VI
STORM-BOUND
Wayland was awakened by the mellow voice of his chief calling: "_All out!All out! Daylight down the creek!_" Breathing a prayer of thankfulness,the boy sat up and looked about him. "The long night is over at last, andI am alive!" he said, and congratulated himself.
He drew on his shoes and, stiff and shivering, stood about in helplessmisery, while McFarlane kicked the scattered, charred logs together, andfanned the embers into a blaze with his hat. It was heartening to see theflames leap up, flinging wide their gorgeous banners of heat and light,and in their glow the tenderfoot ranger rapidly recovered his courage,though his teeth still chattered and the forest was dark.
"How did you sleep?" asked the Supervisor.
"First rate--at least during the latter part of the night," Waylandbriskly lied.
"That's good. I was afraid that Adirondack bed of yours might let thewhite wolf in."
"My blankets did seem a trifle thin," confessed Norcross.
"It don't pay to sleep cold," the Supervisor went on. "A man wants towake up refreshed, not tired out with fighting the night wind and frost.I always carry a good bed."
It was instructive to see how quietly and methodically the oldmountaineer went about his task of getting the breakfast. First he cutand laid a couple of eight-inch logs on either side of the fire, so thatthe wind drew through them properly, then placing his dutch-oven cover onthe fire, he laid the bottom part where the flames touched it. Next hefilled his coffee-pot with water, and set it on the coals. From hispannier he took his dishes and the flour and salt and pepper, arrangingthem all within reach, and at last laid some slices of bacon in theskillet.
At this stage of the work a smothered cry, half yawn, half complaint,came from the tent. "Oh, hum! Is it morning?" inquired Berrie.
"Morning!" replied her father. "It's going toward noon. You get up oryou'll have no breakfast."
Thereupon Wayland called: "Can I get you anything, Miss Berrie? Would youlike some warm water?"
"What for?" interposed McFarlane, before the girl could reply.
"To bathe in," replied the youth.
"To bathe in! If a daughter of mine should ask for warm water to washwith I'd throw her in the creek."
Berrie chuckled. "Sometimes I think daddy has no feeling for me. I reckonhe thinks I'm a boy."
"Hot water is debilitating, and very bad for the complexion," retortedher father. "Ice-cold water is what you need. And if you don't get out o'there in five minutes I'll dowse you with a dipperful."
This reminded Wayland that he had not yet made his own toilet, and,seizing soap, towel, and brushes, he hurried away down to the beach wherehe came face to face with the dawn. The splendor of it smote him full inthe eyes. From the waveless surface of the water a spectral mist wasrising, a light veil, through which the stupendous cliffs loomed threethousand feet in height, darkly shadowed, dim and far. The willows alongthe western marge burned as if dipped in liquid gold, and on the loftycrags the sun's coming created keen-edged shadows, violet as ink. Trulythis forestry business was not so bad after all. It had itscompensations.
Back at the camp-fire he found Berrie at work, glowing, vigorous,laughing. Her comradeship with her father was very charming, and at themoment she was rallying him on his method of bread-mixing. "You shouldrub the lard into the flour," she said. "Don't be afraid to get yourhands into it--after they are clean. You can't mix bread with a spoon."
"Sis, I made camp bread for twenty years afore you were born."
"It's a wonder you lived to tell of it," she retorted, and took the panaway from him. "That's another thing _you_ must learn," she said toWayland. "You must know how to make bread. You can't expect to findbake-shops or ranchers along the way."
In the heat of the fire, in the charm of the girl's presence, the youngman forgot the discomforts of the night, and as they sat at breakfast,and the sun rising over the high summits flooded them with warmth andgood cheer, and the frost melted like magic from the tent, the experiencehad all the satisfying elements of a picnic. It seemed that nothingremained to do; but McFarlane said: "Well, now, you youngsters wash upand pack whilst I reconnoiter the stock." And with his saddle and bridleon his shoulder he went away down the trail.
Under Berrie's direction Wayland worked busily putting the camp equipmentin proper parcels, taking no special thought of time till the tent wasdown and folded, the panniers filled and closed, and the fire carefullycovered. Then the girl said: "I hope the horses haven't been stampeded.There are bears in this valley, and horses are afraid of bears. Fatherought to have been back before this. I hope they haven't quit us."
"Shall I go and see?"
"No, he'll bring 'em--if they're in the land of the living. He picketedhis saddle-horse, so he's not afoot. Nobody can teach him anything abouttrailing horses, and, besides, you might get lost. You'd better keepclose to camp."
Thereupon Wayland put aside all responsibility. "Let's see if we cancatch some more fish," he urged.
