CHAPTER X
A TELEGRAM AND A CALLER
"You say," asked Maitland, as they surveyed the canyon, "that she wentdown the stream?"
"She said she was goin' down. I showed her how to cut across themountains an' avoid the big bend, I've got no reason to suspicion thatshe didn't go w'ere she said."
"Nevertheless," said Maitland, "it is barely possible that she may havechanged her mind and gone up the canyon."
"Yep, the female mind does often change unexpected like," returned theother, "but w'ether she went up or down, the only place for us to look,I take it, is down, for if she's alive, if she got out of the canyon andis above us, nacherly she'd follow it down yere an' we'd a seed her bythis time. If she didn't git out of the canyon, why, all that's left ofher is bound to be down stream."
Maitland nodded, he understood.
"We'd better go down then," continued Kirkby, whose reasoning wasflawless except that it made no allowance for the human-divineinterposition that had been Enid Maitland's salvation. "An' if we don'tfind no traces of her down stream, we kin come back here an' go up."
It was a hard desperate journey the two men took. One of them followedthe stream at its level, the other tramped along in the mountains highabove the high water mark of the day before. If they had needed anyevidence of the power of that cloud burst and storm, they found it inthe canyon. In some places where it was narrow and rocky, the pass hadbeen fearfully scoured; at other places the whole aspect of it waschanged. The place was a welter of up-rooted trees, logs jammed togetherin fantastic shapes; it was as if some wanton besom of destruction hadswept the narrow rift.
Ever as they went they called and called. The broken obstructions of theway made their progress slow; what they would have passed overordinarily in half a day, they had not traversed by nightfall and theyhad seen nothing. They camped that night far down the canyon and in themorning with hearts growing heavier every hour they resumed theirsearch.
About noon of the second day they came to an immense log jam where thestream now broadened and made a sudden turn before it plunged over afall of perhaps two hundred feet into the lake. It was the end of theirquest. If they did not find her there, they would never find heranywhere, they thought. With still hearts and bated breath they climbedout over the log jam and scrutinized it. A brownish gray patch concealedbeneath the great pines caught their eyes. They made their way to it.
"It's a b'ar, a big grizzly," exclaimed Kirkby.
The huge brute was battered out of all semblance of life, but that itwas a grizzly bear was clearly evident. Further on the two men caughtsight suddenly of a dash of blue. Kirkby stepped over to it, lifted itin his hand and silently extended it to Maitland. It was a sweater, awoman's sweater. They recognized it at once. The old man shook his head.Maitland groaned aloud.
"See yere," said Kirkby, pointing to the ragged and torn garment whereevidences of discoloration still remained, "looks like there'd bin bloodon it."
"Heavens!" cried Maitland, "not that bear, I'd rather anything thanthat."
"W'atever it is, she's gone," said the old man with solemn finality.
"Her body may be in these logs here--"
"Or in the lake," answered Kirkby gloomily; "but w'erever she is wecan't git to her now."
"We must come back with dynamite to break up this jam and--"
"Yep," nodded the old man, "we'll do all that, of course, but now, arterwe search this jam o' logs I guess there's nothin' to do but go back,an' the quicker we git back to the settlement, the quicker we can gitback here. I think we kin strike acrost the mountains an' save a day an'a half. There's no need of us goin' back up the canyon now, I take it."
"No," answered the other. "The quicker the better, as you say, and wecan head off George and the others that way."
They searched the pile eagerly, prying under it, peering into it,upsetting it, so far as they could with their naked hands, but withlittle result, for they found nothing else. They had to camp another dayand next morning they hurried straight over the mountains, reaching thesettlement almost as soon as the others. Maitland with furious energy atonce organized a relief party. They hurried back to the logs, tore thejam to pieces, searched it carefully and found nothing. To drag the lakewas impossible; it was hundreds of feet deep and while they worked itfroze. The weather had changed some days before, heavy snows had alreadyfallen, they had to get out of the mountains without further delay orelse be frozen up to die. Then and not till then did Maitland give uphope. He had refrained from wiring to Philadelphia, but when he reacheda telegraph line some ten days after the cloud burst, he sent a longmessage east, breaking to his brother the awful tidings.
