Diane of the Green Van

by Leona Dalrymple

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE LONELY CAMPER

  The west was yellow. High on the mountain where a mad little waterfallsprayed the bushes of laurel and rhododendron with quicksilver, theafterglow of the sunset on the tumbling water made a streak of saffron.The wings of a homing eagle were golden-black against the sky. Overthere above the cornfields to the west there was a cliff and a blackand bushy ravine over which soared a buzzard or two. Presently whenthe moon rose its splendid alchemy would turn the black to glowingsilver.

  A Kentucky brook chuckled boisterously by the hay-camp, tumblingheadlong over mossy logs and stones and a tangled lacery of drenchedferns.

  Philip laid aside a bow and arrow upon which he had been busily workingsince supper and summoned Dick Whittington. Beyond, through oak andpoplar, glowed the camp fire of his lady.

  "Likely we'll tramp about a bit, Richard, if you're willing," said he."Somehow, we're infernally restless to-night and just why our lady hasseen fit to pile that abominable silver-rod in such a place of honor byher tent, we can't for the life of us see. It's nothing like so prettyas the goldenrod. By and by, Whittington," Philip felt for his pipeand filled it, "we'll have our wildwood bow and arrows done and wefancy somehow that our gypsy's wonderful black eyes are going to shinea hit over that. Why? Lord, Dick, you do ask foolish questions! Ourbeautiful lady's an archer and a capital one too, says Johnny--even ifshe does like beastly silver-rod."

  Somewhat out of sorts the Duke of Connecticut set off abruptly throughthe trees with the dog at his heels.

  Having climbed over log and boulder to a road which cleft the mountain,he kept on to the north, descending again presently to the level of thecamp, smoking abstractedly and whistling now and then for RichardWhittington, who was prone to ramble. Philip was debating whether ornot he had better turn back, for the moon was already edging the blackravine with fire, when a camp fire and the silhouette of a lonelycamper loomed to the west among the trees. Philip puffed forth aprodigious cloud of smoke and seated himself on a tree stump.

  "My! My!" said he easily. "Must be our invalid and his rumpusmachine. Whittington, we're just in the mood to-night, you and I, towander over there and tell him that he's not getting half so much overon us as he thinks he is. I've a mind to send you forward with mycard."

  Philip's eyes narrowed and he laughed softly. Tearing a sheet of paperfrom a notebook he took from his pocket, he scribbled upon it thefollowing astonishing message:

  "The Duke of Connecticut desires an audience. Do not kick the courier!"

  Accustomed by now to carry birch-bark messages to Diane, RichardWhittington waggled in perfect understanding and trotted off obedientlytoward the fire with Philip close at his heels.

  Conceivably astonished, the camper presently picked up the paper whichMr. Whittington dropped at his feet, and read it. As Philip steppedlazily from the trees he turned.

  It was Baron Tregar. Both men stared.

  "The Duke of Connecticut!" at length rumbled the Baron with perfectgravity. "I am overwhelmed."

  Philip, much the more astonished of the two, laughed and bowed.

  "Excellency," said he formally, "I am indeed astonished."

  "Pray be seated!" invited the Baron, his eyes more friendly than thoseof his guest. "I, too, have taken to the highway, Poynter, on yondermotorcycle and I have lost my way." He sniffed in disgust. "I amdining," he added dryly, "if one may dignify the damnable proceeding bythat name, on potatoes which I do not in the least know how to bakewithout reducing them to cinders. I bought them a while back at adesolate, God-forsaken farmhouse. Heaven deliver me from camping!"

  With which pious ejaculation the Baron inspected his smudged andblistered fingers and read again the entertaining message from the Dukeof Connecticut.

  "Why take to the highway," begged Philip guilelessly, "when the task isso unpleasant?"

  "Ah!" rumbled the Baron, more sombre now, "there is a man with amusic-machine--"

  "There is!" said Philip fervently.

  The Baron looked hard at His Highness, the Duke of Connecticut. Thelatter produced his cigarette case and opening it politely for theservice of his chief, smiled with good humor.

