XII
BERRIE'S VIGIL
The situation in which Berea now found herself would have disheartenedmost women of mature age, but she remained not only composed, she wasfilled with an irrational delight. The nurse that is in every woman wasaroused in her, and she looked forward with joy to a night of vigil,confident that Wayland was not seriously injured and that he would soonbe able to ride. She had no fear of the forest or of the night. Natureheld no menace now that her tent was set and her fire alight.
Wayland, without really knowing anything about it, suspected that he owedhis life to her intervention, and this belief deepened the feeling ofadmiration which he had hitherto felt toward her. He listened to her atwork around the fire with a deepening sense of his indebtedness to her,and when she looked in to ask if she could do anything for him, histhroat filled with an emotion which rendered his answer difficult.
As his mind cleared he became very curious to know precisely what hadtaken place, but he did not feel free to ask her. "She will tell me ifshe wishes me to know." That she had vanquished Belden and sent him onhis way was evident, although he had not been able to hear what she hadsaid to him at the last. What lay between the enemy's furious onslaughtand the aid he lent in making the camp could only be surmised. "I wonderif she used her pistol?" Wayland asked himself. "Something like deathmust have stared him in the face."
"Strange how everything seems to throw me ever deeper into her debt," hethought, a little later. But he did not quite dare put into words theresentment which mingled with his gratitude. He hated to be put soconstantly into the position of the one protected, defended. And yet itwas his own fault. He had put himself among people and conditions whereshe was the stronger. Having ventured out of his world into hers he musttake the consequences.
That she loved him with the complete passion of her powerful and simplenature he knew, for her voice had reached through the daze of hissemi-unconsciousness with thrilling power. The touch of her lips to his,the close clasp of her strong arms were of ever greater convincingquality. And yet he wished the revelation had come in some other way. Hispride was abraded. His manhood seemed somehow lessened. It was adisconcerting reversal of the ordinary relations between hero andheroine, and he saw no way of re-establishing the normal attitude of themale.
Entirely unaware of what was passing in the mind of her patient, Berriewent about her duties with a cheerfulness which astonished the suffererin the tent. She seemed about to hum a song as she set the skillet on thefire, but a moment later she called out, in a tone of irritation: "Herecomes Nash!"
"I'm glad of that," answered Wayland, although he perceived something ofher displeasure.
Nash, on his way to join the Supervisor, raised a friendly greeting as hesaw the girl, and drew rein. "I expected to meet you farther down thehill," he said. "Tony 'phoned that you had started. Where did you leavethe Supervisor?"
"Over at the station waiting for you. Where's your outfit?"
"Camped down the trail a mile or so. I thought I'd better push throughto-night. What about Norcross? Isn't he with you?"
She hesitated an instant. "He's in the tent. He fell and struck his headon a rock, and I had to go into camp here."
Nash was deeply concerned. "Is that so? Well, that's hard luck. Is hebadly hurt?"
"Well, he had a terrible fall. But he's easier now. I think he'sasleep."
"May I look in on him?"
"I don't think you'd better take the time. It's a long, hard ride fromhere to the station. It will be deep night before you can make it--"
"Don't you think the Supervisor would want me to camp here to-night anddo what I could for you? If Norcross is badly injured you will need me."
She liked Nash, and she knew he was right, and yet she was reluctant togive up the pleasure of her lone vigil. "He's not in any danger, andwe'll be able to ride on in the morning."
Nash, thinking of her as Clifford Belden's promised wife, had nosuspicion of her feeling toward Norcross. Therefore he gently urged thatto go on was quite out of order. "I _can't_ think of leaving you herealone--certainly not till I see Norcross and find out how badly he ishurt."
She yielded. "I reckon you're right," she said. "I'll go see if he isawake."
He followed her to the door of the tent, apprehending something new andinexplicable in her attitude. In the music of her voice as she spoke tothe sick man was the love-note of the mate. "You may come in," she calledback, and Nash, stooping, entered the small tent.
"Hello, old man, what you been doing with yourself? Hitting the highspots?"
Norcross smiled feebly. "No, the hill flew up and bumped _me_."
"How did it all happen?"
"I don't exactly know. It all came of a sudden. I had no share in it--Ididn't go for to do it."
"Whether you did or not, you seem to have made a good job of it."
Nash examined the wounded man carefully, and his skill and strength inhandling Norcross pleased Berrie, though she was jealous of the warmfriendship which seemed to exist between the men.
She had always liked Nash, but she resented him now, especially as heinsisted on taking charge of the case; but she gave way finally, and wentback to her pots and pans with pensive countenance.
A little later, when Nash came out to make report, she was not verygracious in her manner. "He's pretty badly hurt," he said. "There's anugly gash in his scalp, and the shock has produced a good deal of painand confusion in his head; but he's going to be all right in a day ortwo. For a man seeking rest and recuperation he certainly has had a toughrun of weather."