And in all that they did he and Kirkby, two of the shrewdest and mostexperienced of men, showed with singular exactitude how easy it is forthe wisest and most capable of men to make mistakes, to leave the plaintrail, to fail to deduce the truth from the facts presented. Yet it isdifficult to point to a fault in their reasoning, or to find anythingleft undone in the search.
Enid had started down the canyon, near the end of it they had discoveredone of her garments which they could not conceive any reason for hertaking off. It was near the battered body of one of the biggestgrizzlies that either man had ever seen, it held evidence of bloodstains upon it still, they had found no body, but they were asprofoundly sure that the mangled remains of the poor girl lay within thedepths of that mountain lake as if they had actually seen her there. Thelogic was all flawless.
It so happened that on that November morning, when the telegram wasapproaching him, Mr. Stephen Maitland had a caller. He came at anunusually early hour. Mr. Stephen Maitland, who was no longer an earlyriser, had indeed just finished his breakfast when the card of Mr. JamesArmstrong of Colorado was handed to him.
"This, I suppose," he thought testily, "is one of the results of Enid'swanderings into that God-forsaken land. Did you ask the man hisbusiness, James?" he said aloud to the footman.
"Yes, sir; he said he wanted to see you on important business, and whenI made bold to ask him what business, he said it was none of mine, andfor me to take the message to you, sir."
"Impudent," growled Mr. Maitland.
"Yes, sir; but he is the kind of a gentleman you don't talk back to,sir."
"Well, you go back and tell him that you have given me his card, and Ishould like to know what he wishes to see me about, that I am very busythis morning and unless it is a matter of importance--you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"I suppose now I shall have the whole west unloaded upon me; everyvagabond friend of Robert's and people who meet Enid," he thought, buthis reveries were shortly interrupted by the return of the man.
"If you please, sir," began James hesitatingly, as he re-entered theroom, "he says his business is about the young lady, sir."
"Confound his impudence!" exclaimed Mr. Maitland, more and more annoyedat what he was pleased to characterize mentally as western assurance."Where is he?"
"In the hall, sir."
"Show him into the library and say I shall be down in a moment."
"Very good, sir."
It was a decidedly wrathful individual who confronted Stephen Maitland afew moments afterwards in the library, for Armstrong was not accustomedto such cavalier treatment, and had Maitland been other than Enid'sfather he would have given more outward expression of his indignationover the discourtesy in his reception.
"Mr. James Armstrong, I believe," began Mr. Maitland, looking at thecard in his hand.
"Yes, sir."
"Er--from Colorado?"
"And proud of it."
"Ah, I dare say. I believe you wished to see me about--"
"Your daughter, sir."
"And in what way are you concerned about her, sir?"
"I wish to make her my wife."
"What!" exclaimed the older man in a voice equally divided betweenhorror and astonishment. "How dare you, sir? You amaze, me beyondmeasure with your infernal impudence."
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bsp; "Excuse me, Mr. Maitland," interposed Armstrong quickly and with greatspirit and determination, "but where I come from we don't allow anybodyto talk to us in this way. You are Enid's father and a much older manthan I, but I can't permit you to--"
"Sir," said the astounded Maitland, drawing himself up at this boldflouting, "you may be a very worthy young man, I have no doubt of it,but it is out of the question. My daughter--"
Again a less excited hearer might have noticed the emphasis on thepronoun.
"Why, she is half way engaged to me now," interrupted the younger manwith a certain contemptuous amusement in his voice. "Look here, Mr.Maitland, I've knocked around the world a good deal, I know what's what,I know all about you Eastern people, and I don't fancy you any more thanyou fancy me. Miss Enid is quite unspoiled yet and that is why I wanther. I'm well able to take care of her too; I don't know what you've gotor how you got it, but I can come near laying down dollar for dollarwith you and mine's all clean money, mines, cattle, lumber, and it'sall good money. I made it myself. I left her in the mountains threeweeks ago with her promise that she would think very seriously of mysuit. After I came back to Denver--I was called east--I made up my mindthat I'd come here when I'd finished my business and have it out withyou. Now you can treat me like a dog if you want to, but if you expectto keep peace in the family you'd better not, for I tell you plainlywhether you give your consent or not I mean to win her. All I want isher consent, and I've pretty nearly got that."
