XIII
THE GOSSIPS AWAKE
It was dark when they reached the village, but Wayland declared hisability to go on, although his wounded head was throbbing with fever andhe was clinging to the pommel of his saddle; so Berrie rode on.
Mrs. McFarlane, hearing the horses on the bridge, was at the door andreceived her daughter with wondering question, while the stable-hands,quick to detect an injured man, hurried to lift Norcross down from hissaddle.
"What's the matter?" repeated Mrs. McFarlane.
"He fell and struck his head on a stone," Berea hastily explained. "Takethe horses, boys, mother and I will look out for Mr. Norcross."
The men obeyed her and fell back, but they were consumed with curiosity,and their glances irritated the girl. "Slip the packs at once," sheinsisted.
With instant sympathy her mother came to her aid in supporting thewounded, weary youth indoors, and as he stretched out on the couch in thesitting-room, he remarked, with a faint, ironic smile: "This beats anybed of balsam boughs."
"Where's your father?" asked Mrs. McFarlane of her daughter.
"He's over on the Ptarmigan. I've a powerful lot to tell you, mother; butnot now; we must look after Wayland. He's nearly done up, and so am I."
Mrs. McFarlane winced a little at her daughter's use of Norcross's firstname, but she said nothing further at the moment, although she watchedBerrie closely while she took off Wayland's shoes and stockings andrubbed his icy feet. "Get him something hot as quick as you can!" shecommanded; and Mrs. McFarlane obeyed without a word.
Gradually the tremor passed out of his limbs and a delicious sense ofwarmth, of safety, stole over him, and he closed his eyes in the comfortof her presence and care. "Rigorous business this life of the pioneer,"he said, with mocking inflection. "I think I prefer a place in the lumbertrust."
"Don't talk," she said. Then, with a rush of tender remorse: "Why didn'tyou tell me to stop? I didn't realize that you were so tired. We couldhave stopped at the Springs."
"I didn't know how tired I was till I got here. Gee," he said, boyishly,"that door-knob at the back of my head is red-hot! You're good to me," headded, humbly.
She hated to have him resume that tone of self-depreciation, and,kneeling to him, she kissed his cheek, and laid her head beside his."You're splendid," she insisted. "Nobody could be braver; but you shouldhave told me you were exhausted. You fooled me with your cheerfulanswers."
He accepted her loving praise, her clasping arms, as a part of the rescuefrom the darkness and pain of the long ride, careless of what it mightbring to him in the future. He ate his toast and drank his coffee, andpermitted the women to lead him to his room, and then being alone hecrept into his bed and fell instantly asleep.
Berrie and her mother went back to the sitting-room, and Mrs. McFarlaneclosed the door behind them. "Now tell me all about it," she said, in thetone of one not to be denied.
The story went along very smoothly till the girl came to the second nightin camp beside the lake; there her voice faltered, and the reflectivelook in the mother's eyes deepened as she learned that her daughter hadshared her tent with the young man. "It was the only thing to do,mother," Berrie bravely said. "It was cold and wet outside, and you knowhe isn't very strong, and his teeth were chattering, he was so chilled. Iknow it sounds strange down here; but up there in the woods in the stormwhat I did seemed right and natural. You know what I mean, don't you?"
"Yes, I understand. I don't blame you--only--if others should hear ofit--"
"But they won't. No one knows of our being alone there except Tony andfather."
"Are you sure? Doesn't Mrs. Belden know?"
"I don't think so--not yet."
Mrs. McFarlane's nervousness grew. "I wish you hadn't gone on this trip.If the Beldens find out you were alone with Mr. Norcross they'll makemuch of it. It will give them a chance at your father." Her mind turnedupon another point. "When did Mr. Norcross get his fall?"
"On the way back." Here Berrie hesitated again. "I don't like to tellyou, mother, but he didn't fall, Cliff jumped him and tried to killhim."
The mother doubted her ears. "Cliff did? How did he happen to meet you?"
Berrie was quick to answer. "I don't know how he found out we were on thetrail. I suppose the old lady 'phoned him. Anyhow, while we were campedfor noon yesterday"--her face flamed again at thought of that tender,beautiful moment when they were resting on the grass--"while we were atour lunch he came tearing down the hill on that big bay horse of his andtook a flying jump at Wayland. As Wayland went down he struck his head ona stone. I thought he was dead, and I was paralyzed for a second. Then Iflew at Cliff and just about choked the life out of him. I'd have endedhim right there if he hadn't let go."