To this she agreed, and together they went again to the outlet of thelake--where the trout could be seen darting to and fro on the clear, darkflood--and there cast their flies till they had secured ten good-sizedfish.
"We'll stop now," declared the girl. "I don't believe in beingwasteful."
Once more at the camp they prepared the fish for the pan. The sunsuddenly burned hot and the lake was still as brass, but great, splendid,leisurely, gleaming clouds were sailing in from the west, all centeringabout Chief Audobon, and the experienced girl looked often at the sky. "Idon't like the feel of the air. See that gray cloud spreading out overthe summits of the range, that means something more than a shower. I dohope daddy will overtake the horses before they cross the divide. It'sgoing to pour up there."
"What can I do?"
"Nothing. We'll stay right here and get dinner for him. He'll be hungrywhen he gets back."
As they were unpacking the panniers and getting out the dishes, thunderbroke from the high crags above the lake, and the girl called out:
"Quick! It's going to rain! We must reset the tent and get things undercover."
Once more he was put to shame by the decision, the skill, and thestrength with which she went about re-establishing the camp. She led, hefollowed in every action. In ten minutes the canvas was up, the bedsrolled, the panniers protected, the food stored safely; but they werenone too soon, for the thick gray veil of rain, which had clothed theloftiest crags for half an hour, swung out over the water--leaden-grayunder its folds--and with a roar which began in the tall pines--a roarwhich deepened, hushed only when the thunder crashed resoundingly fromcrag to crest--the tempest fell upon the camp and the world of sun andodorous pine vanished almost instantly, and a dark, threatening, andforbidding world took its place.
But the young people--huddled close together beneath the tent--would haveenjoyed the change had it not been for the thought of the Supervisor. "Ihope he took his slicker," the girl said, between the tearing, rippingflashes of the lightning. "It's raining hard up there."
"How quickly it came. Who would have thought it could rain like thisafter so beautiful a morning?"
"It storms when it storms--in the mountains," she responded, with thesententious air of her father. "You never can tell what the sky is goingto do up here. It is probably snowing on the high divide. Looks now asthough those cayuses pulled out sometime in the night and have hit thetrail for home. That's the trouble with stall-fed stock. They'll quit youany time they feel cold and hungry. Here comes the hail!" she shouted, asa sharper, more spiteful roar sounded far away and approaching. "Now keepfrom under!"
"What will your father do?" he called.
"Don't worry about him. He's at home any place there's a tree. He'sprobably under a balsam somewhere, waiting for this ice to spill out. Theonly point is, they may get over the divide, and if they do it will beslippery coming back."
For the first time the thought that the Supervisor might not be able toreturn entered Wayland's mi
nd; but he said nothing of his fear.
The hail soon changed to snow, great, clinging, drowsy, soft, slow-movingflakes, and with their coming the roar died away and the forest became assilent as a grave of bronze. Nothing moved, save the thick-falling,feathery, frozen vapor, and the world was again very beautiful and verymysterious.
"We must keep the fire going," warned the girl. "It will be hard to startafter this soaking."
He threw upon the fire all of the wood which lay near, and Berrie, takingthe ax, went to the big fir and began to chop off the dry branches whichhung beneath, working almost as effectively as a man. Wayland insisted ontaking a turn with the tool; but his efforts were so awkward that shelaughed and took it away again. "You'll have to take lessons in swingingan ax," she said. "That's part of the job."
Gradually the storm lightened, the snow changed back into rain, andfinally to mist; but up on the heights the clouds still rolled wildly,and through their openings the white drifts bleakly shone.
"It's all in the trip," said Berrie. "You have to take the weather as itcomes on the trail." As the storm lessened she resumed the business ofcooking the midday meal, and at two o'clock they were able to eat incomparative comfort, though the unmelted snow still covered the trees,and water dripped from the branches.
"Isn't it beautiful!" exclaimed Wayland, with glowing boyish face. "Thelandscape is like a Christmas card. In its way it's quite as beautiful asthat golden forest we rode through."
"It wouldn't be so beautiful if you had to wallow through ten miles ofit," she sagely responded. "Daddy will be wet to the skin, for I found hedidn't take his slicker. However, the sun may be out before night. That'sthe way the thing goes in the hills."
To the youth, though the peaks were storm-hid, the afternoon was joyous.Berrie was a sweet companion. Under her supervision he practised atchopping wood and took a hand at cooking. At her suggestion he strippedthe tarpaulin from her father's bed and stretched it over a rope beforethe tent, thus providing a commodious kitchen and dining-room. Under thisroof they sat and talked of everything except what they should do if thefather did not return, and as they talked they grew to even closerunderstanding.
