The Forester's Daughter: A Romance of the Bear-Tooth Range

by Hamlin Garland

  XIV

  THE SUMMONS

  When Wayland caught the startled look on Berrie's face he knew that shehad learned from her father the contents of his telegram, and that shewould require an explanation.

  "Are you going away?" she asked.

  "Yes. At least, I must go down to Denver to see my father. I shall begone only over night."

  "And will you tell him about our trip?" she pursued, with unflinchingdirectness. "And about--me?"

  He gave her a chair, and took a seat himself before replying. "Yes, Ishall tell him all about it, and about you and your father and mother. Heshall know how kind you've all been to me."

  He said this bravely, and at the moment he meant it; but as his father'sbig, impassive face and cold, keen eyes came back to him his couragesank, and in spite of his firm resolution some part of his secret anxietycommunicated itself to the girl, who asked many questions, with intent tofind out more particularly what kind of man the elder Norcross was.

  Wayland's replies did not entirely reassure her. He admitted that hisfather was harsh and domineering in character, and that he was ambitiousto have his son take up and carry forward his work. "He was willingenough to have me go to college till he found I was specializing on wronglines. Then I had to fight in order to keep my place. He's glad I'm outhere, for he thinks I'm regaining my strength. But just as soon as I'mwell enough he expects me to go to Chicago and take charge of the Westernoffice. Of course, I don't want to do that. I'd rather work out someproblem in chemistry that interests me; but I may have to give in, for atime at least."

  "Will your mother and sisters be with your father?"

  "No, indeed! You couldn't get any one of them west of the Hudson Riverwith a log-chain. My sisters were both born in Michigan, but they want toforget it--they pretend they have forgotten it. They both haveNew-Yorkitis. Nothing but the Plaza will do them now."

  "I suppose they think we're all 'Injuns' out here?"

  "Oh no, not so bad as that; but they wouldn't comprehend anything aboutyou except your muscle. That would catch 'em. They'd worship yoursplendid health, just as I do. It's pitiful the way they both try to puton weight. They're always testing some new food, some new tonic--they'lldo anything except exercise regularly and go to bed at ten o'clock."

  All that he said of his family deepened her dismay. Their interests wereso alien to her own.

  "I'm afraid to have you go even for a day," she admitted, with simplehonesty, which moved him deeply. "I don't know what I should do if youwent away. I think of nothing but you now."

  Her face was pitiful, and he put his arm about her neck as if she were achild. "You mustn't do that. You must go on with your life just as if I'dnever been. Think of your father's job--of the forest and the ranch."

  "I can't do it. I've lost interest in the service. I never want to gointo the high country again, and I don't want you to go, either. It's toosavage and cruel."

  "That is only a mood," he said, confidently. "It is splendid up there. Ishall certainly go back some time."

  He could not divine, and she could not tell him, how poignantly she hadsensed the menace of the cold and darkness during his illness. For thefirst time in her life she had realized to the full the unrelentingenmity of the clouds, the wind, the night; and during that interminableride toward home, when she saw him bending lower and lower over hissaddle-bow, her allegiance to the trail, her devotion to the stirrup wasbroken. His weariness and pain had changed the universe for her. Neveragain would she look upon the range with the eyes of the care-free girl.The other, the civilized, the domestic, side of her was now dominant. Anew desire, a bigger aspiration, had taken possession of her.

  Little by little he realized this change in her, and was touched with thewonder of it. He had never had any great self-love either as man orscholar, and the thought of this fine, self-sufficient womanly soulcentering all its interests on him was humbling. Each moment hisresponsibility deepened, and he heard her voice but dimly as she wenton.

  "Of course we are not rich; but we are not poor, and my mother's familyis one of the oldest in Kentucky." She uttered this with a touch of hermother's quiet dignity. "Your father need not despise us."

  "So far as my father is concerned, family don't count, and neither doesmoney. But he confidently expects me to take up his business in Chicago,and I suppose it is my duty to do so. If he finds me looking fit he mayorder me into the ranks at once."

  "I'll go there--I'll do anything you want me to do," she urged. "You cantell your father that I'll help you in the office. I can learn. I'm readyto use a typewriter--anything."

  He was silent in the face of her naive expression of self-sacrificinglove, and after a moment she added, hesitatingly: "I wish I could meetyour father. Perhaps he'd come up here if you asked him to do so?"

