THE HERMIT.
At last little Fay was placed within the tent on the softest bed that
could be prepared for her.
"In ther mornin'," said Old Rocks, "I'll hunt up her mamma."
The fire glowed pleasantly, being replenished now and then by Barney.
Professor Scotch occupied the hammock, Frank stretched himself at full
length on the ground, and the guide sat with his back against a tree,
still pulling away at the black pipe, his constant companion. He had
smoked so much that his flesh seemed cured, like that of a ham.
At heart Old Rocks was tender as a child, but he had a way of
spluttering and growling that made him seem grouty and cross-grained. He
seemed to take real satisfaction in picking a quarrel with any one.
Professor Scotch was alarmed by the story Frank had told of the
encounter with the Blackfeet, and he was for leaving that vicinity as
soon as possible.
"Not till I get a photograph of real wild buffalo," said the boy,
stiffly.
Old Rocks grunted derisively.
"I reckon you came as nigh it ter-day as ye will at all," he said.
"You've clicked yer old machine at everything from one end o' ther park
to t'other, an' I ain't seen nary picter yit."
"They have not been developed."
"Woosh! Whatever is thet?"
Frank explained, and the guide listened, with an expression of derision
on his face.
"I'll allow you don't know northin' abaout takin' picters," drawled the
man. "I hed my picter took up at Billings last winter, an' ther man as
took it didn't hev ter go through no such fussin' as thet."
"How do you know?"
"Wa-al, I know."
"But how do you know?"
"I jest know, thet's how!"
Frank laughed.
"You are like some other people who know everything about anything they
don't know anything about."
That was quite enough to start the old fellow, and he seemed ready to
fight at the drop of the hat; but, at this moment, something happened to
divert his attention.
Out of the darkness stalked a man, who calmly and deliberately advanced
toward the party.
"Halt thar!" cried Old Rocks, catching up a rifle and covering the
stranger.
The man did not pay the least attention to the command, but continued to
advance.
"Halt, or I'll shoot!" shouted the guide.
Still the unknown refused to obey, and, to the bewilderment of Old
Rocks, he walked straight up to the muzzle of the weapon, where he
stopped, saying:
"I knew you wouldn't shoot. If you had, you could not have killed me.
Nothing can kill me, because I have sought death everywhere, and I have
not been able to find it. It is he who flees from death who finds it
first."
Then he sat down.
"Wa-al, dern me!" gasped Old Rocks. "I dunno why I didn't soak yer; but
thar wuz somethin' held me back."
"It was the hand of fate."
The man was dressed roughly, but he carried a handsome rifle. His
wide-brimmed hat was slouched over his eyes, so the expression of his
face could not have been seen very well, even if it had not been covered
by a full brown beard. His hair was long and unkempt.
Having seated himself on the ground, he sat and stared into the fire for
some moments before speaking again. Finally he turned a bit, saying:
"Who was singing here a short time ago?"
Frank explained that he had been singing, and the stranger said:
"I don't know why I should wish to take a look at you, for you caused me
more misery than I have known for a year."
"Thot's a compliment fer ye're singing, Frankie!" chuckled Barney.
"I tried not to listen," said the stranger; "but I could not tear myself
away. What right has a man without a home to listen to songs that fill
his soul with memories of home and little ones!"
He bowed his face on his hands, and his body shook a bit, betraying that
he was struggling to suppress his emotions.
After a moment, Old Rocks said:
"I reckons I knows yer now. You're the hermit."
The man did not stir or speak.
"Ain't yer the hermit?" asked the guide.
"Yes," was the bitter reply, "I am a man without a home or a name. Some
have said that there is trouble with my brain, but they are wrong. I am
not deranged. This is the first time in a year that I have sought the
society of human beings, unless it was to trade for such things as I
need to sustain life. It was those songs that brought me here. They
seemed to act like a magnet, and I could not keep away."
Then he turned to Frank, and asked him to sing one of the lullabys over
again.
For all of his peculiar manner, the man seemed sane enough, and the boy
decided to humor him.
Frank sang, and the man sat and listened, his face still bowed on his
hands. When the song was ended, and the last echo had died out along a
distant line of bluffs, the man still sat thus.
Those who saw him were impressed. Beyond a doubt, this man had suffered
some great affliction that had caused him to shun his fellows and become
one "without a home or a name."
All at once, with a deep sigh, he rose. He was finely built, and,
properly dressed and shaved, he must have been handsome.
"Thank you," he said, addressing Frank. "I will not trouble you longer.
I am going now."
"Look yar," broke in Old Rocks, in his harsh way; "I wants ter warn you
ag'in comin' round yere ther way you done a short time ago. It ain't
healthy none whatever."
"What do you mean?"
"Jest this: I might take a fancy ter shoot fust an' talk it over
arterward. I don't want ter shoot yer."
A strange, sad smile came to the man's face.
"You need not fear," he said. "If you were to shoot at me, you would not
hit me."
The guide gave a snort.
"Whut's thet?" he cried. "I allow you hain't seen me shoot any to speak
of, pard. I ain't in ther habit of missin'."
"That makes no difference. A man who seeks death cannot die. Fate would
turn your bullet aside."
"Wa-al, I don't allow thet I wants ter try it, fer Fate might not be
quick enough. Jest you keep away, 'less you hollers out ter let us know
when ye're comin'."
As the hermit turned away he happened to glance into the tent, the front
of which was still open. The firelight shone in and fell on the face of
the tired child, who was sleeping sweetly.
The man paused, staring at the face revealed by the flickering light.
His hand was lifted to his head, and he swayed unsteadily on his feet,
his face marked by a look of astonishment and pain.
Old Rocks, Professor Scotch, and the boys watched the hermit's every
movement with breathless wonderment. They were impressed, they were held
spellbound, they scarcely breathed.
For some moments the strange man stood there, and then, inch by inch,
step by step, he advanced toward the tent. He seemed trying to hold
back, yet there appeared to be some power dragging him toward the
sleeping child.
Frank's first thought was that the man might harm Fay, but the look on
the face of the hermit told that he had no such intention. Into the tent
he crept, and he knelt beside the bed on which little Fay was sleeping,
gazing longingly into her pretty face. A sob came from the depths of his
broad breast, and, finally, he stooped and lightly kissed the child's
cheek. As he did so, the little girl murmured in her dreams:
"Papa!"
The hermit sprang up, leaped away, and, with a low cry of intense pain,
fled into the darkness.