by Max Brand
CHAPTER XXVIII
A HINT OF WHITE
The heels had left two deeply defined gouges in the ground; there was asharp hollow where the head had lain, and a broad depression for theshoulders. It was the impression of the body of a man--a large manlike Wilbur. Any hope, any doubt she might have had, slipped from hermind, and despair rolled into it with an even, sullen current, like themotion of the river.
It is strange what we do with our big moments of fear and sorrow andeven of joy. Now Mary stooped and carefully washed out the coffee-pot,and filled it again with water higher up the bank; and turned backtoward the edge of the trees.
It was all subconscious, this completing of the task which Wilbur hadbegun, and subconscious still was her careful rebuilding of the firetill it flamed high, as though she were setting a signal to recall thewanderer. But the flame, throwing warmth and red light across hereyes, recalled her sharply to reality, and she looked up and saw thedull dawn brightening beyond the dark evergreens.
Guilt, too, swept over her, for she remembered what big, handsome DickWilbur had said: He would meet his end through a woman. Now it hadcome to him, and through her.
She cringed at the thought, for what was she that a man should die inher service? She raised her hands with a moan to the nodding tops ofthe trees, to the vast, black sky above them, and the full knowledge ofWilbur's strength came to her, for had he not ridden calmly, defiantly,into the heart of this wilderness, confident in his power to care bothfor himself and for her? But she! What could she do wandering byherself? The image of Pierre le Rouge grew dim indeed and sad anddistant.
She looked about her at the pack, which had been distributed expertly,and disposed on the ground by Wilbur. She could not even lash it inplace behind the saddle. So she drew the blanket once more around hershoulders and sat down to think.
She might return to the house--doubtless she could find her way back.And leave Pierre in the heart of the mountains, surely lost to herforever. She made a determination, sullen, like a child, to ride onand on into the wilderness, and let fate take care of her. The packshe could bundle together as best she might; she would live as shemight; and for a guide there would be the hunger for Pierre.
So she ended her thoughts with a hope; her head nodded lower, and sheslept the deep, deep sleep of the exhausted mind and the lifeless body.She woke hours later with a start, instantly alert, quivering with fearand life and energy, for she felt like one who has gone to sleep withvoices in his ear.
While she slept some one had been near her; she could have sworn itbefore her startled eyes glanced around.
And though she kept whispering, with white lips, "No, no; it isimpossible!" yet there was evidence which proved it. The fire shouldhave burned out, but instead it flamed more brightly than ever, andthere was a little heap of fuel laid conveniently close. Moreover,both horses were saddled, and the pack lashed on the saddle of her ownmount.
Whatever man or demon had done this work evidently intended that sheshould ride Wilbur's beautiful bay. Yes, for when she went closer,drawn by her wonder, she found that the stirrups had been muchshortened.
Nothing was forgotten by this invisible caretaker; he had even left outthe cooking-tins, and she found a little batter of flapjack flour mixed.
The riddle was too great for solving. Perhaps Wilbur had disappearedmerely to play a practical jest on her; but that supposition was toochildish to be retained an instant. Perhaps--perhaps Pierre himselfhad discovered her, but having vowed never to see her again, he caredfor her like the invisible hands in the old Greek fable.
This, again, an instinctive knowledge made her dismiss. If he were soclose, loving her, he could not stay away; she read in her own heart,and knew. Then it must be something else; evil, because it feared tobe seen; not wholly evil, because it surrounded her with care.
At least this new emotion obscured somewhat the terror and the sorrowof Wilbur's disappearance. She cooked her breakfast as if obeying theorder of the unseen, climbed into the saddle of Wilbur's horse, andstarted off up the valley, leading her own mount.
Every moment or so she turned in the saddle suddenly in the hope ofgetting a glimpse of the follower, but even when she surveyed theentire stretch of country from the crest of a low hill, she sawnothing--not the least sign of life.
She rode slowly, this day, for she was stiff and sore from the violentjourney of the night before, but though she went slowly, she keptsteadily at the trail. It was a broad and pleasant one, being thebeaten sand of the river-bottom; and the horse she rode was the finestthat ever pranced beneath her.
