Meg of Mystery Mountain

by Grace May North

  CHAPTER XXXI. AN UNCANNY EXPERIENCE

  At the foot of the trail that led up the mountain, Dan, who had been inthe lead with Meg, called: "Jean, we're waiting for you to go ahead,since you have so often ridden this trail."

  The boy, who had been silently riding at Jane's side whenever it had beenpossible, turned to ask: "Will you ride on ahead with me?"

  The girl tried to smile at him, but her lips quivered. "No, thank you,Jean. I think I will stay with Merry."

  A boyish voice called, "Ask me and hear what I'll say." It was Bob, andbefore Jean could express a desire for his companionship, the black horsewhich the younger lad rode was scrambling up the rocky trail followingthe leader. Julie and Gerald, on their agile ponies, were next; Meg andDan followed, while Jane and Merry rode more slowly, each putting herentire trust in the horse on which she was mounted. "We do not need totry to guide them," Merry had said. "Jean told me that the horses climbbest without direction. Just pull up on the rein if it should happen tostumble."

  Bob's enthusiasm over all he saw was given such constant expression thatJane's silence was not so noticeable. Dan, now and then, glanced backanxiously. He also had noted Jean's apparent devotion to Merry on the twodays previous, and he wondered if it had saddened Jane, and yet she hadnever said that she really cared for Jean.

  When they reached a wide rock plateau their guide whirled in his saddleto ask if any of the riders were tired and wished to rest for a while,but they all preferred to keep on. A few moments later they were passingthrough the deserted mining camp. There was not a breath of wind stirringand the only sounds they heard were the humming of insects and now andthen a bird song.

  The cabins, many of them falling into ruins, looked as though they mightbe haunted with ghosts of the men who had given their lives trying tofind gold. "Say, boy!" Bob drew rein to look about him. "This placesgives one the shivers, all right! At any minute I expect to hear a ghostgroan or----"

  "Hark! What was that?" Merry interrupted. "I _did_ hear a groan! I ampositive that I did." They all listened and there was no mistaking thefact that a groaning noise was coming from a cabin that stood near a deeppit beside which was a pile of red and yellow ore.

  "What do you suppose it is, since we know there is no such thing as aghost?" Dan turned toward Meg to inquire. Surely the mountain girl wouldknow.

  But it was Jean who replied: "Don't you believe that some wounded animalmay have dragged itself into the cabin to die? They always _do_ try tohide away when they are hurt, don't they, Meg?"

  The girl nodded, her sweet face serious as she said: "I will ride overand see what it is. A moan like that always means that some creatureneeds help."

  "You must not go alone," Dan told her. "I will ride over there with you."

  Meg turned to the others. "Please wait here," she said. "If it is a hurtanimal, so many of us would frighten it."

  In silence the group waited, watching the two who rode toward the yawningpit. When they were near the place, Meg dismounted and Dan did likewise.Together they approached the door of the isolated cabin. Dan swung hisgun from his shoulder and held it in readiness if harm were to threatenthem. Meg glanced at the door, then turning, motioned the lad to put uphis gun. Wondering what the girl had seen, the boy hastened to her side.

  Meg entered the old cabin and Dan, standing at the door, saw on therotting floor the twisted form of the old Ute Indian.

  His wrinkled, leathery face showed how cruelly he was suffering, but whenhe saw Meg, who at once knelt at his side, his expression changed to oneof eagerness, almost of gladness. He tried to reach out his shriveledarm, but groaned instead.

  Dan stepped inside and looked down pityingly. Meg, glancing up with tearsin her wonderful eyes, said, "Poor old Ute. He has had another stroke,and this one is his last." They both knew that the old Indian was makinga great effort to speak, and the lad bent to whisper, "Perhaps he istrying to tell you something."

  "Oh, if he only would! If he only could." Meg was rubbing the poor limphand that was crusted with dirt in her own. Then, close to his ear, sheasked clearly: "Could you tell me about my father?"

  Again there was a lightening of the eyes that were beginning to dim."Fadder he die--hid box----. Dig, dig, no find box. _You_ find box, thenyou know----" The old Ute could say no more, for another contortion hadseized him and it was the last.

  Meg was trembling so that Dan had to assist her to rise. The others,having been eager to know what had happened, had approached the cabin anddismounted. Jane saw that, for the first time in their acquaintance, themountain girl was nearly overcome with emotion, and going to her, sheslipped an arm about her, saying sincerely, "Meg, dear, what is it? Canwe help you?" But almost at once Meg regained at least outward composure."It is the old Ute Indian who has died," she told them. "How thankful Iam that we came this way, for he has told me about my father. Perhaps Ishall know more, but that much is enough."

  Turning back, she looked thoughtfully at the cabin, then said, "Dan, willyou help me bar the door that no wild creature can get in? The windowswere long ago boarded up. The old Ute shall have it for his tomb."

  When this was done, a solemn group of young people rode away. Meg saidlittle, and Dan, riding at her side, understood her thoughtfulness. Whenthe Abbott cabin was reached, Meg said goodbye to the friends who were toremain there, but Dan insisted upon accompanying her to her home.

  When they were quite alone the lad rode close to her, and placed a handon hers as he said, "Meg, dear, how much, how very much this means toyou."

  Such a wonderful light there was in the dusky eyes that were lifted tohis. "O, Dan, _now_ I can feel that I have a right to accept yourfriendship; yours and Jane's." But with sincere feeling the lad replied:"It is for your sake only that I am glad. Your parentage mattered not atall to me, nor, of late, has it to Jane." Then, although Dan had notplanned on speaking so soon, he heard himself saying: "Meg, you are allto me that my most idealistic dreams could picture for the girl I wouldwish to marry. Do you think that some day you might care for me if Iregain my health and am able to make a home for you?"

  There was infinite tenderness in the dark eyes, but the girl shook herhead. "Your companionship means very much to me, Dan, but I must teach. Iwant to care for the two old people who took me in out of the storm andwho have given me all that I have had."

  "You shall, dearest girl. That is, _we_ shall, if you will let me helpyou."

  Then before Meg could refuse, Dan implored, "Don't answer me yet. I canwait if you will _try_ to love me." They had reached the cabin and saw MaHeger, wiping sudsy hands on her apron, hurrying out to greet them. Dandetained the girl. "Promise me that you will try to care," he pleaded. "Iwon't have to try," she said, then turned to greet the angular woman whohad been the only mother she had ever known.