Mrs. McFarlane, looking upon her daughter in amazement, saw on her facethe shadow of the deadly rage which had burned in her heart as sheclenched young Belden's throat.
"What then? What happened then?"
"He let go, you bet." Her smile came back. "And when he realized whathe'd done--_he_ thought Wayland was dead--he began to weaken. Then I tookmy gun and was all for putting an end to him right there, when I sawWayland's eyelids move. After that I didn't care what became of Cliff. Itold him to ride on and keep a-ridin', and I reckon he's clear out of thestate by this time. If he ever shows up I'll put him where he'll have allnight to be sorry in."
"When did this take place?"
"Yesterday about two. Of course Wayland couldn't ride, he was so dizzyand kind o' confused, and so I went into camp right there at timber-line.Along about sunset Nash came riding up from this side, and insisted onstaying to help me--so I let him."
Mrs. McFarlane's tense attitude relaxed. "Nash is not the kind thattattles. I'm glad he turned up."
"And this morning I saddled and came down."
"Did Nash go on?"
"Yes, daddy was waiting for him, so I sent him along."
"It's all sad business," groaned Mrs. McFarlane, "and I can see you'rekeeping something back. How did Cliff happen to know just where you were?And what started you back without your father?"
For the first time Berrie showed signs of weakness and distress. "Why,you see, Alec Belden and Mr. Moore were over there to look at sometimber, and old Marm Belden and that Moore girl went along. I supposethey sent word to Cliff, and I presume that Moore girl put him on ourtrail. Leastwise that's the way I figure it out. That's the worst of thewhole business." She admitted this with darkened brow. "Mrs. Belden'stongue is hung in the middle and loose at both ends--and that Moore girlis spiteful mean." She could not keep the contempt out of her voice. "Shesaw us start off, and she is sure to follow it up and find out whathappened on the way home; even if they don't see Cliff they'll _talk_."
"Oh, I _wish_ you hadn't gone!" exclaimed the worried mother.
"It can't be helped now, and it hasn't done me any real harm. It's all inthe day's work, anyhow. I've always gone with daddy before, and this tripisn't going to spoil me. The boys all know me, and they will treat mefair."
"Yes, but Mr. Norcross is an outsider--a city man. They will all thinkevil of him on that account."
"I know; that's what troubles me. No one will know how fine andconsiderate he was. Mother, I've never known any one like him. He's apoet! He's taught me to see things I never saw before. Everythinginterests him--the birds, the clouds, the voices in the fire. I never wasso happy in my life as I was during those first two days, and that nightin camp before he began to worry--it was just wonderful." Words failedher, but her shining face and the forward straining pose of her bodyenlightened the mother. "I don't care what people say of me if only theywill be just to him. They've _got_ to treat him right," she added,firmly.
"Did he speak to you--are you engaged?"
Her head drooped. "Not really engaged, mother; but he told me how much heliked me--and--it's all right, mother, I _know_ it is. I'm not fineenough for him, but I'm going to try to change my ways so he won't beashamed of me."
Mrs. McFarlane's
face cleared. "He surely is a fine young fellow, and canbe trusted to do the right thing. Well, we might as well go to bed. Wecan't settle anything till your father gets home," she said.
Wayland rose next morning free from dizziness and almost free from pain,and when he came out of his room his expression was cheerful. "I feel asif I'd slept a week, and I'm hungry. I don't know why I should be, but Iam."
Mrs. McFarlane met him with something very intimate, something almostmaternal in her look; but her words were as few and as restrained asever. He divined that she had been talking with Berrie, and that a fairlyclear understanding of the situation had been reached. That thisunderstanding involved him closely he was aware; but nothing in hismanner acknowledged it.