  "There is," said he coolly, "a man with a music-machine, a mysteriousmalady, a stained skin and a volume of Herodotus! Excellency knowsthe--er--romantic ensemble?"

  Excellency not only knew him, but for days now, taking up the trail ata certain canal, he had traveled hard over roads strangely litteredwith hay and food and linen collars--to find that romantic ensemble.He added with grim humor that he fancied the Duke of Connecticut knewhim too. The Duke dryly admitted that this might be so. His memory,though conveniently porous at times, was for the most part excellent.

  "What is he doing?" asked the Baron with an ominous glint of his fineeyes.

  "Excellency," said Philip, staring hard at the end of his cigarette,"by every subtle device at his command, he is making graceful love toMiss Westfall, who is sufficiently wholesome and happy and absorbed inher gypsy life not to know it--yet!"

  The Barents explosive "Ah!" was a compound of wrath and outragedastonishment. Philip felt his attitude toward his chief undergoing asubtle revolution.

  "His discretion," added Philip warmly, "has departed to that forgottenlimbo which has claimed his beard."

  The Baron was staring very hard at the camp fire.

  "So," said he at last,--"it is for this that I have been--" he searchedfor an expressive Americanism, and shrugging, invented one,"thunder-cracking along the highway in search of the man Themar saw bythe fire of Miss Westfall. 'It is incredible--it can not be!' said I,as I blistered about, searching here, searching there, losing my wayand thunder-cracking about in dead of night--all to pick up the trailof a green and white van and a music-machine! 'It is unbelievable--itis a monstrous mistake on the part of Themar!' But, Poynter, this lovemaking, in the circumstances, passes all belief!" The Baron added thattwice within the week he had passed the hay-camp but that by someunlucky fatality he had always contrived to miss the music-machine.

  "Days back," rumbled the Baron thoughtfully, "I assigned to Themar thetask of discovering the identity of the man who--er--acquired a certainroadster of mine and who, I felt fairly certain, would not lose trackof Miss Westfall but Themar, Poynter, came to grief--"

  "Yes?" said Philip coolly. "You interest me exceedingly."

  "He made his way back to me after many weeks of illness," said theBaron slowly, "with a curious tale of a terrible thrashing, of a bargeand mules, of rough men who kicked him about and consigned him to acity jail under the malicious charge of a mule-driver who swore that heloved not black-and-tans--"

  "Lord!" said Philip politely; "that was tough, wasn't it?"

  "Just what, Poynter," begged the Baron, "is a black-and-tan?"

  Mr. Poynter fancied he had heard the term before. It might havereference to the color of a man's skin and hair.

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the Baron's camp. The Baron himselfwas the first to break it.

  "Poynter," said he bluntly, "the circumstances of our separation atSherrill's have engendered, with reason, a slight constraint. Therewas a night when you grievously misjudged me--"

  "I am willing," admitted Philip politely, "to hear why I should altermy views."

  "_Mon Dieu_, Poynter!" boomed the Baron in exasperation, "you aremaddening. When you are politest, I fume and strike fire--here within!"

  "Mental arson!" shrugged the Duke of Connecticut, relighting hiscigarette with a blazing twig. "For that singular crime. Excellency,my deepest apologies."

  The Baron stared, frowned, and laughed. One may know very little ofone's secretary, after all.

  "You are a curious young man!" said he.

  The Duke of Connecticut admitted that this might be so. Hay,therapeutically, had effected an astonishing revolution in a naturedisposed congenitally to peace and trustfulness. Local applications ofhay had made him exceedingly suspicious and hostile.
So much so indeedthat for days now he had slept by day, to the total wreck of hisaesthetic reputation, and watched by night, convinced that MissWestfall's camp was prone to strange and dangerous visitors.Excellency no doubt remembered the knife and the bullet.

  The Baron sighed.