Though a serious-minded, honorable forester, determined to keep sternlyin mind that he was in the presence of the daughter of his chief, andthat she was engaged to marry another, Nash was, after all, a man, andthe witchery of the hour, the charm of the girl's graceful figure,asserted their power over him. His eyes grew tender, and his voiceeloquent in spite of himself. His words he could guard, but it was hardto keep from his speech the song of the lover. The thought that he was tocamp in her company, to help her about the fire, to see her from momentto moment, with full liberty to speak to her, to meet her glance, pleasedhim. It was the most romantic and moving episode in his life, and thoughof a rather dry and analytic temperament he had a sense of poesy.
The night, black, oppressive, and silent, brought a closer bond of mutualhelp and understanding between them. He built a fire of dry branchesclose to the tent door, and there sat, side by side with the girl, in theglow of embers, so close to the injured youth that they could talktogether, and as he spoke freely, yet modestly, of his experiences Berriefound him more deeply interesting than she had hitherto believed him tobe. True, he saw things less poetically than Wayland, but he was finelyobservant, and a man of studious and refined habits.
She grew friendlier, and asked him about his work, and especially abouthis ambitions and plans for the future. They discussed the forest and itsenemies, and he wondered at her freedom in speaking of the Mill andsaloon. He said: "Of course you know that Alec Belden is a partner inthat business, and I'm told--of course I don't know this--that CliffordBelden is also interested."
She offered no defense of young Belden, and this unconcern puzzled him.He had expected indignant protest, but she merely replied: "I don't carewho owns it. It should be rooted out. I hate that kind of thing. It'sjust another way of robbing those poor tie-jacks."
"Clifford should get out of it. Can't you persuade him to do so?"
"I don't think I can."
"His relationship to you--"
"He is not related to me."
Her tone amazed him. "You know what I mean."
"Of course I do, but you're mistaken. We're not related that way anylonger."
This silenced him for a few moments, then he said: "I'm rather glad ofthat. He isn't anything like the man you thought he was--I couldn't saythese things before--but he is as greedy as Alec, only not so open aboutit."
All this comment, which moved the forester so deeply to utte
r, seemed notto interest Berea. She sat staring at the fire with the calm brow of anIndian. Clifford Belden had passed out of her life as completely as hehad vanished out of the landscape. She felt an immense relief at beingrid of him, and resented his being brought back even as a subject ofconversation.
Wayland, listening, fancied he understood her desire, and said nothingthat might arouse Nash's curiosity.
Nash, on his part, knowing that she had broken with Belden, began tounderstand the tenderness, the anxious care of her face and voice, as shebent above young Norcross. As the night deepened and the cold air stung,he asked: "Have you plenty of blankets for a bed?"
"Oh yes," she answered, "but I don't intend to sleep."
"Oh, you must!" he declared. "Go to bed. I will keep the fire going."
At last she consented. "I will make my bed right here at the mouth of thetent close to the fire," she said, "and you can call me if you need me."
"Why not put your bed in the tent? It's going to be cold up here."
"I am all right outside," she protested.
"Put your bed inside, Miss Berrie. We can't let conventions count abovetimber-line. I shall rest better if I know you are properly sheltered."
And so it happened that for the third time she shared the same roof withher lover; but the nurse was uppermost in her now. At eleven thousandfeet above the sea--with a cold drizzle of fine rain in the air--one doesnot consider the course of gossip as carefully as in a village, andBerrie slept unbrokenly till daylight.
Nash was the first to arise in the dusk of dawn, and Berrie, awakened bythe crackle of his fire, soon joined him. There is no sweeter sound thanthe voice of the flame at such a time, in such a place. It endows thebleak mountainside with comfort, makes the ledge a hearthstone. It holdsthe promise of savory meats and fragrant liquor, and robs the frosty airof its terrors.
Wayland, hearing their voices, called out, with feeble humor: "Will someone please turn on the steam in my room?"
Berrie uttered a happy word. "How do you feel this morning?" she asked.
"Not precisely like a pugilist--well, yes, I believe I do--like thefellow who got second money."
"How is the bump?" inquired Nash, thrusting his head inside the door.
"Reduced to the size of a golf-ball as near as I can judge of it. I doubtif I can wear a hat; but I'm feeling fine. I'm going to get up."
Berrie was greatly relieved. "I'm so glad! Do you feel like riding downthe hill?"
"Sure thing! I'm hungry, and as soon as I am fed I'm ready to start."
Berrie joined the surveyor at the fire.
"If you'll round up our horses, Mr. Nash, I'll rustle breakfast and we'llget going," she said.
Nash, enthralled, lingered while she twisted her hair into place, thenwent out to bring in the ponies.