She did not ask any questions, believing that sooner or later the wholestory must come out. The fact that Siona Moore and Mrs. Belden knew thatBerrie had started back on Thursday with young Norcross made it easy forthe villagers to discover that she had not reached the ranch tillSaturday. "What could Joe have been thinking of to allow them to go?" shesaid. "Mr. Nash's presence in the camp must be made known; but then thereis Clifford's assault upon Mr. Norcross, can that be kept secret, too?"And so while the young people chatted, the troubled mother waited infear, knowing that in a day or two the countryside would be aflame withaccusation.
In a landscape like this, as she well knew, nothing moves unobserved. Thenative--man or woman--is able to perceive and name objects scarcelydiscernible to the eye of the alien. A minute speck is discovered on thehillside. "Hello, there's Jim Sanders on his roan," says one, or "Herecomes Kit Jenkins with her flea-bit gray. I wonder who's on the bayalongside of her," remarks another, and each of these observations istaken quite as a matter of course. With a wide and empty field of vision,and with trained, unspoiled optic nerves, the plainsman is marvelouslypenetrating of glance. Hence, Mrs. McFarlane was perfectly certain thatnot one but several of her neighbors had seen and recognized Berrie andyoung Norcross as they came down the hill. In a day or two every manwould know just where they camped, and what had taken place in camp. Mrs.Belden would not rest till she had ferreted out every crook and turn ofthat trail, and her speech was quite as coarse as that of any of her maleassociates.
Easy-going with regard to many things, these citizens were abnormallyalive to all matters relating to courtship, and popular as she believedBerrie to be, Mrs. McFarlane could not hope that her daughter would bespared--especially by the Beldens, who would naturally feel that Cliffordhad been cheated. She sighed deeply. "Well, nothing can be done till Joereturns," she repeated.
A long day's rest, a second night's sleep, set Wayland on his feet. Hecame to breakfast quite gay. "Barring the hickory-nut on the back of myhead," he explained, "I'm feeling fine, almost ready for anotherexpedition. I may make a ranger yet."
Berrie, though equally gay, was not so sure of his ability to return towork. "I reckon you'd better go easy till daddy gets back; but if youfeel like it we'll ride up to the post-office this afternoon."
"I want to start right in to learn to throw that hitch, and I'm going topractise with an ax till I can strike twice in the same place. This tripwas an eye-opener. Great man I'd be in a windfall--wouldn't I?"
He was persuaded to remain very quiet for another day, and part of it wasspent in conversation with Mrs. McFarlane--whom he liked very much--andan hour or more in writing a long letter wherein he announced to hisfather his intention of going into the Forest Service. "I've got to buildup a constitution," he said, "and I don't know of a better place to do itin. Besides, I'm beginning to be interested in the scheme. I like theSupervisor. I'm living in his house at the present time, and I'm feelingcontented and happy, so don't worry about me."
He was indeed quite comfortable, save when he realized that Mrs.McFarlane was taking altogether too much for granted in theirrelationship. It was delightful to be so watched over, so waited upon, soinstructed. "But where is it all leading me?" he continued to askhimself--and still that wall of reserve troubled and saddened Berrie.
They expected McFarlane that night, and waited supper for him, but he didnot come, and so they ate without him, and afterward Wayland helpedBerrie do up the dishes while the mother bent above her sewing by thekitchen lamp.
There was something very sweet and gentle about Mrs. McFarlane, and theexile took almost as much pleasure in talking with her as with herdaughter. He led her to tell of her early experiences in the valley, andof the strange types of men and women with whom she had crossed therange.
"Some of them are here yet," she said. "In fact the most violent of allthe opponents to the Service are these old adventurers. I don't thinkthey deserve to be called pioneers. They never did any work in clearingthe land or in building homes. Some of them, who own big herds of cattle,still live in dug-outs. They raged at Mr. McFarlane for going into theService--called him a traitor. Old Jake Proudfoot was especiallyfurious--"
"You should see where old Jake lives," interrupted Berrie. "He sleeps onthe floor in one corner of his cabin, and never changes his shirt."
"Hush!" warned Mrs. McFarlane.
"That's what the men all say. Daddy declares if they were to scrape Jakethey'd find at least five layers of shirts. His wife left him fifteenyears ago, couldn't stand his habits, and he's got worse ever since.Naturally he is opposed to the Service."
"Of course," her mother explained, "those who oppose the Supervisoraren't all like Jake; but it makes me angry to have the papers allquoting Jake as 'one of the leading ranchers of the valley.'"
