The U. P. Trail

by Zane Grey

  7

  Neale rode to Slingerland's cabin twice during the ensuing fortnight,but did not note any improvement in Allie's condition or demeanor. Thetrapper, however, assured Neale that she was gradually gaining a littleand taking some slight interest in things; he said that if Neale couldonly spend enough time there the girl might recover. This made Nealethoughtful.

  General Lodge and his staff had decided to station several engineersin camp along the line of the railroad for the purpose of studying thedrift of snow. It was important that all information possible should beobtained during the next few winters. There would be severe hardshipsattached to this work, but Neale volunteered to serve, and the chiefcomplimented him warmly. He was to study the action of the snowdriftalong Sherman Pass.

  Upon his next visit to Slingerland Neale had the project soberly in mindand meant to broach it upon the first opportunity.

  This morning, when Neale and King rode up to the cabin, Allie did notappear as upon the last occasion of their arrival. Neale missed her.

  Slingerland came out with his usual welcome.

  "Where's Allie?" asked Neale.

  "Wal, she went in jest now. She saw you comin' an' then run in to hide,I reckon. Girls is queer critters."

  "She watched for me--for us--and then ran?" queried Neale, curiously.

  "Wal, she ain't done nothin' but watch fer you since you went away last.An', son, thet's a new wrinkle fer Allie, An' run? Wal, like a skeereddeer."

  "Wonder what that means?" pondered Neale. Whatever it meant, it senta little tingle of pleasure along his pulses. "Red, I want to have aserious talk with Slingerland," he announced, thoughtfully.

  "Shore; go ahaid an' talk," drawled the Southerner, as he slipped hissaddle and turned his horse loose with a slap on the flank. "I reckonI'll take a gun an' stroll off fer a while."

  Neale led the trapper aside to a shady spot under the pines and thereunburdened himself of his plan for the winter.

  "Son, you'll freeze to death!" ejaculated the trapper.

  "I must build a cabin, of course, and prepare for severe weather,"replied Neale.

  Slingerland shook his shaggy head. "I reckon you ain't knowin' thesewinters hyar as I know them. But thet long ridge you call ShermanPass--it ain't so fur we couldn't get thar on snow-shoes except in thewust weather. I reckon you can stay with me hyar."

  "Good!" exclaimed Neale. "And now about Allie."

  "Wal, what about her?"

  "Shall I leave her here or send her back to Omaha with the firstcaravan, or let her go to Fort Fetterman with the troops?"

  "Son, she's your charge, but I say leave her hyar, 'specially now youcan be with us. She'd die or go crazy if you sent her. Why, she won'teven say if she's got a livin' relation. I reckon she hain't. She'd bebetter hyar. I've come to be fond of Allie. She's strange. She's like aspirit. But she's more human lately."

  "I'm glad you say that, Slingerland," replied Neale. "What to do abouther had worried me. I'll decide right now. I'll leave her with you, andI hope to Heaven I'm doing best by her."

  "Wal, she ain't strong enough to travel fur. We didn't think of thet."

  "That settles it, then," said Neale, in relief. "Time enough to decidewhen she is well again.... Tell me about her."

  "Son, thar's nuthin' to tell. She's done jest the same, except fer thettakin' to watchin' fer you. Reckon thet means a good deal."

  "What?"

  "Wal, I don't figger girls as well as I do other critters," answeredSlingerland, reflectively. "But I'd say Allie shows interest in you."

  "Slingerland! You don't mean she--she cares for me?" demanded Neale.

  "I don't know. Mebbe not. Mebbe she's beyond carin'. But I believe youan' thet red memory of bloody death air all she ever thinks of. An'mostly of it."

  "Then it'll be a fight between me and that memory?"

  "So I take it, son. But recollect I ain't no mind-doctor. I jest feelyou could make her fergit thet hell if you tried hard enough."

  "I'll try--hard as I can," replied Neale, resolutely, yet with a certainsoftness. "I'm sorry for her. I saved her. Why shouldn't I do everythingpossible?"

  "Wal, she's alone."

  "No, Allie has friends--you and King and me. That's three."