Though quite unlearned of books, she had something which was much morepiquant than anything which theaters and novels could give--she possesseda marvelous understanding of the natural world in which she lived. As thecompanion of her father on many of his trips, she had absorbed from him,as well as from the forest, a thousand observations of plant and animallife. Seemingly she had nothing of the woman's fear of the wilderness,she scarcely acknowledged any awe of it. Of the bears, and otherpredatory beasts, she spoke carelessly.
"Bears are harmless if you let 'em alone," she said, "and themountain-lion is a great big bluff. He won't fight, you can't make himfight; but the mother lion will. She's dangerous when she has cubs--mostanimals are. I was out hunting grouse one day with a little twenty-tworifle, when all at once, as I looked up along a rocky point I wascrossing, I saw a mountain-lion looking at me. First I thought I'd letdrive at him; but the chances were against my getting him from there, soI climbed up above him--or where I thought he was--and while I waslooking for him I happened to glance to my right, and there he was aboutfifty feet away looking at me pleasant as you please. Didn't seem to bemad at all--'peared like he was just wondering what I'd do next. I jerkedmy gun into place, but he faded away. I crawled around to get behind him,and just when I reached the ledge on which he had been standing a fewminutes before, I saw him just where I'd been. He had traded places withme. I began to have that creepy feeling. He was so silent and so kind ofpleasant-looking I got leery of him. It just seemed like as though I'ddreamed him. He didn't seem real."
Wayland shuddered. "You foolish girl! Why didn't you run?"
"I did. I began to figure then that this was a mother lion, and that hercubs were close by, and that she could just as well sneak up and drop onme from above as not. So I got down and left her alone. It was herpopping up now here and now there like a ghost that locoed me. I was surescared."
Wayland did not enjoy this tale. "I never heard of such folly. Did yourfather learn of that adventure?"
"Yes, I told him."
"Didn't he forbid your hunting any more?"
"No, indeed! Why should he? He just said it probably was a lioness, andthat it was just as well to let her alone. He knows I'm no chicken."
"How about your mother--does she approve of such expeditions?"
"No, mother worries more or less when I'm away; but then she knows itdon't do any good. I'm taking all kinds of chances every day, anyhow."
He had to admit that she was better able to care for herself in thewilderness than most men--even Western men--and though he had not yetwitnessed a display of her skill with a rifle, he was ready to believethat she could shoot as well as her sire. Nevertheless, he liked herbetter when engaged in purely feminine duties, and he led the talk backto subjects concerning which her speech was less blunt and manlike.
He liked her when she was joking, for delicious little curves of laughterplayed about her lips. She became very amusing, as she told of her"visits East," and of her embarrassments in the homes of city friends. "Ijust have to own up that about all the schooling I've got is from themagazines. Sometimes I wish I had pulled out for town when I was aboutfourteen; but, you see, I didn't feel like leaving mother, and she didn'tfeel like letting me go--and so I just got what I could at Bear Tooth."She sprang up. "There's a patch of blue sky. Let's go see if we can't geta grouse."
The snow had nearly all sunk into the ground on their level; but it stilllay deep on the heights above, and the torn masses of vapor still cloudedthe range. "Father has surely had to go over the divide," she said, asthey walked down the path along the lake shore. "He'll be late gettingback, and a plate of hot chicken will seem good to him."
Together they strolled along the edge of the willows. "The grouse comedown to feed about this time," she said. "We'll put up a covey soon."
It seemed to him as though he were re-living the experiences of hisancestors--the pioneers of Michigan--as he walked this wilderness withthis intrepid huntress whose alert eyes took note of every moving thing.She was delightfully unconscious of self, of sex, of any doubt or fear. Alovely Diana--strong and true and sweet.
Within a quarter of a mile they found their birds, and she killed fourwith five shots. "This is all we need," she said, "and I don't believe inkilling for the sake of killing. Rangers should set good examples in wayof game preservation. They are deputy game-wardens in most states, andgood ones, too."
They stopped for a time on a high bank above the lake, while the sunsetturned the storm-clouds into mountains of brass and iron, with sulphurouscaves and molten glowing ledges. This grandiose picture lasted but a fewminutes, and then the Western gates closed and all was again gray andforbidding. "Open and shut is a sign of wet," quoted Berrie, cheerily.
The night rose formidably from the valley while they ate their supper;but Berrie remained tranquil. "Those horses probably went clean back tothe ranch. If they did, daddy can't possibly get back before eighto'clock, and he may not get back till to-morrow."
The Forester's Daughter: A Romance of the Bear-Tooth Range Page 7