She could not bring herself to take up the most vital subject of all--thequestion of her daughter's future. "I'll wait till father gets home," shedecided.
On the fourth morning the 'phone rang, and the squawking voice of Mrs.Belden came over the wire. "I wanted to know if Berrie and her feller gothome all right?"
"Yes, they arrived safely."
The old woman chuckled. "Last I see of Cliff he was hot on theirtrail--looked like he expected to take a hand in that expedition. Did heovertake 'em?"
"I don't hear very well--where are you?"
"I'm at the Scott ranch--we're coming round 'the horn' to-day."
"Where is the Supervisor?"
"He headed across yesterday. Say, Cliff was mad as a hornet when hestarted. I'd like to know what happened--"
Mrs. McFarlane hung up the receiver. The old woman's nasty chuckle wasintolerable; but in silencing the 'phone Mrs. McFarlane was perfectlyaware that she was not silencing the gossip; on the contrary, she wascertain that the Beldens would leave a trail of poisonous comment fromthe Ptarmigan to Bear Tooth. It was all sweet material for them.
Berrie wanted to know who was speaking, and Mrs. McFarlane replied: "Mrs.Belden wanted to know if you got through all right."
"She said something else, something to heat you up," persisted the girl,who perceived her mother's agitation. "What did she say--something aboutme--and Cliff?"
The mother did not answer, for Wayland entered the room at the moment;but Berrie knew that traducers were already busy with her affairs. "Idon't care anything about old lady Belden," she said, later; "but I hateto have that Moore girl telling lies about me."
As for Wayland, the nights in the camp by the lake, and, indeed, all theexperiences of his trip in the high places were becoming each moment moreremote, more unreal. Camp life at timber-line did not seem to him subjectto ordinary conventional laws of human conduct, and the fact that he andBerrie had shared the same tent under the stress of cold and snow, nowseemed so far away as to be only a complication in a splendid mountaindrama. Surely no blame could attach to the frank and generous girl, eventhough the jealous assault of Cliff Belden should throw the valley into afever of chatter. "Furthermore, I don't believe he will be in haste tospeak of his share in the play," he added. "It was too nearly criminal."
It was almost noon of the fourth day when the Supervisor called up to saythat he was at the office, and would reach the ranch at six o'clock.
"I wish you would come h
ome at once," his wife argued; and something inher voice convinced him that he was more needed at home, than in thetown.
"All right, mother. Hold the fort an hour and I'll be there."
Mrs. McFarlane met him at the hitching-bar, and it required but a glancefor him to read in her face a troubled state of mind.
"This has been a disastrous trip for Berrie," she said, after one of thehands had relieved the Supervisor of his horse.
"In what way?"
She was a bit impatient. "Mrs. Belden is filling the valley with thestory of Berrie's stay in camp with Mr. Norcross."
His face showed a graver line. "It couldn't be helped. The horses had tobe followed, and that youngster couldn't do it--and, besides, I expectedto get back that night. Nobody but an old snoop like Seth Belden wouldthink evil of our girl. And, besides, Norcross is a man to be trusted."
"Of course he is, but the Beldens are ready to think evil of any oneconnected with us. And Cliff's assault on Wayland--"
He looked up quickly. "Assault? Did he make trouble?"
"Yes, he overtook them on the trail, and would have killed Norcross ifBerrie hadn't interfered. He was crazy with jealousy."
"Nash didn't say anything about any assault."
"He didn't know it. Berrie told him that Norcross fell from his horse."
McFarlane was deeply stirred. "I saw Cliff leave camp, but I didn't thinkanything of it. Why should he jump Norcross?"
"I suppose Mrs. Belden filled him with distrust of Berrie. He was alreadyjealous, and when he came up with them and found them lunching together,he lost his head and rushed at Wayland like a wild beast. Of course hecouldn't stand against a big man like Cliff, and his head struck on astone; and if Berrie hadn't throttled the brute he would have murderedthe poor boy right there before her eyes."
"Good God! I never suspected a word of this. I didn't think he'd dothat."
The Supervisor was now very grave. These domestic matters at once threwhis work as forester into the region of vague and unimportantabstractions. He began to understand the danger into which Berea hadfallen, and step by step he took up the trails which had brought them allto this pass.