Wayland came out a little uncertainly, but looking very well. "I think Ishall discourage my friends from coming to this region for their health,"he said, ruefully. "If I were a novelist now all this would be grist formy mill."
Beneath his joking he was profoundly chagrined. He had hoped by this timeto be as sinewy, as alert as Nash, instead of which here he sat,shivering over the fire like a sick girl, his head swollen, his bloodsluggish; but this discouragement only increased Berea's tenderness--atenderness which melted all his reserve.
"I'm not worth all your care," he said to her, with poignant glance.
The sun rose clear and warm, and the fire, the coffee, put new courageinto him as well as into the others, and while the morning was yet earlyand the forest chill and damp with rain, the surveyor brought up thehorses and started packing the outfit.
In this Berrie again took part, doing her half of the work quite asdextrously as Nash himself. Indeed, the forester was noticeably confusedand not quite up to his usual level of adroit ease.
At last both packs were on, and as they stood together for a moment, Nashsaid: "This has been a great experience--one I shall remember as long asI live."
She stirred uneasily under his frank admiration. "I'm mightily obliged toyou," she replied, as heartily as she could command.
"Don't thank me, I'm indebted to you. There is so little in my life ofsuch companionship as you and Norcross give me."
"You'll find it lonesome over at the station, I'm afraid," said she. "ButMoore intends to put a crew of tie-cutters in over there--that will helpsome." She smiled.
"I'm not partial to the society of tie-jacks."
"If you ride hard you may find that Moore girl in camp. She was therewhen we left." There was a sparkle of mischief in her glance.
"I'm not interested in the Moore girl," he retorted.
"Do you know her?"
"I've seen her at the post-office once or twice; _she_ is not my kind."
She gave him her hand. "Well, good-by. I'm all right now that Wayland canride."
He held her hand an instant. "I believe I'll ride back with you as far asthe camp."
"You'd better go on. Father is waiting for you. I'll send the men along."There was dismissal in her voice, and yet she recognized as never beforethe fine qualities that were his. "Please don't say anything of this toothers, and tell my father not to worry about us. We'll pull in allright."
He helped Norcross mount his horse, and as he put the lead rope intoBerrie's hand, he said: with much feeling: "Good luck to you. I shallremember this night all the rest of my life."
"I hate to be going to the rear," called Wayland, whose bare, bandagedhead made him look like a wounded young officer. "But I guess it's betterfor me to lay off for a week or two and recover my tone."
And so they parted, the surveyor riding his determined way up the nakedmountainside toward the clouds, while Berrie and her ward plunged at onceinto the dark and dripping forest below. "If you can stand the grief,"she said, "we'll go clear through."
Wayland had his misgivings, but did not say so. His confidence in hisguide was complete. She would do her part, that was certain. Severaltimes she was forced to dismount and blaze out a new path in order toavoid some bog; but she sternly refused his aid. "You must not get off,"she warned; "stay where you are. I can do this work better alone."
They were again in that green, gloomy, and silent zone of the range,where giant spruces grow, and springs, oozing from the rocks, trickleover the trail. It was very beautiful, but menacing, by reason of itsapparently endless thickets cut by stony ridges. It was here she met thetwo young men, Downing and Travis, bringing forward the surveying outfit,but she paused only to say: "Push along steadily. You are needed on theother side."
After leaving the men, and with a knowledge that the remaining leagues ofthe trail were solitary, Norcross grew fearful. "The fall of a horse, anaccident to that brave girl, and we would be helpless," he thought. "Iwish Nash had returned with us." Once his blood chilled with horror as hewatched his guide striking out across the marge of a grassy lake. Thismeadow, as he divined, was really a carpet of sod floating above abottomless pool of muck, for it shook beneath her horse's feet.
"Come on, it's all right," she called back, cheerily. "We'll soon pick upthe other trail."
He wondered how she knew, for to him each hill was precisely likeanother, each thicket a maze.
Her caution was all for him. She tried each dangerous slough first, andthus was able to advise him which way was safest. His head throbbed withpain and his knees were weary, but he rode on, manifesting such cheer ashe could, resolving not to complain at any cost; but his self-respectebbed steadily, leaving him in bitter, silent dejection.
At last they came into open ground on a high ridge, and were gladdened bythe valley outspread below them, for it was still radiant with color,though not as brilliant as before the rain. It had been dimmed, but notdarkened. And yet it seemed that a month had passed since their ecstaticride upward through the golden forest, and Wayland said as much whilethey stood for a moment surveying the majestic park with its wall ofguardian peaks.
But Berrie replied: "It seems only a few hours to me."
From this point the traveling was good, and they descended rapidly,zigzagging from side to side of a long, sweeping ridge. By noon they wereonce more down amid the aspens, basking in a world of sad gold leaves anddelicious September sunshine.
