CHAPTER VI
THE POOL AND THE WATER SPRITE
Long after the others in the camp had sunk into the profound slumber ofweary bodies and good consciences, a solitary candle in the small tentoccupied by Enid Maitland alone, gave evidence that she was busy overthe letters which Kirkby had handed to her.
It was a very thoughtful girl indeed who confronted the old frontiersmanthe next morning. At the first convenient opportunity when they werealone together she handed him the packet of letters.
"Have you read 'em?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Wall, you keep 'em," said the old man gravely. "Mebbe you'll want toread 'em agin."
"But I don't understand why you want me to have them."
"Wall, I'm not quite sure myself why, but leastways I do an'--"
"I shall be very glad to keep them," said the girl still more gravely,slipping them into one of the pockets of her hunting shirt as shespoke.
The packet was not bulky, the letters were not many nor were they of anygreat length. She could easily carry them on her person and in somestrange and inexplicable way she was rather glad to have them. She couldnot, as she had said, see any personal application to herself in them,and yet in some way she did feel that the solution of the mystery wouldbe hers some day. Especially did she think this on account of thestrange but quiet open emphasis of the old hunter.
There was much to do about the camp in the mornings. Horses and burrosto be looked after, fire wood to be cut, plans for the day arranged,excursions planned, mountain climbs projected. Later on unwonted handsmust be taught to cast the fly for the mountain trout which filled thebrook and pool, and all the varied duties, details and fascinatingpossibilities of camp life must be explained to the new-comers.
The first few days were days of learning and preparation, days of mishapand misadventure, of joyous laughter over blunders in getting settled,or learning the mysteries of rod and line, of becoming hardened andacclimated. The weather proved perfect; it was late October and thenights were very cold, but there was no rain and the bright sunny dayswere invigorating and exhilarating to the last degree. They had hugefires and plenty of blankets and the colder it was in the night thebetter they slept.
It was an intensely new experience for the girl from Philadelphia, butshe showed a marked interest and adaptability, and entered with thekeenest zest into all the opportunities of the charming days. She was agood sportswoman and she soon learned to throw a fly with the best ofthem. Old Kirkby took her under his especial protection, and as he wasone of the best rods in the mountains, she enjoyed every advantage.
She had always lived in the midst of life. Except in the privacy of herown chamber she had rarely ever been alone before--not twenty feet froma man: she thought whimsically; but here the charm of solitude attractedher, she liked to take her rod and wander off alone. She actuallyenjoyed it.
The main stream that flowed down the canyon was fed by many affluentsfrom the mountain sides, and in each of them voracious trout appeared.She explored them as she had opportunity. Sometimes with the others butmore often by herself. She discovered charming and exquisite nooks,little stretches of grass, the size perhaps of a small room, flowerdecked, ferny bordered, overshadowed by tall gaunt pine trees, thesunlight filtering through their thin foliage, checkering the verdantcarpet beneath. Huge moss covered boulders, wet with the everdashingspray of the roaring brooks, lay in mid-stream and with other naturalstepping stones hard-by invited her to cross to either shore. Waterfallslaughed musically in her ears, deep still pools tempted her skill andaddress.
Sometimes leaving rod and basket by the waterside, she climbed someparticularly steep acclivity of the canyon wall and stood poised, windblown, a nymph of the woods, upon some pinnacle of rock rising needlelike at the canyon's edge above the sea of verdure which the wind wavedto and fro beneath her feet. There in the bright light, with the breezeblowing her golden hair, she looked like some Norse goddess, blue eyed,exhilarated, triumphant.
