CHAPTER 5. ENTER SIMON HARLEY
The prospector's house in which they had found refuge was perched onthe mountainside just at one edge of the draw. Rough as the girl hadthought it, there was a more pretentious appearance to it than mighthave been expected. The cabin was of hewn logs mortared with mud, andcare had been taken to make it warm. The fireplace was a huge affairthat ate fuel voraciously. It was built of stone, which had beengathered from the immediate hillside.
The prospect itself showed evidence of having been worked a good deal,and it was an easy guess for the man who now stood looking into thetunnel that it belonged to some one of the thousands of miners whospend half their time earning a grubstake, and the other halfdissipating it upon some hole in the ground which they have dupedthemselves into believing is a mine.
From the tunnel his eye traveled up the face of the white mountain tothe great snow-comb that yawned over the edge of the rock-rim farabove. It had snowed again heavily all night, and now showed symptomsof a thaw. Not once nor twice, but a dozen times, the man's anxiousgaze had swept up to that great overhanging bank. Snowslides ran everyyear in this section with heavy loss to life and property. Given arising temperature and some wind, the comb above would gradually settlelower and lower, at last break off, plunge down the precipitous slope,bringing thousands of tons of rock and snow with it, and, perhaps, burythem in a Titanic grave of ice. There had been a good deal of timbercut from the shoulder of the mountain during the past summer, and thisvery greatly increased the danger. That there was a real peril the manlooking at it did not attempt to deny to himself. It would be enough todeny it to her in case she should ever suspect.
He had hoped for cold weather, a freeze hard enough to crust thesurface of the snow. Upon this he might have made shift somehow to gether to Yesler's ranch, eighteen miles away though it was, but he knewthis would not be feasible with the snow in its present condition. Itwas not certain that he could make the ranch alone; encumbered withher, success would be a sheer impossibility. On the other hand, theirprovisions would not last long. The outlook was not a cheerful one,from whichever point of view he took it; yet there was one phase of ithe could not regret. The factors which made the difficulties of thesituation made also its delights. Though they were prisoners in thissolitary untrodden canyon, the sentence was upon both of them. Shecould look to none other than he for aid; and, at least, the driftswhich kept them in held others out.
Her voice at his shoulder startled him.
"Wherefore this long communion with nature, my captain?" she gailyasked. "Behold, my lord's hot cakes are ready for the pan and hisservant to wait upon him." She gave him a demure smiling little curtsyof mock deference.
Never had her distracting charm been more in evidence. He had not seenher since they parted on the previous night. He had built for himself acot in the woodshack, and had contrived a curtain that could be drawnin front of her bed in the living-room. Thus he could enter in themorning, light the fires, and start breakfast without disturbing her.She had dressed her hair, now in a different way, so that it fell inlow waves back from the forehead and was bunched at the nape of herneck. The light swiftness of her dainty grace, the almost exaggeratedcarnation of the slightly parted lips, the glad eagerness that sparkedher eyes, brought out effectively the picturesqueness of her beauty.
His grave eyes rested on her so long that a soft glow mantled hercheeks. Perhaps her words had been too free, though she had not meantthem so. For the first time some thought of the conventions distressedher. Ought she to hold herself more in reserve toward him? Must sherestrain her natural impulses to friendliness?
His eyes released her presently, but not before she read in them thefeelings that had softened them as they gazed into hers. They mirroredhis poignant pleasure at the delight of her sweet slenderness so closeto him, his perilous joy at the intimacy fate had thrust upon them.Shyly her lids fell to the flushed cheeks.
"Breakfast is ready," she added self-consciously, her girlish innocencestartled like a fawn of the forest at the hunter's approach.
For whereas she had been blind now she saw in part. Some flash ofclairvoyance had laid bare a glimpse of his heart and her own to her.Without misunderstanding the perfect respect for her which he felt, sheknew the turbid banked emotions which this dammed. Her heart seemed tobeat in her bosom like an imprisoned dove.
It was his voice, calm and resonant with strength, that brought her toearth again.
"And I am ready for it, lieutenant. Right about face. Forward--march!"
After breakfast they went out and tramped together the little path ofhard-trodden snow in front of the house. She broached the prospect of arescue or the chances of escape.
"We shall soon be out of food, and, anyhow, we can't stay here allwinter," she suggested with a tremulous little laugh.
"You are naturally very tired of it already," he hazarded.
"It has been the experience of my life. I shall fence it off from allthe days that have passed and all that are to come," she made answervividly.
Their eyes met, but only for an instant.
"I am glad," he said quietly.
He began, then, to tell her what he must do, but at the first word ofit she broke out in protest.
"No--no--no! We shall stay together. If you go I am going, too."
"I wish you could, but it is not possible. You could never get there.The snow is too soft and heavy for wading and not firm enough to bearyour weight."
