The Trail of the Lonesome Pine

by John Fox

  XXXIV

  The big Pine was gone. He had seen it first, one morning at daybreak,when the valley on the other side was a sea of mist that threw soft,clinging spray to the very mountain tops--for even above the mists, thatmorning, its mighty head arose, sole visible proof that the earth stillslept beneath. He had seen it at noon--but little less majestic, amongthe oaks that stood about it; had seen it catching the last light atsunset, clean-cut against the after-glow, and like a dark, silent,mysterious sentinel guarding the mountain pass under the moon. He hadseen it giving place with sombre dignity to the passing burst of spring,had seen it green among dying autumn leaves, green in the gray of wintertrees and still green in a shroud of snow--a changeless promise that theearth must wake to life again. It had been the beacon that led him intoLonesome Cove--the beacon that led June into the outer world. From ither flying feet had carried her into his life--past it, the same feethad carried her out again. It had been their trysting place--hadkept their secrets like a faithful friend and had stood to him as thechangeless symbol of their love. It had stood a mute but sympatheticwitness of his hopes, his despairs and the struggles that lay betweenthem. In dark hours it had been a silent comforter, and in the last yearit had almost come to symbolize his better self as to that self he cameslowly back. And in the darkest hour it was the last friend to whom hehad meant to say good-by. Now it was gone. Always he had lifted his eyesto it every morning when he rose, but now, next morning, he hung backconsciously as one might shrink from looking at the face of a deadfriend, and when at last he raised his head to look upward to it, animpenetrable shroud of mist lay between them--and he was glad.

  And still he could not leave. The little creek was a lashing yellowtorrent, and his horse, heavily laden as he must be, could hardly swimwith his weight, too, across so swift a stream. But mountain streamswere like June's temper--up quickly and quickly down--so it was noonbefore he plunged into the tide with his saddle-pockets over oneshoulder and his heavy transit under one arm. Even then his snortinghorse had to swim a few yards, and he reached the other bank soaked tohis waist line. But the warm sun came out just as he entered the woods,and as he climbed, the mists broke about him and scudded upwardlike white sails before a driving wind. Once he looked back from a"fire-scald" in the woods at the lonely cabin in the cove, but it gavehim so keen a pain that he would not look again. The trail was slipperyand several times he had to stop to let his horse rest and to slow thebeating of his own heart. But the sunlight leaped gladly from wet leafto wet leaf until the trees looked decked out for unseen fairies, andthe birds sang as though there was nothing on earth but joy for all itscreatures, and the blue sky smiled above as though it had never bred alightning flash or a storm. Hale dreaded the last spur before the littleGap was visible, but he hurried up the steep, and when he lifted hisapprehensive eyes, the gladness of the earth was as nothing to thesudden joy in his own heart. The big Pine stood majestic, stillunscathed, as full of divinity and hope to him as a rainbow in aneastern sky. Hale dropped his reins, lifted one hand to his dizzy head,let his transit to the ground, and started for it on a run. Across thepath lay a great oak with a white wound running the length of its mightybody, from crest to shattered trunk, and over it he leaped, and like achild caught his old friend in both arms. After all, he was not alone.One friend would be with him till death, on that border-line between theworld in which he was born and the world he had tried to make his own,and he could face now the old one again with a stouter heart. Thereit lay before him with its smoke and fire and noise and slumberingactivities just awakening to life again. He lifted his clenched fisttoward it:

