the thought of the strange,
cold outdoors compared with this cheery fire. But she put on the
slicker and started for the door.
At the last moment the host was touched with compunction. He called:
"Wait a minute. There ain't no call to hurry. If you can get along
here just stick around."
For a moment Mary hesitated, knowing that only the unwritten law of
Western hospitality compelled that speech; it was the crackle and flare
of the bright fire which overcame her pride.
She laid off the slicker again, saying, with another smile: "For just a
few minutes, if you don't mind."
"Sure," said the other gracelessly, and tossed his own slicker onto a
bunk.
Covertly, but very earnestly, Mary was studying him. He was hardly
more than a boy--handsome, slender.
Now that handsome face was under a cloud of gloom, a frown on the
forehead and a sneer on the lips, but it was something more than the
expression which repelled Mary. For she felt that no matter how she
wooed him, she could never win the sympathy of this darkly handsome,
cruel youth; he was aloof from her, and the distance between them could
never be crossed. She knew at once that the mysterious bridges which
link men with women broke down in this case, and she was strongly
tempted to leave the cabin to the sole possession of her surly host.
It was the warmth of the fire which once more decided against her
reason, so she laid hands on one of the blocks of stone to roll it
nearer to the hearth. She could not budge it. Then she caught the
sneering laughter of the man, and strove again in a fury. It was no
use; for the stone merely rocked a little and settled back in its place
with a bump.
"Here," said the boy, "I'll move it for you."
It was a hard lift for him, but he set his teeth, raised the stone in
his slender hands, and set it down again at a comfortable distance from
the fire.
"Thank you," smiled Mary, but the boy stood panting against the wall,
and for answer merely bestowed on her a rather malicious glance of
triumph, as though he gloried in his superior strength and despised her
weakness.
Some conversation was absolutely necessary, for the silence began to
weigh on her. She said: "My name is Mary Brown."
"Is it?" said the boy, quite without interest. "You can call me Jack."
He sat down on the other stone, his dark face swept by the shadows of
the flames, and rolled a cigarette, not deftly, but like one who is
learning the mastery of the art. It surprised Mary, watching his
fumbling fingers. She decided that Jack must be even younger than he
looked.
She noticed also that the boy cast, from time to time, a sharp, rather
worried glance of expectation toward the door, as if he feared it would
open and disclose some important arrival. Furthermore, those old worn
shirts hanging on the wall were much too large for the throat and
shoulders of Jack.
Apparently, he lived there with some companion, and a companion of such
a nature that he did not wish him to be seen by visitors. This
explained the lad's coldness in receiving a guest; it also stimulated
Mary to linger about a few more minutes.