"But you will have to wade."
"I am stronger than you, lieutenant."
"I know, but----" She broke down and confessed her terror. "Would youleave me here--alone--with all this snow Oh, I couldn't stay--Icouldn't."
"It's the only way," he said steadily. Every fiber in him rebelled atleaving her here to face peril alone, but his reason overrode thedesire and rebellion that were hot within him. He must think first ofher ultimate safety, and this lay in getting her away from here at thefirst chance.
Tears splashed down from the big eyes. "I didn't think you would leaveme here alone. With you I don't mind it, but-- Oh, I should die if Istayed alone."
"Only for twenty-four hours. Perhaps less. I shouldn't think of it ifit weren't necessary."
"Take me with you. I am strong. You don't know how strong I am. Ipromise to keep up with you. Please!"
He shook his head. "I would take you with me if I could. You know that.But it's a man's fight. I shall have to stand up to it hour after hourtill I reach Yesler's ranch. I shall get through, but it would not bepossible for you to make it."
"And if you don't get through?"
He refused to consider that contingency. "But I shall. You may look tosee me back with help by this time to-morrow morning."
"I'm not afraid with you. But if you go away Oh, I can't stand it. Youdon't know--you don't know." She buried her face in her hands.
He had to swallow down his sympathy before he went on. "Yes, I know.But you must be brave. You must think of every minute as being onenearer to the time of my return."
"You will think me a dreadful coward, and I am. But I can't help it. IAM afraid to stay alone. There's nothing in the world but mountains ofsnow. They are horrible--like death--except when you are here."
Her child eyes coaxed him to stay. The mad longing was in him to kissthe rosy little mouth with the queer alluring droop to its corners. Itwas a strange thing how, with that arched twist to her eyebrows andwith that smile which came and went like sunshine in her eyes, shetoppled his lifelong creed. The cardinal tenet of his faith had been abelief in strength. He had first been drawn to Virginia by reason ofher pluck and her power. Yet this child's very weakness was herfountain of strength. She cried out with pain, and he counted it anasset of virtue in her. She acknowledged herself a coward, and hisheart went out to her because of it. The battle assignments of lifewere not for the soft curves and shy winsomeness of this dainty lamb.
"You will be brave. I expect you to be brave, lieutenant." Words oflove and comfor
t were crowding to his brain, but he would not let themout.
"How long will you be gone?" she sobbed.
"I may possibly get back before midnight, but you mustn't begin toexpect me until to-morrow morning, perhaps not till to-morrowafternoon."
"Oh, I couldn't--I couldn't stay here at night alone. Don't go, please.I'll not get hungry, truly I won't, and to-morrow they will find us."
He rose, his face working. "I MUST go, child. It's the thing to do. Iwish to Heaven it weren't. You must think of yourself as quite safehere. You ARE safe. Don't make it hard for me to go, dear."
"I AM a coward. But I can't help it. There is so much snow--and themountains are so big." She tried valiantly to crush down her sobs. "Butgo. I'll--I'll not be afraid."
He buried her little hands in his two big ones and looked deep into hereyes. "Every minute of the time I am away from you I shall be with youin spirit. You'll not be alone any minute of the day or night. Whetheryou are awake or asleep I shall be with you."
"I'll try to remember that," she answered, smiling up at him but with atrembling lip.
She put him up some lunch while he made his simple preparations. To theend of the trench she walked with him, neither of them saying a word.The moment of parting had come.
She looked up at him with a crooked wavering little smile. She wantedto be brave, but she could not trust herself to say a word.
"Remember, dear. I am not leaving you. My body has gone on an errand.That is all."
Just now she found small comfort in this sophistry, but she did nottell him so.
"I--I'll remember." She gulped down a sob and still smiled through themist that filmed her sight.
In his face she could see how much he was moved at her distress. Alwaysa creature of impulse, one mastered her now, the need to let herweakness rest on his strength. Her arms slipped quickly round his neckand her head lay buried on his shoulder. He held her tight, eyesshining, the desire of her held in leash behind set teeth, the whilesobs shook her soft round body in gusts.
"My lamb--my sweet precious lamb," she heard him murmur in anguish.
From some deep sex trait it comforted her that he suffered. With themother instinct she began to regain control of herself that she mighthelp him.
"It will not be for long," she assured him. "And every step of your wayI shall pray for, your safety," she whispered.
He held her at arm's length while his gaze devoured her, then silentlyhe wheeled away and plunged waist deep into the drifts. As long as hewas in sight he saw her standing there, waving her handkerchief to himin encouragement. Her slight, dark figure, outlined against the snow,was the last thing his eyes fell upon before he turned a corner of thegulch and dropped downward toward the plains.