  "Son, I reckon you don't figger me. Listen. You're a fine, strappin'young feller an' good-lookin'. More 'n thet, you've got some--somequality like an Injun's--thet you can feel but can't tell about. Youneedn't be insulted, fer I know Injuns thet beat white men holler ferall thet's noble. Anyway, you attract. An' now if you keep on with allthet--thet--wal, usin' yourself to make Allie fergit the bloody murderof all she loved, to make her mind clear again--why, sooner or latershe's a-goin' to breathe an' live through you. Jest as a flower livesoffen the sun. Thet's all, I reckon."

  Neale's bronze cheek had paled a little. "Well, if that's all, that'seasy," he replied, with a cool, bright smile which showed the latentspirit in him. "If it's only that--why she can have me.... Slingerland,I've no ties now. The last one was broken when my mother died--not longago. I'm alone, too.... I'd do as much for any innocent girl--but forthis poor child Allie--whose life I saved--I'd do anything."

  Slingerland shoved out a horny hand and made a giant grip express whatevidently just then he could not express in speech.

  Upon returning to the cabin they found Allie had left her room. Fromappearances Neale concluded that she had made little use of the thingshe had brought her. He was conscious of something akin to impatience.He was not sure what he did feel. The situation had subtly changed andgrown, all in that brief talk with Slingerland. Neale slowly walked outtoward the brook, where he expected to find her. It struck him suddenlythat if she had watched for him all week and had run when he came, thenshe must have wanted to see him, but was afraid or shy or perverse. Howlike any girl! Possibly in the week past she had unconsciously grown alittle away from her grief.

  "I'll try something new on you, Allie," he muttered, and the boy in himthat would never grow into a man meant to be serious even in his fun.

  Allie sat in the shady place under the low pine where the brook spilledout of the big spring. She drooped and appeared oblivious to hersurroundings. A stray gleam of sunlight, touching her hair, made itshine bright. Neale's quick eye took note of the fact that she hadwashed the blood-stain from the front of her dress. He was glad. Whathope had there been for her so long as she sat hour after hour with herhands pressed to that great black stain on her dress--that mark whereher mother's head had rested? Neale experienced a renewal of hope. Hebegan to whistle, and, drawing his knife, he went into the brush to cuta fishing-pole. The trout in this brook had long tempted his fisherman'seye, and upon this visit he had brought a line and hooks. He made a lotof noise all for Allie's benefit; then, tramping out of the brush, hebegan to trim the rod within twenty feet of where she sat. He whistled;he even hummed a song while he was rigging up the tackle. Then it becamenecessary to hunt for some kind of bait, and he went about this withpleasure, both because he liked the search and because, out of thecorner of his eye, he saw that Allie was watching him. Therefore heredoubled his efforts at pretending to be oblivious of her presence andat keeping her continually aware of his. He found crickets, worms, andgrubs under the dead pine logs, and with this fine variety of bait heapproached the brook.

  The first cast Neale made fetched a lusty trout, and right there hispretensions of indifference vanished, together with his awareness ofAllie's proximity. Neale loved to fish. He had not yet indulged hisfavorite pastime in the West. He saw trout jumping everywhere. It was abeautiful little stream, rocky, swift here and eddying there, clear ascrystal, murmurous with tiny falls, and bordered by a freshness of greenand gold; there were birds singing in the trees, but over all seemed tohang the quiet of the lonely hills. Neale forgot Allie--forgot that hehad meant to discover if she could be susceptible to a little neglect.The brook was full of trout, voracious and tame; they had never beenangled for. He caught three in short order.

  When his last bait
, a large and luscious grub, struck the water therewas a swirl, a splash, a tug. Neale excitedly realized that he hadhooked a father of the waters. It leaped. That savage leap, the splash,the amazing size of the fish, inflamed in Neale the old boyish desireto capture, and, forgetting what little skill he possessed, he gave amighty pull. The rod bent double. Out with a vicious splash lunged thehuge, glistening trout, to dangle heavily for an instant in the air.Neale thought he heard a cry behind him. He was sitting down, in awkwardposture. But he lifted and swung. The line snapped. The fish dropped inthe grass and began to thresh. Frantically Neale leaped to prevent theescape of the hugest trout he had ever seen. There was a dark flash--acommotion before him. Then he stood staring in bewilderment at Allie,who held the wriggling trout by the gills.