  He seized upon the suggestion. "By George! I believe he would. I don'twant to go to town. I just believe I'll wire him that I'm laid up hereand can't come." Then a shade of new trouble came over his face. Howwould the stern, methodical old business man regard this slovenly ranchand its primitive ways? She felt the question in his face.

  "You're afraid to have him come," she said, with the same disconcertingpenetration which had marked every moment of her interview thus far."You're afraid he wouldn't like me?"

  With almost equal frankness he replied: "No. I think he'd like _you_, butthis town and the people up here would gall him. Order is a religion withhim. Then he's got a vicious slant against all this conservationbusiness--calls it tommy-rot. He and your father might lock horns firstcrack out of the box. But I'll risk it. I'll wire him at once."

  A knock at the door interrupted him, and Mrs. McFarlane's voice, filledwith new excitement, called out: "Berrie, the District office is on thewire."

  Berrie opened the door and confronted her mother, who said: "Mr. Evingham'phones that the afternoon papers contain an account of a fight at CoalCity between Settle and one of Alec Belden's men, and that the DistrictForester is coming down to investigate it."

  "Let him come," answered Berrie, defiantly. "He can't do us any harm.What was the row about?"

  "I didn't hear much of it. Your father was at the 'phone."

  McFarlane, with the receiver to his ear, was saying: "Don't know a thingabout it, Mr. Evingham. Settle was at the station when I left. I didn'tknow he was going down to Coal City. No, that's a mistake. My daughterwas never engaged to Alec Belden. Alec Belden is the older of thebrothers, and is married. I can't go into that just now. If you come downI'll explain fully."

  He hung up the receiver and slowly turned toward his wife and daughter."This sure is our day of trouble," he said, with dejected countenance.

  "What is it all about?" asked Berrie.

  "Why, it seems that after I left yesterday Settle rode down the valleywith Belden's outfit, and they all got to drinking, ending in a row, andTony beat one of Belden's men almost to death. The sheriff has gone overto get Tony, and the Beldens declare they're going to railroad him. Thatmeans we'll all be brought into it. Belden has seized the moment toprefer charges against me for keeping Settle in the service and forputting a non-resident on the roll as guard. The whelp will dig upeverything he can to queer me with the office. All that kept him fromdoing it before was Cliff's interest in you."

  "He can't make any of his charges stick," declared Berrie.

  "Of course he can't. He knows that. But he can bring us all into court.You and Mr. Norcross will both be called as witnesses, for it seems thatTony was defending your name. The papers call it 'a fight for a girl.'Oh, it's a sweet mess."

  For the first time Berrie betrayed alarm. "What shall we do? I can't goon the stand! They can't make me do that, can they?" She turned toWayland. "Now you _must_ go away. It is a shame to have you mixed up insuch a trial."

  "I shall not run away and leave you and the Supervisor to bear all theburden of this fight."

  He anticipated in imagination--as they all did--some of the consequencesof this trial. The entire story of the
camping trip would be dragged in,distorted into a scandal, and flashed over the country as a disgracefulepisode. The country would ring with laughter and coarse jest. Berrie'stestimony would be a feast for court-room loafers.

  "There's only one thing to do," said McFarlane, after a few moments ofthought. "You and Berrie and Mrs. McFarlane must get out of here beforeyou are subpoenaed."

  "And leave you to fight it out alone?" exclaimed his wife. "I shall donothing of the kind. Berrie and Mr. Norcross can go."

  "That won't do," retorted McFarlane, quickly. "That won't do at all. Youmust go with them. I can take care of myself. I will not have you draggedinto this muck-hole. We've got to think quick and act quick. There won'tbe any delay about their side of the game. I don't think they'll doanything to-day; but you've got to fade out of the valley. You all getready and I'll have one of the boys hook up the surrey as if for a littledrive, and you can pull out over the old stage-road to Flume and catchthe narrow-gage morning train for Denver. You've been wanting for sometime to go down the line. Now here's a good time to start."

  Berrie now argued against running away. Her blood was up. She joined hermother. "We won't leave you to inherit all this trouble. Who will lookafter the ranch? Who will keep house for you?"

  McFarlane remained firm. "I'll manage. Don't worry about me. Just get outof reach. The more I consider this thing, the more worrisome it gets.Suppose Cliff should come back to testify?"