  "You got ME once," he muttered, "but this time I'll get YOU." He turnedquickly and decisively--there would be no more delay. And he went backand climbed over the big oak that, instead of his friend, had fallenvictim to the lightning's kindly whim and led his horse out into theunderbrush. As he approached within ten yards of the path, a metallicnote rang faintly on the still air the other side of the Pine and downthe mountain. Something was coming up the path, so he swiftly knottedhis bridle-reins around a sapling, stepped noiselessly into the pathand noiselessly slipped past the big tree where he dropped to hisknees, crawled forward and lay flat, peering over the cliff and downthe winding trail. He had not long to wait. A riderless horse filled theopening in the covert of leaves that swallowed up the path. It was grayand he knew it as he knew the saddle as his old enemy's--Dave. Dave hadkept his promise--he had come back. The dream was coming true, and theywere to meet at last face to face. One of them was to strike a trailmore lonesome than the Trail of the Lonesome Pine, and that man wouldnot be John Hale. One detail of the dream was going to be left out, hethought grimly, and very quietly he drew his pistol, cocked it, sightedit on the opening--it was an easy shot--and waited. He would give thatenemy no more chance than he would a mad dog--or would he? The horsestopped to browse. He waited so long that he began to suspect a trap.He withdrew his head and looked about him on either side andbehind--listening intently for the cracking of a twig or a footfall. Hewas about to push backward to avoid possible attack from the rear, whena shadow shot from the opening. His face paled and looked sick of asudden, his clenched fingers relaxed about the handle of his pistoland he drew it back, still cocked, turned on his knees, walked pastthe Pine, and by the fallen oak stood upright, waiting. He heard a lowwhistle calling to the horse below and a shudder ran through him. Heheard the horse coming up the path, he clenched his pistol convulsively,and his eyes, lit by an unearthly fire and fixed on the edge of thebowlder around which they must come, burned an instant later on--June.At the cry she gave, he flashed a hunted look right and left, steppedswiftly to one side and stared past her-still at the bowlder. She haddropped the reins and started toward him, but at the Pine she stoppedshort.

  "Where is he?"

  Her lips opened to answer, but no sound came. Hale pointed at the horsebehind her.

  "That's his. He sent me word. He left that horse in the valley, toride over here, when he came back, to kill me. Are you with him?" Fora moment she thought from his wild face that he had gone crazy and shestared silently. Then she seemed to understand, and with a moan shecovered her face with her hands and sank weeping in a heap at the footof the Pine.

  The forgotten pistol dropped, full cocked to the soft earth, and Halewith bewildered eyes went slowly to her.

  "Don't cry,"--he said gently, starting to call her name. "Don't cry," herepeated, and he waited helplessly.

  "He's dead. Dave was shot--out--West," she sobbed. "I told him I wascoming back. He gave me his horse. Oh, how could you?"

  "Why did you come back?" he asked, and she shrank as though he hadstruck her--but her sobs stopped and she rose to her feet.

  "Wait," she said, and she turned from him to wipe her eyes with herhanderchief. Then she faced him.

  "When dad died, I learned everything. You made him swear never totell me and he kept his word until he was on his death-bed. YOU dideverything for me. It was YOUR money. YOU gave me back the old cabin inthe Cove. It was always you, you, YOU, and there was never anybody elsebut you." She stopped for Hale's face was as though graven from stone.

  "And you came back to tell me that?"

  "Yes."

  "You could have written that."

  "Yes," she faltered, "but I had to tell you face to face."

  "Is that all?"

  Again the tears were in her eyes.

  "No," she said tremulously.

  "Then I'll say the rest for you. You wanted to come to tell me of theshame you felt when you knew," she nodded violently--"but you could havewritten that, too, and I could have written that you mustn't feel thatway--that" he spoke slowly--"you mustn't rob me of the dearest happinessI ever knew in my whole life."

  "I knew you would say that," she said like a submissive child. Thesternness left his face and he was smiling now.

  "And you wanted to say that the only return you could make was to comeback and be my wife."

  "Yes," she falte
red again, "I did feel that--I did."

  "You could have written that, too, but you thought you had to PROVE itby coming back yourself."

  This time she nodded no assent and her eyes were streaming. He turnedaway--stretching out his arms to the woods.

  "God! Not that--no--no!"

  "Listen, Jack!" As suddenly his arms dropped. She had controlled hertears but her lips were quivering.

  "No, Jack, not that--thank God. I came because I wanted to come," shesaid steadily. "I loved you when I went away. I've loved you everyminute since--" her arms were stealing about his neck, her face wasupturned to his and her eyes, moist with gladness, were looking into hiswondering eyes--"and I love you now--Jack."

  "June!" The leaves about them caught his cry and quivered with the joyof it, and above their heads the old Pine breathed its blessing with thename--June--June--June.