She was a perfectly formed woman on the ancient noble lines of Milorather than the degenerate softness of Medici. She grew stronger of limband fuller of breath, quicker and steadier of eye and hand, cooler ofnerve, in these demanding, compelling adventures among the rocks in thismountain air. She was not a tall woman, indeed slightly under ratherthan over the medium size, but she was so ideally proportioned, shecarried herself with the fearlessness of a young chamois, that shelooked taller than she was. There was not an ounce of superfluous fleshupon her, yet she had the grace of Hebe, the strength of Pallas Athene,and the swiftness of motion of Atalanta. Had she but carried bow andspear, had she worn tunic and sandals, she might have stood for Dianaand she would have had no cause to blush by comparison with the finestmodel of Praxiteles' chisel or the most splendid and glowing example ofAppelles' brush.
Uncle Robert was delighted with her. His contribution to her westernoutfit was a small Winchester. She displayed astonishing aptitude underhis instructions and soon became wonderfully proficient with that deadlyweapon and with a revolver also. There was little danger to beapprehended in the daytime among the mountains the more experienced menthought, still it was wise for the girl always to have a weapon inreadiness, so in her journeyings, either the Winchester was slung fromher shoulder or carried in her hand, or else the Colt dangled at herhip. At first she took both, but finally it was with reluctance that shecould be persuaded to take either. Nothing had ever happened. Save for afew birds now and then she had seemed the only tenant of thewildernesses of her choice.
One night after a camping experience of nearly two weeks in themountains, and just before the time for breaking up and going back tocivilization, she announced that early the next morning she was goingdown the canyon for a day's fishing excursion.
None of the party had ever followed the little river very far, but itwas known that some ten miles below the stream merged in a lovelygem-like lake in a sort of crater in the mountains. From thence by aseries of waterfalls it descended through the foothills to the distantplains beyond. The others had arranged to climb one especially dangerousand ambition provoking peak which towered above them and which had neverbefore been surmounted so far as they knew. Enid enjoyed mountainclimbing. She liked the uplift in feeling that came from going higherand higher till some crest was gained, but on this occasion they urgedher to accompany them in vain.
When the fixity of her decision was established she had a number ofoffers to accompany her, but declined them all, bidding the others gotheir way. Mrs. Maitland, who was not feeling very well, old Kirkby, whohad climbed too many mountains to feel much interest in that game, andPete, the horse wrangler, who had to look after the stock, remained incamp; the others, with the exception of Enid, started at daybreak fortheir long ascent. She waited until the sun was about an hour high andthen bade good-by to the three and began the descent of the canyon.Traveling light for she was going far--farther indeed than she knew--sheleft her Winchester at home, but carried the revolver with the fishingtackle and substantial luncheon.
Now the river--a river by courtesy only--and the canyon turned sharplyback on themselves just beyond the little meadow where the camp waspitched. Past the tents that had been their home for this joyous periodthe river ran due east for a few hundred feet, after which it curvedsharply, doubled back and flowed westward for several miles before itgradually swung around to the east on its proper course again.
It had been Enid's purpose to cut across the hills and strike the riverwhere it turned eastward once more, avoiding the long detour back. Infact she had declared her intention of doing that to Kirkby and he hadgiven her careful directions so that she should not get lost in themountains.
But she had plenty of time and no excuse or reason for saving it; shenever tired of the charm of the canyon; therefore, instead of plungingdirectly over the spur of the range, she followed the familiar trailand after she had passed westward far beyond the limits of the camp tothe turning, she decided, in accordance with that utterly irr
esponsiblething, a woman's will, that she would not go down the canyon that dayafter all, but that she would cross back over the range and strike theriver a few miles above the camp and go up the canyon instead.
She had been up in that direction a few times, but only for a shortdistance, as the ascent above the camp was very sharp; in fact for alittle more than a mile the brook was only a succession of waterfalls;the best fishing was below the camp and the finest woods were deeper inthe canyon. She suddenly concluded that she would like to see what was upin that unexplored section of the country and so, with scarcely amomentary hesitation, she abandoned her former plan and began the ascentof the range.