  "Poynter," he said simply, "to a man of my nature and diplomaticposition, a habit of candor is difficult. I wonder, however, if youwould accept my word of honor as a gentleman that I know as little ofthis treacherous bullet as you; that for all I am bound to secrecy, mysincerest desire is to protect Miss Westfall from the peculiarconsequences of this damnable muddle, to clear up the mystery of thebullet, and for more selfish reasons to protect her from the romanticfolly of the man with the music-machine!"

  Philip, his frank, fine face alive with honest relief, held out hishand.

  "Excellency," said he warmly, "one may learn more of his chief over acamp fire, it seems, than in months of service. Our paths lieparallel." There was a subtle compact in the handshake.

  "What," questioned the Baron presently, "think you, are my finegentleman's plans, Poynter?"

  Philip reddened.

  "Excellency," he admitted, "I have definite information of his planswhich I did not seek."

  "And the source?"

  "Miss Westfall's servant."

  "Ah!"

  "There are certain atmospheric conditions," regretted Philip,"intensely bad for hay-camps, wherefore I found myself obliged to seekan occasional understudy who would not only blaze the trail for me butdo faithful sentry duty in my absence. And Johnny, Excellency, whom Ipledged to this secret service, uncomfortably insists upon reporting tome much unnecessary detail. He has developed a most unreasoningdislike for music-machines and musical gypsies."

  "There appears to be a general prejudice against them," admitted theBaron grimly.

  "A while back, then," resumed Philip, "Johnny chanced upon theinformation that in January Miss Westfall will be a guest of AnnSherrill's at Palm Beach. So will our minstrel--still incognito--"

  "Excellent!" rumbled the Baron with relish. "Excellent. If all thisbe true," he added, muddling an Americanism, "we have then, of thehorse another color!"

  "Later," said Philip, "when Miss Westfall returns to her house onwheels, I imagine he too will take to the road again--and resume hischarming erotics."

  "That," said the Baron with decision, "is most undesirable."

  "I agree with you!" said Philip feelingly.

  "I too have promised to be a guest at Miss Sherrill's _fete de nuit_!"purred the Baron suavely. "And you, Poynter?"

  "Unfortunately Miss Sherrill knows absolutely nothing of mywhereabouts."

  "Sherrill days ago entrusted me with a cordial invitation for you. Hewas unaware of our disagreement and expected you to accompany me. Asmy official secretary, Poynter, for, let us say the month of January,it is possible for me to command your attendance at Palm Beach."

  "Excellency," said Philip slowly, "singular as it may seem in mypresent free lance state, I am greatly desirous of hearing such acommand."

  "Poynter," boomed the Baron formally, "in January I shall beoverweighted with diplomatic duties at Palm Beach. I regretexceedingly that I am forced to command your attendance. Thisfrivoling about must cease." He shook suddenly with silent laughter."Doubtless," said he, meeting Philip's amused glance with levelsignificance, "doubtless, Poynter, we can--"

  "Yes," said Philip with much satisfaction, "I think we can."

  They fell to chatting in lower voices as the fire died down.

  "Meanwhile," shrugged the disgusted Baron a little later, "I shallabandon that accursed music-machine to its fate, and rest. God knows Iam but an indifferent nomad and need it sorely. Night and day have Ithunder-cracked the highways, losing my way and my temper until Iloathe camps and motor machines and dust and wind and baked potatoes.I sincerely hope, Poynter, that you can find me the road to an inn anda bed, a bath and some iced mint--to-night."

  Philip could and did. Presently standing by his abominated motorcycleon a lonely moonlit road, the Baron adjusted his leather cap andstroked his beard.

  "Do you know, Poynter," said he slowly, "this is a most mysteriousmotorcycle. It was crated to me from an unknown village inPennsylvania by the hand of God knows whom!"

  "Excellency," said Philip politely as he cordially shook hands with hischief, "The world, I find, is full of mystery."

  Rumbling the Baron mounted and rode away. With a slight smile, Philipwatched him thunder-cracking disgustedly along the dusty road back tocivilization.