  "You don't know how to fish!" she exclaimed, with great severity.

  "I don't, eh?" ejaculated Neale, blankly.

  "You should play a big trout. You lifted him right out. He broke yourline. He'd have--gotten--away--but for me."

  She ended, panting a little from her exertion and quick speech. A redspot showed in each white cheek. Her eyes were resolute and flashing. Itdawned upon Neale that he had never before seen a tinge of color in herface, nor any of the ordinary feelings of life glancing in her eyes. Nowshe seemed actually pretty. He had made a discovery--perhaps he had nowanother means to distract her from herself. Then the squirming troutdrew his attention and he took it from her.

  "What a whopper! Oh, say, Allie, isn't he a beauty? I could hug--I--Youbet I'm thankful. You were quick.... He certainly is slippery."

  Allie dropped to her knees and wiped her hands on the grass while Nealekilled the fish and strung it upon a willow with the others he hadcaught. Then turning to Allie, he started to tell her how glad he was tosee her again, to ask her if she were glad to see him. But upon lookingat her he decided to try and keep her mind from herself. She wasdifferent now and he liked the difference. He feared he might frightenit away.

  "Will you help me get more bait?" he asked.

  Allie nodded and got up. Then Neale noticed her feet were bare. Poorchild! She had no shoes and he did not know how to procure any suitablefootwear in that wilderness.

  "Have you ever fished for trout?" he asked, as he began to dig under arotting log.

  "Yes. In California," she replied, with sudden shadowing of her eyes.

  "Let's go down the brook," said Neale, hastily, fearful that he had beentactless. "There are some fine holes below."

  She walked beside him, careful of the sharp stones that showed here andthere. Presently they came to a likely-looking pool.

  "If you hook another big one don't try to pull him right out,"admonished Allie.

  Neale could scarcely conceal his delight, and in his effort to appearnatural made a poor showing at this pool, losing two fish and scaringothers so they would not rise.

  "Allie, won't you try?" he asked, offering the rod.

  "I'd rather look on. You like it so much."

  "How do you know that?" he asked, more to hear her talk than fromcuriosity.

  "You grow so excited," she said.

  Thankfully he accepted the realization that after all these weeks ofsilence it was possible to make her speak. But he must exercise extremecaution. One wrong word might send her back into that apathy--thatsenseless, voiceless trance.

  In every pool where Neale cast he caught or lost a trout. He wasenjoying himself tremendously and at the same time feeling a warmthin his heart that was not entirely due to the exhilaration of fishing.Below the head of the valley, where the stream began and the cabinnestled, the ground was open, like a meadow, with grass and flowersgrowing to the edge of the water. There were deep, swirling poolsrunning under the banks, and in these Neale hooked fish he could nothandle with his poor tackle, and they broke away. But he did not care.There was a brightness, a beauty, a fragrance along the stream thatseemed to enhance the farther down he went. Presently they came to aplace where the water rushed over a rocky bed, and here Neale wanted tocross. He started to wade, curious and eager to see what Allie would do.

  "I can't wade that," she called.

  Neale returned to her side. "I'll carry you," he said. "You hold therod. We'll leave the fish here." Then he lifted her in his arms. Howlight she was--how much lighter than upon that first occasion of hiscarrying her. He slipped in the middle of the brook and nearly fell withher. Allie squealed. The sound filled Neale with glee. After all, andwhatever she had gone through, she was feminine--she was a girl--she wassqueamish. Thereupon he slipped purposely and made a heroic effort tosave himself. She clasped his neck convulsively with her free arm, andas he recovered his balance her head bumped into his and her hair gotinto his eyes. He laughed. This was great fun. But it could scarcelyhave been the exertion that made his heart beat out of time. At last hegained the opposite bank.

  "You nearly fell with me," she said.

  "Well, I'd have got wet, too," he replied, wondering if it were possibleto make her laugh or even smile. If he could do that to-day, even in thesmallest degree, he would be assured that happiness might come back toher.

  Soon they met Larry, who came stooping along, burdened with a deercarcass on his shoulder. Relieving himself, he hailed them.

  "How air you-all?" he drawled, addressing himself mostly to Allie.