His trot was as smooth and springy as the gallop of most horses, andwhen she let him run over a few level stretches, it was as if she hadsuddenly been taken up from the earth on wings. There was somethingabout the animal, too, which reminded her of its vanished owner; for ithad strength and pride and gentleness at once. Unquestionably it tookkindly to its new rider; for once when she dismounted the big horsewalked up behind and nuzzled her shoulder.
The mountains were much plainer before the end of the day. They rosesheer up in wave upon frozen wave like water piled ragged by someterrific gale, with the tops of the waters torn and tossed and thenfrozen forever in that position, like a fantastic and gargantuan maskof dreaming terror. It overawed the heart of Mary Brown to look up tothem, but there was growing in her a new impulse of friendlyunderstanding with all this scalped, bald region of rocks, as if inentering the valley she had passed through the gate which closes outthe gentler world, and now she was admitted as a denizen of themountain-desert, that scarred and ugly asylum for crime and fear andgrandeur.
Feeling this new emotion, the old horizons of her mind gave way andwidened; her gentle nature, which had known nothing but smiles,admitted the meaning of a frown. Did she not ride under the veryshadow of that frown with her two horses? Was she not armed? Shetouched the holster at her hip, and smiled. To be sure, she couldnever hit a mark with that ponderous weapon, but at least the pistolgave the seeming of a dangerous lone rider, familiar with the wilds.
It was about dark, and she was on the verge of looking about for asuitable camping-place, when the bay halted sharply, tossed up hishead, and whinnied. From the far distance she thought she heard thebeginning of a whinny in reply. She could not be sure, but thepossibility made her pulse quicken. In this region, she knew, nostranger could be a friend.
So she started the bay at a gallop and put a couple of swift milesbetween her and the point at which she had heard the sound; no livingcreature, she was sure, could have followed the pace the bay heldduring that distance. So, secure in her loneliness, she trotted thehorse around a bend of the rocks and came on the sudden light of acamp-fire.
It was too late to wheel and gallop away; so she remained with her handfumbling at the butt of the revolver, and her wide, blue eyes fixed onthe flicker of the fire. Not a voice accosted her. As far as shecould peer among the lithe trunks of the saplings, not a sign of aliving thing was near.
Yet whoever built that fire must be near, for it was obviously, newlylaid. Perhaps some fleeing outlaw had pitched his camp here and hadbeen startled by her coming. In that case he lurked somewhere in thewoods at that moment, his keen eyes fixed on her, and his gun grippedhard in his hand. Perhaps--and the thought thrilled her--this littlecamp had been prepared by the same power, human or unearthly, which hadwatched over her early that morning.
All reason and sane caution warned her to ride on and leave that campunmolested, but an overwhelming, tingling curiosity besieged her. Thethin column of smoke rose past the dark trees like a ghost, andreaching the unsheltered space above the trees, was smitten by a lightwind and jerked away at a sharp angle.
She looked closer and saw a bed made of a great heap of the tips oflimbs of spruce, a bed softer than down and more fragrant than anymanufactured perfume, however costly.
Possibly it was the sight of this bed which tempted her down from thesaddle, at last. With the reins ove
r her arm, she stood close to thefire and warmed her hands, peering all the while on every side, likesome wild and beautiful creature tempted by the bait of the trap, butshrinking from the scent of man.
As she stood there a broad, yellow moon edged its way above the hillsand rolled up through the black trees and then floated through the sky.Beneath such a moon no harm could come to her. It was while she staredat it, letting her tensed alertness relax little by little, that shesaw, or thought she saw, a hint of moving white pass over the top ofthe rise of ground and disappear among the trees.
She could not be sure, but her first impulse was to gather the reinswith a jerk and place her foot in the stirrup; but then she looked backand saw the fire, burning low now and asking like a human voice to bereplenished from the heap of small, broken fuel near by; and she sawalso the softly piled bed of evergreens.
She removed her foot from the stirrup. What mattered that imaginaryfigure of moving white? She felt a strong power of protection lyingall about her, breathing out to her with the keen scent of the pines,fanning her face with the chill of the night breeze. She was alone,but she was secure in the wilderness.