Upon decisions so lightly taken what momentous consequences depend?Whether she should go up the stream or down the stream, whether sheshould follow the rivulet to its source or descend it to its mouth, wasapparently a matter of little moment, yet her whole life turnedabsolutely upon that decision. The idle and unconsidered choice of thehour was fraught with gravest possibilities. Had that election beenmade with any suspicion, with any foreknowledge, had it come as theresult of careful reasoning or far-seeing of probabilities, it mighthave been understandable, but an impulse, a whim, the vagrant idea of anidle hour, the careless chance of a moment, and behold! a life ischanged. On one side were youth and innocence, freedom and contentment,a happy day, a good rest by the cheerful fire at night; on the other,peril of life, struggle, love, jealousy, self-sacrifice, devotion,suffering, knowledge--scarcely Eve herself when she stood apple in handwith ignorance and pleasure around her and enlightenment and sorrowbefore her, had greater choice to make.
How fortunate we are that the future is veiled, that the psalmist'sprayer that he might know his end and be certified how long he had tolive is one that will not and cannot be granted; that it has been givento but One to foresee His own future, for no power apparently couldenable us to stand up against what might be, because we are only humanbeings not sufficiently alight with the spark divine. We wait for theend because we must, but thank God we know it not until it comes.
Nothing of this appeared to the girl that bright sunny morning. Fate hidin those mountains under the guise of fancy. Lighthearted, carefree,fitted with buoyant joy over every fact of life, she left the flowingwater and scaled the cliff beyond which in the wilderness she was tofind, after all, the world.
The ascent was longer and more difficult and dangerous than she hadimagined when she first confronted it, perhaps it was typical andforetold her progress. More than once she had to stop and carefullyexamine the face of the canyon wall for a practicable trail; more thanonce she had to exercise extremest care in her climb, but she was a boldand fearless mountaineer by this time and at last surmounting everydifficulty she stood panting slightly, a little tired but triumphant,upon the summit.
The ground was rocky and broken, the timber line was close above her andshe judged that she must be several miles from the camp. The canyon wasvery crooked, she could see only a few hundred yards of it in anydirection. She scanned her circumscribed limited horizon eagerly for thesmoke from the great fire that they always kept burning in the camp, butnot a sign of it was visible. She was evidently a thousand feet abovethe river whence she had come. Her standing ground was a rocky ridgewhich fell away more gently on the other side for perhaps two hundredfeet toward the same brook. She could see through vistas in the treesthe up-tossed peaks of the main range, bare, chaotic, snow covered,lonely, majestic, terrible.
The awe of the everlasting hills is greater than that of the heavingsea. Save in the infrequent periods of calm, the latter always moves,the mountains are the same for all time. The ocean is quick, noisy,living; the mountains are calm, still--dead.
The girl stood as it were on the roof of the world, a solitary humanbeing, so far as she knew, in the eye of God above her. Ah, but the EyesDivine look long and see far; things beyond the human ken are allrevealed. None of the party had ever come this far from the camp in thisdirection she knew. And she was glad to be the first, as she fatuouslythought, to observe that majestic solitude.
Surveying the great range she wondered where the peak climbers might be.Keen sighted though she was she could not discover them. The crest thatthey were attempting lay in another direction hidden by a nearer spur.She was in the very heart of the mountains; peaks and ridges rose allabout her, so much so that the general direction of the great range waslost. She was at the center of a far flung concavity of crest andrange. She marked one towering point to the right of her that rosemassively grand above all the others. To-morrow she would climb to thathigh point and from its lofty elevation look upon the heavens above andthe earth beneath, aye and the waters under the earth far below.To-morrow!--it is generally known that we do not usually attempt thehigh points in life's range at once, content are we with lower altitudesto-day.