He fixed another penetrating look upon her face, and his voice was vibrantwith anxiety as he said: "You don't think there's anything--wrong?"
"No, nothing wrong; but she's profoundly in love with him. I never haveseen her so wrapped up in any one. She thinks of nothing else. It scaresme to see it, for I've studied him closely and I can't believe he feelsthe same toward her. His world is so different from ours. I don't knowwhat to do or say. I fear she is in for a period of great unhappiness."
She was at the beginning of tears, and he sought to comfort her. "Don'tworry, honey, she's got too much horse sense to do anything foolish.She's grown up. I suppose it's his being so different from the other boysthat catches her. We've always been good chums--let me talk with her. Shemustn't make a mistake."
The return of the crew from the corral cut short this conference, andwhen McFarlane went in Berrie greeted him with such frank and joyousexpression that all his fears vanished.
"Did you come over the high trail?" she asked.
"No, I came your way. I didn't want to take any chances on getting mired.It's still raining up there," he answered, then turned to Wayland:"Here's your mail, Norcross, a whole hatful of it--and one telegram inthe bunch. Hope it isn't serious."
Wayland took the bundle of letters and retired to his room, glad toescape the persistent stare of the cow-hands. The despatch was from hisfather, and was curt and specific as a command: "Shall be in Denver onthe 23d, meet me at the Palmer House. Am on my way to California. Comeprepared to join me on the trip."
With the letters unopened in his lap he sat in silent thought, profoundlytroubled by the instant decision which this message demanded of him. Atfirst glance nothing was simpler than to pack up and go. He was only atourist in the valley with no intention of staying; but there was Berea!To go meant a violent end of their pleasant romance. To think of flightsaddened him, and yet his better judgment was clearly on the side ofgoing. "Much as I like her, much as I admire her, I cannot marry her. Thesimplest way is to frankly tell her so and go. It seems cowardly, but inthe end she will be happier."
His letters carried him back into his own world. One was from WillHalliday, who was going with Professor Holsman on an exploring trip upthe Nile. "You must join us. Holsman has promised to take you on."Another classmate wrote to know if he did not want to go into a land dealon the Gulf of Mexico. A girl asked: "Are you to be in New York thiswinter? I am. I've decided to go into this Suffrage Movement." And so,one by one, the threads which bound him to Eastern city life re-spuntheir filaments. After all, this Colorado outing, even though it shouldlast two years, would only be a vacation--his real life was in the citiesof the East. Charming as Berea was, potent as she seemed, she was afterall a fixed part of the mountain land, and not to be taken from it. Atthe moment marriage with her appeared absurd.
A knock at his door and the Supervisor's voice gave him a keen shock."Come in," he called, springing to his feet with a thrill of dread, ofalarm.
McFarlane entered slowly and shut the door behind him. His manner wasserious, and his voice gravely gentle as he said: "I hope that telegramdoes not call you away?"
"It is from my father, asking me to meet him in Denver," answeredNorcross, with faltering breath. "He's on his way to California. Won'tyou sit down?"
The older man took a seat with quiet dignity. "Seems like a mighty finechance, don't it? I've always wanted to see the Coast. When do you planfor to pull out?"
Wayland was not deceived by the Supervisor's casual tone; there wassomething ominously calm in his manner, something which expressed analmost dangerous interest in the subject.
"I haven't decided to go at all. I'm still dazed by the suddenness of it.I didn't know my father was planning this trip."
"I see. Well, before you decide to go I'd like to have a little talk withyou. My daughter has told me part of what happened to you on the trail. Iwant to know _all_ of it. You're young, but you've been out in the world,and you know what people can say about you and my girl." His voice becamelevel and menacing, as he added: "And I don't intend to have her put inwrong on account of you."
Norcross was quick to reply. "Nobody will dare accuse her of wrongdoing.She's a noble girl. No one will dare to criticize her for what she couldnot prevent."
"You don't know the Beldens. My girl's character will be on trial inevery house in the county to-morrow. The Belden side of it will appear inthe city papers. Sympathy will be with Clifford. Berrie will be made anissue by my enemies. They'll get me through her."
"Good Lord!" exclaimed Norcross, in sudden realization of the gravity ofthe case. "What beasts they are!"