  "He won't. If he does I'll have him arrested for trying to kill Wayland,"retorted Berrie.

  "And make the whole thing worse! No. You are all going to cross therange. You can start out as if for a little turn round the valley, andjust naturally keep going. It can't do any harm, and it may save a nastytime in court."

  "One would think we were a lot of criminals," remarked Wayland.

  "That's the way you'll be treated," retorted McFarlane. "Belden hasretained old Whitby, the foulest old brute in the business, and he'llbring you all into it if he can."

  "But running away from it will not prevent talk," argued his wife.

  "Not entirely; but talk and testimony are two different things. Supposethey call daughter to the stand? Do you want her cross-examined as towhat basis there was for this gossip? They know something of Cliff'sbeing let out, and that will inflame them. He may be at the mill thisminute."

  "I guess you're right," said Norcross, sadly. "Our delightful excursioninto the forest has led us into a predicament from which there is onlyone way of escape, and that is flight."

  Back of all this talk, this argument, there remained still unanswered themost vital, most important question: "Shall I speak of marriage at thistime? Would it be a source of comfort to them as well as a joy to her?"At the moment he was ready to speak, for he felt himself to be the directcause of all their embarrassment. But closer thought made it clear that ahasty ceremony would only be considered a cloak to cover somethingillicit. "I'll leave it to the future," he decided.

  McFarlane was again called to the telephone. Landon, with characteristicbrevity, conveyed to him the fact that Mrs. Belden was at home and busily'phoning scandalous stories about the country. "If you don't stop hershe's going to poison every ear in the valley," ended the ranger.

  "You'd think they'd all know my daughter well enough not to believeanything Mrs. Belden says," responded McFarlane, bitterly.

  "All the boys are ready to do what Tony did. But nobody can stop this oldfool's mouth but you. Cliff has disappeared, and that adds to theexcitement."

  "Thank the boys for me," said McFarlane, "and tell them not to fight.Tell 'em to keep cool. It will all be cleared up soon."

  As McFarlane went out to order the horses hooked up, Wayland followed himas far as the bars. "I'm conscience-smitten over this thing, Supervisor,for I am aware that I am the cause of all your trouble."

  "Don't let that worry you," responded the older man. But he spoke witheffort. "It can't be helped. It was all unavoidable."

  "The most appalling thing to me is the fact that not even your daughter'spopularity can neutralize the gossip of a woman like Mrs. Belden. Mybeing an outsider counts against Berrie, and I'm ready to doanything--anything," he repeated, earnestly. "I love your daughter, Mr.McFarlane, and I'm ready to marry her at once if you think best. She's anoble girl, and I cannot bear to be the cause of her calumniation."

  There was mist in the Supervisor's eyes as he turned them on the youngman. "I'm right glad to hear you say that, my boy." He reached out hishand, and Wayland took it. "I knew you'd say the word when the time came.I didn't know how strongly she felt toward you till to-day. I knew sheliked you, of course, for she said so, but I didn't know that she hadplum set her heart on you. I didn't expect her to marry a city man;but--I like you and--well, she's the doctor! What suits her suits me.Don't you be afraid of her not meeting all comers." He went on after apause, "She's never seen much of city life, but she'll hold her ownanywhere, you can gamble on that."

  "She has wonderful adaptability, I know," answered Wayland, slowly. "ButI don't like to take her away from here--from you."

  "If you hadn't come she would have married Cliff--and what kind of a lifewould she have led with him?" demanded McFarlane. "I knew Cliff wasrough, but I couldn't convince her that he was cheap. I live only for herhappiness, my boy, and, though I know you will take her away from me, Ibelieve you can make her happy, and so--I give her over to you. As totime and place, arrange that--with--her mother." He turned and walkedaway, unable to utter another word.

  Wayland's throat was aching also, and he went back into the house with asense of responsibility which exalted him into sturdier manhood.

  Berea met him in a pretty gown, a dress he had never seen her wear, acostume which transformed her into something entirely feminine.

  She seemed to have put away the self-reliant manner of the trail, and inits stead presented the lambent gaze, the tremulous lips of the bride. Ashe looked at her thus transfigured his heart cast out its hesitancy andhe entered upon his new adventure without further question or regret.