Mr. Stephen Maitland was black with wrath at this clear, unequivocal,determined statement of the case from Armstrong's point of view.
"I would rather see her dead," he exclaimed with angry stubbornness,"than married to a man like you. How dare you force yourself into myhouse and insult me in this way? Were I not so old a man I would showyou, I would give you a taste of your own manner."
The old man's white mustache fairly quivered with what he believed to berighteous indignation. He stepped over to the other and looked hard athim, his eyes blazing, his ruddy cheeks redder than ever. The two menconfronted each other unblenchingly for a moment, then Mr. Maitlandtouched a bell button in the wall by his side. Instantly the footmanmade his appearance.
"James," said the old man, his voice shaking and his knees tremblingwith passion, which he did not quite succeed in controlling despite adesperate effort, "show this--er--gentleman the door. Good morning, sir,our first and last interview is over."
He bowed with ceremonious politeness as he spoke, becoming more and morecomposed as he felt himself mastering the situation. And Armstrong, todo him justice, knew a gentleman when he saw him, and secretly admiredthe older man and began to feel a touch of shame at his own rude way ofputting things.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the footman, breaking the awkward silence, "buthere is a telegram that has just come, sir."
There was nothing for Armstrong to do or say. Indeed, having expressedhimself so unrestrainedly to his rapidly increasing regret, as the oldman took the telegram he turned away in considerable discomfiture, Jamesbowing before him at the door opening into the hall and following him ashe slowly passed out. Mr. Stephen Maitland mechanically and with greatdeliberation and with no premonition of evil tidings, tore open theyellow envelope and glanced at the dispatch. Neither the visitor northe footman had got out of sight or hearing when they heard the old mangroan and fall back helplessly into a chair. Both men turned and ranback to the door, for there was that in the exclamation which gave riseto instant apprehension. Stephen Maitland now as white as death satcollapsed in the chair gasping for breath, his hand on his heart. Thetelegram lay open on the floor. Armstrong recognized the seriousness ofthe situation, and in three steps was by the other's side.
"What is it?" he asked eagerly, his hatred and resentment vanished atthe sight of the old man's ghastly, stricken countenance.
"Enid!" gasped her father. "I said I would rather see her--dead, but--itis not true--I--"
James Armstrong was a man of prompt decision. Without a moment'shesitation he picked up the telegram; it was full and explicit, thus itread:
"We were encamped last week in the mountains. Enid went down the canyon for a day's fishing alone. A sudden cloud burst filled the canyon, washed away the camp. Enid undoubtedly got caught in the torrent and was drowned. We have found some of her clothing but not her body. Have searched every foot of the canyon. Think body has got into the lake now frozen. Snow falling, mountains impassable, will search for her in the spring when the winter breaks. I am following this telegram in person by first train. Would rather have died a thousand deaths than had this happen. God help us."
"ROBERT MAITLAND."
Armstrong read it, stared at it a moment frowning heavily, passed itover to the footman and turned to the stricken father.
"Old man, I loved her," he said simply. "I love her still, I believethat she loves me. They haven't found her body, clothes mean nothing,I'll find her, I'll search the mountains until I do. Don't give way,something tells me that she's alive, and I'll find her."
"If you do," said the broken old man, crushed by the swift and awfulresponse to his thoughtless exclamation, "and she loves you, you shallhave her for your wife."
"It doesn't need that to make me find her," answered Armstrong grimly."She is a woman, lost in the mountains in the winter, alone. Theyshouldn't have given up the search; I'll find her as there is a Godabove me whether she's for me or not."
A good deal of a man this James Armstrong of Colorado, in spite of manythings in his past of which he thought so little that he lacked thegrace to be ashamed of them. Stephen Maitland looked at him with acertain respect and a growing hope, as he stood there in the librarystern, resolute, strong.
Perhaps--
The Chalice Of Courage: A Romance of Colorado Page 14