"Moore's gang will seize upon it and work it hard," McFarlane went on,with calm insistence. "They want to bring the district forester down onme. This is a fine chance to badger me. They will make a great deal of myputting you on the roll. Our little camping trip is likely to prove aserious matter to us all."
"Surely you don't consider me at fault?"
Worried as he was, the father was just. "No, you're not to blame--no oneis to blame. It all dates back to the horses quitting camp; but you'vegot to stand pat now--for Berrie's sake."
"But what can I do? I'm at your service. What role shall I play? Tell mewhat to do, and I will do it."
McFarlane was staggered, but he answered: "You can at least stay on theground and help fight. This is no time to stampede."
"You're right. I'll stay, and I'll make any statement you see fit. I'lldo anything that will protect Berrie."
McFarlane again looked him squarely in the eyes. "Is there a--anagreement between you?"
"Nothing formal--that is--I mean I admire her, and I told her--" Hestopped, feeling himself on the verge of the irrevocable. "She's asplendid girl," he went on. "I like her exceedingly, but I've known heronly a few weeks."
McFarlane interrupted
. "Girls are flighty critters," he said, sadly. "Idon't know why she's taken to you so terrible strong; but she has. Shedon't seem to care what people say so long as they do not blame you; butif you should pull out you might just as well cut her heart to pieces--"His voice broke, and it was a long time before he could finish. "You'renot at fault, I know that, but if you _can_ stay on a little while andmake it an ounce or two easier for her and for her mother, I wish you'ddo it."
Wayland extended his hand impulsively. "Of course I'll stay. I neverreally thought of leaving." In the grip of McFarlane's hand was somethingwarm and tender.
He rose. "I'm terribly obliged," he said; "but we mustn't let her suspectfor a minute that we've been discussing her. She hates being pitied orhelped."
"She shall not experience a moment's uneasiness that I can prevent,"replied the youth; and at the moment he meant it.
Berrie could not be entirely deceived. She read in her father's face asubtle change of line which she related to something Wayland had said."Did he tell you what was in the telegram? Has he got to go away?" sheasked, anxiously.
"Yes, he said it was from his father."
"What does his father want of him?"
"He's on his way to California and wants Wayland to go with him; butWayland says he's not going."
A pang shot through Berrie's heart. "He mustn't go--he isn't able to go,"she exclaimed, and her pain, her fear, came out in her sharpened,constricted tone. "I won't let him go--till he's well."
Mrs. McFarlane gently interposed. "He'll have to go, honey, if his fatherneeds him."
"Let his father come here." She rose, and, going to his door, decisivelyknocked. "May I come in?" she demanded, rather than asked, before hermother could protest. "I must see you."
Wayland opened the door, and she entered, leaving her parents facing eachother in mute helplessness.
Mrs. McFarlane turned toward her husband with a face of despair. "She'sours no longer, Joe. Our time of bereavement has come."
He took her in his arms. "There, there, mother. Don't cry. It can't behelped. You cut loose from your parents and came to me in just the sameway. Our daughter's a grown woman, and must have her own life. All we cando is to defend her against the coyotes who are busy with her name."
"But what of _him_, Joe; he don't care for her as she does for him--can'tyou see that?"
"He'll do the right thing, mother; he told me he would. He knows how muchdepends on his staying here now, and he intends to do it."
"But in the end, Joe, after this scandal is lived down, can he--willhe--marry her? And if he marries her can they live together and be happy?His way of life is so different. He can't content himself here, and shecan't fit in where he belongs. It all seems hopeless to me. Wouldn't itbe better for her to suffer for a little while now than to make a mistakethat may last a lifetime?"
"Mebbe it would, mother, but the decision is not ours. She's too strongfor us to control. She's of age, and if she comes to a full understandingof the situation, she can decide the question a whole lot better thaneither of us."
"That's true," she sighed. "In some ways she's bigger and stronger thanboth of us. Sometimes I wish she were not so self-reliant."
"Well, that's the way life is, sometimes, and I reckon there's nothin'left for you an' me but to draw closer together and try to fill up theempty place she's going to leave between us."
The Forester's Daughter: A Romance of the Bear-Tooth Range Page 14