  "What's your name?" she asked.

  "Allie, he's my friend and partner," replied Neale. "Larry King. But Icall him Red--for obvious reasons."

  "Wal, Miss Allie, I reckon no tall kick would be a-comin' if you was tocall me Red," drawled Larry. "Or better--Reddy. No other lady ever hadthet honor."

  Allie looked at him steadily, as if this was the first time she had seenhim, but she did not reply. And Larry, easily disconcerted, gathered uphis burden and turned toward camp.

  "Wal, I'm shore wishin' you-all good luck," he called, significantly.

  Neale shot a quick glance at Allie to see if the cowboy's good-humoreddouble meaning had occurred to her. But apparently she had not heard.She seemed to be tiring. Her lips were parted and she panted.

  "Are you tired? Shall we go back?" he asked.

  "No--I like it," she returned, slowly, as if the thought were strange toher.

  They fished on, and presently came to a wide, shallow place with smoothrock bottom, where the trail crossed. Neale waded across alone. And hejudged that the water in the middle might come up to Allie's knees.

  "Come on," he called.

  Allie hesitated. She gathered up her faded skirt, slowly waded in andhalted, uncertain of her footing. She was not afraid, Neale decided, andneither did she seem aware that her slender, shapely legs gleamed whiteagainst the dark water.

  "Won't you come and carry me?" she asked.

  "Indeed I won't," replied Neale. "Carry a big girl like you!"

  She took him seriously and moved a little farther. "My feet slip so,"she said.

  It became fascinating to watch her. The fun of it--the pleasure ofseeing a girl wade a brook, innocently immodest, suddenly ceased forNeale. There was something else. He had only meant to tease; he wasgoing to carry her; he started back. And then he halted. There was astrange earnestness in Allie's face--a deliberateness in her intent, outof all proportion to the exigency of the moment. It was as if she mustcross that brook. But she kept halting. "Come on!" Neale called. And shemoved again. Every time this happened she seemed to be compelled to goon. When she got into the swift water, nearly to her knees, then shemight well have faltered. Yet she did not falter. All at once Nealediscovered that she was weak. She did not have the strength to comeon. It was that which made her slip and halt. What then made her try sobravely? How strange that she tried at all! Stranger than all was herpeculiar attitude toward the task--earnest, sober, grave, forced.

  Neale was suddenly seized with surprise and remorse. That which actuatedthis girl Allie was merely the sound of his voice--the answer to hisdemand. He plunged in and reached her just as she was slipping. Hecarried her back to the side from whi
ch she had started. It cost himan effort not to hold her close. Whatever she was--orphan or waif, leftalone in the world by a murdering band of Sioux--an unfortunate girl tobe cared for, succored, pitied--none of these considerations accountedfor the change that his power over her had wrought in him.

  "You're not strong," he said, as he put her down.

  "Was that it?" she asked, with just a touch of wonder. "I used towade--anywhere."

  He spoke little on the way back up the brook, for he hesitated to tellher that he must return to his camp so as to be ready for important workon the morrow, and not until they were almost at the cabin did he makeup his mind. She received the intelligence in silence, and upon reachingthe cabin she went to her room.

  Neale helped Larry and Slingerland with the task of preparing a mealthat all looked forward to having Allie share with them. However, whenSlingerland called her there was no response.

  Neale found her sunk in the old, hopeless, staring, brooding mood. Hetried patience at first, and gentleness, but without avail. She wouldnot come with him. The meal was eaten without her. Later Neale almostcompelled her to take a little food. He felt discouraged again. Time hadflown all too swiftly, and there was Larry coming with the horses andsunset not far off. It might be weeks, even months, before he would seeher again.

  "Allie, are you ever going to cheer up?" he demanded.

  "No--no," she sighed.

  He put his hand under her chin, and, forcing her face up, studied itearnestly. Strained, white, bloodless, thin, with drooping lips andtragic eyes, it was not a beautiful, not even a pretty face. But itmight have been one--very easily. The veiled, mournful eyes didnot evade his; indeed, they appeared to stare deeply, hopelessly,yearningly. If he could only say and do the right thing to kill thatmelancholia. She needed to be made to live. Suddenly he had the impulseto kiss her. That, no doubt, was owing to the proximity of her lips. Buthe must not kiss her. She might care for him some day--it was naturalto imagine she would. But she did not care now, and that made kissesimpossible.