But when he was surely gone, after one fearful look at the white seawhich encompassed her, the girl fled to the cabin, slammed the doorafter her, and flung herself on the bed to weep out her lonely terrorin an ecstasy of tears. She had spent the first violence of her grief,and was sitting crouched on the rug before the open fire when the soundof a footstep, crunching the snow, startled her. The door opened, tolet in the man who had just left her.
"You are back--already," she cried, her tear? stained face liftedtoward him.
"Yes," he smiled' from the doorway. "Come here, little partner."
And when she had obediently joined him her eye followed his finger upthe mountain-trail to a bend round which men and horses were coming.
"It's a relief-party," he said, and caught up his field-glasses to lookthem over more certainly. Two men on horseback, leading a third animal,were breaking a way down the trail, black spots against the backgroundof white. "I guess Fort Salvation's about to be relieved," he addedgrimly, following the party through the glasses.
She touched the back of his hand with a finger. "Are you glad?" sheasked softly.
"No, by Heaven!" he cried, lowering his glasses swiftly.
As he looked into her eyes the blood rushed to his brain with a surge.Her face turned to his unconsciously, and their lips met.
"And I don't even know your name," she murmured.
"Waring Ridgway; and yours?"
"Aline Hope," she said absently. Then a hot Rush ran over the girlishface. "No, no, I had forgotten. I was married last week."
The gates of paradise, open for two days, clanged to on Ridgway. Hestared out with unseeing eyes into the silent wastes of snow. Theroaring in his ears and the mountainsides that churned before his eyeswere reflections of the blizzard raging within him.
"I'll never forget--never," he heard her falter, and her voice was athousand miles away.
From the storm within him he was aroused by a startled cry from thegirl at his side. Her fascinated gaze was fixed on the summit of theridge above them. There was a warning crackle. The overhanging combsnapped, slid slowly down, and broke off. With gathering momentum itdescended, sweeping into its heart rocks, trees, and debris. A terrificroar filled the air as the great white cloud came tearing down like anexpress-train.
Ridgway caught her round the waist and flung the girl against the wallof the cabin, protecting her with his body. The avalanche was uponthem, splitting great trees to kindling-wood in the fury of its rush.The concussion of the wind shattered every window to fragments, almosttore the cabin from its foundations. Only the extreme tail of the slidetouched them, yet they were buried deep in flying snow.
He found no great difficulty in digging a way out, and when he liftedher to the surface she was conscious. Yet she was pale even to the lipsand trembled like an aspen in the summer breeze, clinging to him forsupport helplessly.
His cheerful voice rang like a bugle to her shocked brain.
"It's all past. We're safe now, dear--quite safe."
The first of the trail-breakers had dismounted and was plowing his wayhurriedly to the cabin, but neither of them saw him as he came up theslope.
"Are you sure?" She shuddered, her hands still in his. "Wasn't itawful? I thought--" Her sentence trailed out unfinished.
"Are you unhurt, Aline?" cried the newcomer. And when he saw she was,he added: "Praise ye the Lord. O give thanks unto the Lord; for He isgood: for His mercy endureth forever. He saved them for His name'ssake, that He might make His mighty power to be known."
At sound of the voice they turned and saw the man hurrying toward them.He was tall, gray, and seventy, of massive frame and gaunt, stillstraight and vigorous, with the hooked nose and piercing eyes of ahawk. At first glance he looked always the bird of prey, but at thenext as invariably the wolf, an effect produced by the salient reachingjaw and the glint of white teeth bared for a lip smile. Just now he wastouched to a rare emotion. His hands trembled and an expression ofshaken thankfulness rested in his face.
Aline, still with Ridgway's strong arms about her, slowly came back tothe inexorable facts of life.
"You--here?"
"As soon as we could get through--and thank God in time."
"I would have died, except for--" This brought her immediately to anintroduction, and after she had quietly released herself the man whohad saved her heard himself being formally presented: "Mr. Ridgway, Iwant you to meet my husband, Mr. Harley."
Ridgway turned to Simon Harley a face of hammered steel and bowed,putting his hands deliberately behind his back.
"I've been expecting you at Mesa, Mr. Harley," he said rigidly. "I'llbe glad to have the pleasure of welcoming you there."
The great financier was wondering where he had heard the man's namebefore, but he only said gravely: "You have a claim on me I can neverforget, Mr. Ridgway."
Scornfully the other disdained this proffer. "Not at all. You owe menothing, Mr. Harley--absolutely nothing. What I have done I have donefor her. It is between her and me."
At this moment the mind of Harley fitted the name Ridgway to its nichein his brain. So this was the audacious filibuster who had dared tofire on the trust flag, the man he had come West to ruin and to humble.
"I think you will have to include
me, Mr. Ridgway," he said suavely."What is done for my wife is done, also, for me."
Ridgway of Montana (Story of To-Day, in Which the Hero Is Also the Villain) Page 5