There was no sound above her, the rushing water over the rocks upon thenearer side she could hear faintly beneath her, there was no wind abouther, to stir the long needles of the pines. It was very still, the kindof a stillness of body which is the outward and visible complement ofthat stillness of the soul in which men know God. There had been noearthquake, no storm, the mountains had not heaved beneath her feet, thegreat and strong wind had not passed by, the rocks had not been rent andbroken, yet Enid caught herself listening as if for a Voice. The thrallof majesty, silence, loneliness was upon her. She stood--one stands whenthere is a chance of meeting God on the way, one does not kneel until Hecomes--with her raised hands clasped, her head uplifted in exultationunspeakable, God-conquered with her face to heaven upturned.
"I will lift up mine eyes to the hills whence cometh my salvation," herheart sang voicelessly. "We praise Thee, O God, we magnify Thy Holy Nameforever," floated through her brain, in great appreciation of themarvelous works of the Almighty Shaping Master Hand. Caught up as itwere into the heavens, her soul leaped to meet its maker. Thinking tofind God she waited there on the heaven-kissing hill.
How long she stayed she did not realize; she took no note of time, itdid not occur to her even to look at the watch on her wrist; she hadswept the skyline cut off as it were by the peaks when first she came,and when at last she turned away--even divinest moments must have anend--she looked not backward. She saw not a little cloud hid on thehorizon behind the rampart of ages, as it were, no bigger than a man'shand, a cloud full of portent and which would alarm greatly the veteranKirkby in the camp and Maitland on the mountain top. Both of themunfortunately were unable to see it, one being on the other side of therange, and the other deep in the canyon, and for both of them as for thegirl the sun still shone brightly.
The declivity to the river on the upper side was comparatively easy andEnid Maitland went slowly and thoughtfully down to it until she reachedthe young torrent. She got her tackle ready, but did no casting as shemade her way slowly up the ever narrowing, ever rising canyon. She wascharmed and thrilled by the wild beauty of the way, the spell of themountains was deep upon her. Thoughtfully she wandered on until,presently she came to another little amphitheater like that where thecamp was pitched, only smaller. Strange to say the brook, or river, herebroadened into a little pool perhaps twenty feet across; a turn hadthrown a full force of water against the huge boulder wall and in agesof effort a giant cup had been hollowed out of the native rock. The poolwas perhaps four or five feet deep, the rocky bottom worn smooth, theclearing was upon the opposite side and the banks were heavily woodedbeyond the spur of the rock which formed the back of the pool. She couldsee the trout in it. She made ready to try her fortune, but before shedid so an idea came to her--daring, unconventional, extraordinary, begotof innocence and inexperience.
The water of course was very cold, but she had been accustomed all herlife to taking a bath at the natural temperature of the water atwhatever season. She knew that the only people in that wilderness werethe members of her own party; three of them were at the camp below, theothers were ascending a mountain miles away. The canyon was deep sunk,and she satisfied herself by
careful observation that the pool was notoverlooked by any elevations far or near.
Her ablutions in common with those of the rest of the campers had beenby piecemeal of necessity. Here was an opportunity for a plunge in anatural bath tub. She was as certain that she would be under noobservation as if she were in the privacy of her own chamber. Here againimpulse determined the end. In spite of her assurance there was somelittle apprehension in the glance that she cast about her, but it soonvanished. There was no one. She was absolutely alone. The pool and thechance of the plunge had brought her down to earth again; the thought ofthe enlivening exhilaration of the pure cold water dashing against herown sweet warm young body changed the current of her thoughts--theanticipation of it rather.
Impulsively she dropped her rod upon the grass, unpinned her cap, threwthe fishing basket from her shoulder. She was wearing a stout sweater;that too joined the rest. Nervous hands manipulated buttons and thefastenings. In a few moments the sweet figure of youth, of beauty, ofpurity and of innocence brightened the sod and shed a white luster uponthe green of the grass and moss and pines, reflecting light to the graybrown rocks of the range. So Eve may have looked on some bright Edenmorning. A few steps forward and this nymph of the woods, this naiad ofthe mountains, plunged into the clear, cold waters of the pool--a watersprite and her fountain!
The Chalice Of Courage: A Romance of Colorado Page 10