  "You just won't cheer up?" he went on.

  "No--no."

  "But you were so different out there by the brook."

  She made no reply. The veil grew darker, more shadowy, over her eyes.Neale divined a deadness in her.

  "I'm going away," he said, sharply.

  "Yes."

  "Do you care?" He went on, with greater intensity.

  She only stared at him.

  "You MUST care!" he exclaimed.

  "Why?" she asked, dully.

  "Why!... Because--because--" he stammered, angry with himself. Afterall, why should she care?

  "I wish--you'd--left me--to die!" she moaned.

  "Oh! Allie! Allie!" began Neale, in distress. Then he caught thedifferent quality in her voice. It carried feeling. She was thinkingagain. He swore that he would overcome this malady of hers, and he grewkeen, subtle, on fire with his resolve. He watched her. He put his handson her shoulders and pulled her gently. She slid off the pile of buffalorobes to her knees before him. Then she showed the only hint of shynesshe had ever noted in her. Perhaps it was fear. At any rate, she halfaverted her face, so that her loosened hair hid it.

  "Allie! Allie! Listen! Have you nothing to LIVE for?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Why, yes, you have."

  "What?"

  "Why, I--The thing is--Allie--you have ME!" he said, a little hoarsely.Then he laughed. How strange his laugh sounded! He would always rememberthat rude room of logs and furs and the kneeling girl in the dim light.

  "YOU!"

  "Yes, me," he replied, with a ring in his voice. Never before had sheput wonder in a word. He had struck the right chord at last. Now itseemed that he held a live creature under his hands, as if the deadnessand the dread apathy had gone away forever with the utterance of thatone syllable. This was a big moment. If only he could make up to her forwhat she had lost! He felt his throat swell, and speech was difficult.

  "Allie, do you understand me now? You--have something--to live for!...Do you hear?"

  When his ear caught the faint "Yes" he suddenly grew glad and strongwith what he felt to be a victory over her gloom and despair.

  "Listen. I'm going to my work," he began, swiftly. "I'll be goneweeks--maybe more. BUT I'LL COME BACK!... Early in the fall. I'll bewith you all winter. I'm to work here on the pass.... Then--then--Well,I'll be a big man on the U. P. some day. Chief engineer orsuperintendent of maintenance of way.... You're all alone--maybe you'llcare for me some day. I'll work hard. It's a great idea--this railroad.When it's done--and I've my big job--will you--you'll marry me then?"

  Neale heard her gasp and felt her quiver. He let go of her and stoodup, for fear he might suddenly take her in his arms. His words had beenshock enough. He felt remorse, anxiety, tenderness, and yet he was glad.Some delicate and fine consciousness in him told him he had not donewrong, even if he had been dominating. She was alone in the world; hehad saved her life. His heart beat quick and heavy.

  "Good-by, Allie.... I'll come back. Never forget!"

  She stayed motionless on her knees with the mass of hair hiding herface, and she neither spoke nor made a sign.

  Neale went out. The air seemed to wave in his face, cool and relieving.Larry was there with the horses. Slingerland stood by with troubledeyes. Both men stared at Neale. He was aware of that, and consciousof his agitation. And suddenly, as always at a climax of emotion, heswiftly changed and grew cool.

  "Red, old pard, congratulate me! I'm engaged to marry Allie!" he said,with a low laugh that had pride in it.

  "Wal, damn me!" ejaculated Larry King. Then he shot out the hand thatwas so quick with rope and gun. "Put her thar! Shore if you hadn't madeup to her I'd have.... An', Neale, if you say Pard, I'm yours till I'mdaid!"

  "Pard!" replied Neale, as he met the outstretched hand.

  Slingerland's hard and wrinkled face softened.

  "Strange how we all cottoned to thet girl! No--I reckon it ain't sostrange. Wal, it's as it oughter be. You saved her. May you both behappy, son!"

  Neale slipped a ring from his little finger.

  "Give Allie this. Tell her it's my pledge. I'll come back to her. Andshe must think of that."