At one o'clock, on the bank of a clear stream, the girl halted. "I reckonwe'd better camp awhile. You look tired, and I am hungry."
He gratefully acquiesced in this stop, for his knees were trembling withthe strain of the stirrups; but he would not permit her to ease him downfrom his saddle. Turning a wan glance upon her, he bitterly asked: "MustI always play the weakling before you? I am ashamed of myself. Ride onand leave me to rot here in the grass. I'm not worth keeping alive."
"You must not talk like that," she gently admonished him. "You're not toblame."
"Yes, I am. I should never have ventured into this man's country."
"I'm glad you did," she answered, as if she were comforting a child. "Forif you hadn't I should never have known you."
"That would have been no loss--to you," he bitterly responded.
She unsaddled one pack-animal and spread some blankets on the grass. "Liedown and rest while I boil some coffee," she commanded; and he obeyed,too tired to make pretension toward assisting.
Lying so, feeling the magic of the sun, hearing the music of the water,and watching the girl, he regained a serener mood, and when she came backwith his food he thanked her for it with a glance before which her eyesfell. "I don't see why you are so kind to me, I really believe you _like_to do things for me." Her head drooped to hide her face, and he went on:"Why do you care for me? Tell me!"
"I don't know," she murmured. Then she added, with a flash of bravery:"But I do."
"What a mystery it all is! You turn from a splendid fellow like Landon toa 'skate' like me. Landon worships you--you know that--don't you?"
"I know--he--" she ended, vaguely distressed.
"Did he ask you to marry him?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you? He's just the mate for you. He's a man of high characterand education." She made no answer to this, and he went on: "Dear girl,I'm not worth your care--truly I'm not. I resented your engagement toBelden, for he was a brute; but Landon is different. He thinks the worldof you. He'll go high in the service. I've never done anything in theworld--I never shall. It will be better for you if I go--to-morrow."
She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek, then, putting her armabout his neck, drew him to her bosom and kissed him passionately. "Youbreak my heart when you talk like that," she protested, with tears. "Youmustn't say such gloomy things--I won't let you give up. You shall comeright home with me, and I will nurse you till you are well. It was all myfault. If we had only stayed in camp at the lake daddy would have joinedus that night, and if I had not loitered on the mountain yesterday Cliffwould not have overtaken us. It's all my fault."
"I will not have it go that way," he said. "I've brought you only careand unhappiness thus far. I'm an alien--my ways are not your ways."
"I can change," she answered. "I hate my ways, and I like yours."
As they argued she felt no shame, and he voiced no resentment. She knewhis mood. She understood his doubt, his depression. She pleaded as a manmight have done, ready to prove her love, eager to restore hisself-respect, while he remained both bitter and sadly contemptuous.
A cow-hand riding up the trail greeted Berrie respectfully, but a cynicalsmile broke out on his lips as he passed on. Another witness--anothergossip.
She did not care. She had no further concern of the valley's comment. Herlife's happiness hung on the drooping eyelashes of this wounded boy, andto win him back to cheerful acceptance of life was her only concern.
"I've never had any motives," he confessed. "I've always done whatpleased me at the moment--or because it was easier to do as others weredoing. I went to college that way. Truth is, I never had any surplusvitality, and my father never demanded anything of me. I haven't anymotives now. A few days ago I was interested in forestry. At this time itall seems futile. What's the use of my trying to live?"
Part of all this despairing cry arose from weariness, and part from aluxurious desire to be comforted, for it was sweet to feel her sympathy.He even took a morbid pleasure in the distress of her eyes and lips whileher rich voice murmured in soothing protest.
She, on her part, was frightened for him, and as she thought of the longride still before them she wrung her hands. "Oh, what shall I do? Whatshall I do?" she moaned.
Instantly smitten into shame, into manlier mood, he said: "Don't worryabout me, please don't. I can ride. I'm feeling better. You must notweaken. Please forgive my selfish complaints. I'm done! You'll never hearit again. Come, let us go on. I can ride."
"If we can reach Miller's ranch--"
"I can ride to _your_ ranch," he declared, and rose with such new-foundresolution that she stared at him in wonder.
He was able to smile. "I've had my little crying spell. I've relieved myheart of its load. I didn't mean to agonize you. It was only a slump." Heput his hand to his head. "I must be a comical figure. Wonder what thatcowboy thought of me?"
His sudden reversal to cheer was a little alarming to her, but at lengthshe perceived that he had in truth mastered his depression, and bringingup the horses she saddled them, and helped him to mount. "If you gettired or feel worse, tell me, and we'll go into camp," she urged as theywere about to start.
"You keep going till I give the sign," he replied; and his voice was sofirm and clear that her own sunny smile came back. "I don't know what tomake of you," she said. "I reckon you must be a poet."
The Forester's Daughter: A Romance of the Bear-Tooth Range Page 13
