The Chalice Of Courage: A Romance of Colorado

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE LOG HUT IN THE MOUNTAINS

  What awakened the woman she did not know; in all probability it was thebright sunlight streaming through the narrow window before her. Thecabin was so placed that the sun did not strike fairly into the roomuntil it was some hours high, consequently she had her long sleep outentirely undisturbed. The man had made no effort whatever to awaken her.Whatever tasks he had performed since daybreak had been so silentlyaccomplished that she had not been aware of them.

  So soon as he could do so, he had left the cabin and was now busilyengaged in his daily duties outside the cabin and beyond earshot. Heknew that sleep was the very best medicine for her and it was best thatshe should not be disturbed until in her own good time she awoke.

  The clouds had emptied themselves during the night and the wind had atlast died away toward morning and now there was a great calm abroad inthe land. The sunlight was dazzling. Outside, where the untempered raysbeat full upon the crests of the mountains, it was doubtless warm, butwithin the cabin it was chilly--the fire had long since burnedcompletely away and he had not entered the room to replenish it. YetEnid Maitland had lain snug and warm under her blankets. She presentlytested her wounded foot by moving it gently and discovered agreeablythat it was much less painful than she had anticipated. The treatment ofthe night before had been very successful.

  She did not get up immediately, but the coldness of the room struck herso soon as she got out of bed. Upon her first awakening she was hardlyconscious of her situation; her sleep had been too long and too heavyand her awakening too gradual for any sudden appreciation of the newcondition. It was not until she had stared around the walls of the rudecabin for some time that she realized where she was and what hadhappened. When she did so she arose at once.

  Her first impulse was to call. Never in her life had she felt suchdeath-like stillness. Even in the camp almost always there had been awhisper of breeze through the pine trees, or the chatter of water overthe rocks. But here there were no pine trees and no sound of rushingbrook came to her. It was almost painful. She was keen to dress and goout of the house. She stood upon the rude puncheon floor on one footscarcely able yet to bear even the lightest pressure upon the other.There were her clothes on chairs and tables before the fireplace. Suchhad been the heat thrown out by that huge blaze that a brief inspectionconvinced her that everything was thoroughly dry. Dry or wet she mustneeds put them on since they were all she had. She noticed that therewere no locks on the doors and she realized that the only protection shehad was the sense of decency and the honor of the man. That she had beenallowed her sleep unmolested made her the more confident on thataccount.

  She dressed hastily, although it was the work of some difficulty in viewof her wounded foot and of the stiff condition of her rough driedapparel. Presently she was completely clothed save for that disabledfoot. With the big clumsy bandages upon it she could not draw herstocking over it and even if she succeeded in that she could in no waymake shift to put on her boot.

  The situation was awkward, the predicament annoying; she was wearingbloomers and a short skirt for her mountain climbing and she did notknow quite what to do. She thought of tearing up one of the roughunbleached sheets and wrapping it around her leg, but she hesitated asto that. It was very trying. Otherwise she would have opened the doorand stepped out into the open air, now she felt herself virtually aprisoner.

  She had been thankful that no one had disturbed her, but now she wishedfor the man. In her helplessness she thought of his resourcefulness witheagerness. The man however did not appear and there was nothing for herto do but to wait for him. Taking one of the blankets from the bed, shesat down and drew it across her knees and took stock of the room.

  The cabin was built of logs, the room was large, perhaps twelve bytwenty feet, with one side completely taken up by the stone fireplace;there were two windows, one on either side of the outer door whichopened toward the southwest. The walls were unplastered save in thechinks between the rough hewn logs of which it was made. Over thefireplace and around on one side ran a rude shelf covered with books.She had no opportunity to examine them, although later she would becomefamiliar with every one of them.

  Into the walls on the other side were driven wooden pegs; from some ofthem hung a pair of snow shoes, a heavy Winchester rifle, fishing tackleand other necessary wilderness paraphernalia. On the puncheon floor wolfand bear skins were spread. In one corner against the wall again werepiled several splendid pairs of horns from the mountain sheep.

  The furniture consisted of the single bed or berth in which she hadslept, built against the wall in one of the corners, a rude table onwhich were writing materials and some books. A row of curtained shelves,evidently made of small boxes and surmounted by a mirror, occupiedanother space. There were two or three chairs, the handiwork of theowner, comfortable enough in spite of their rude construction. On someother pegs hung a slicker and a sou'wester, a fur overcoat, a fur capand other rough clothes; a pair of heavy boots stood by the fireplace.On another shelf there were a number of scientific instruments thenature of which she could not determine, although she could see thatthey were all in a beautiful state of preservation.

  There was plenty of rude comfort in the room which was excessivelymannish. In fact there was nothing anywhere which in any way spoke ofthe existence of woman--except a picture in a small rough wooden framewhich stood on the table before which she sat down. The picture was of ahandsome woman--naturally Enid Maitland saw that before anything else;she would not have been a woman if that had not engaged her attentionmore forcibly than any other fact in the room. She picked it up andstudied it long and earnestly, quite unconscious of the reason for herinterest, and yet a certain uneasy feeling might have warned her of whatwas toward in her bosom.

  This young woman had not yet had time to get her bearings, she had notbeen able to realize all the circumstances of her adventure; so soon asshe did so she would know that into her life a man had come and whateverthe course of that life might be in the future, he would never again beout of it.

  It was therefore with mingled and untranslatable emotions that shestudied this picture. She marked with a certain resentment the boldbeauty quite apparent despite the dim fading outlines of a photographnever very good. So far as she could discern the woman was dark hairedand dark eyed--her direct antithesis! The casual viewer would have foundlittle to find fault with in the presentment, but Enid Maitland's eyeswere sharpened by--what, pray? At any rate she decided that the womanwas of a rather coarse fiber, that in things finer and higher she wouldbe found wanting. She was such a woman, so the girl reasoned acutely, asmight inspire a passionate affection in a strong hearted, recklessyouth, but whose charms being largely physical would pall in longer andmore intimate association; a dangerous rival in a charge, but not soformidable in a steady campaign.

  These thoughts were the result of long and earnest inspection and it waswith some reluctance that the girl at last put the photograph aside andlooked toward the door. She was hungry, ravenously so. She began to be alittle alarmed and had just about made up her mind to rise and stumbleout as she was, when she heard steps outside and a knock on the door.

  "What is it?" she asked in response.

  "May I come in?"

  "Yes," was the quick answer.

  The man opened the door, left it ajar and entered the room.

  "Have you been awake long?" he began abruptly.

  "Not very."

  "I didn't disturb you because you needed sleep more than anything else.How do you feel?"

  "Greatly refreshed, thank you."

  "And hungry, I suppose?"

  "Very."

  "I will soon remedy that. Your foot?"

  "It seems much better, but I--"

  The girl hesitated, blushing. "I can't get my shoe on and--"

  "Shall I have another look at it?"

  "No, I don't believe it will be necessary. If I may have some of thatliniment, or whatever it was you p
ut on it, and more of that bandage, Ithink I can attend to it myself, but you see my stocking and my boot--"

  The man nodded, he seemed to understand; he went to his cracker boxchiffonier and drew from it a long coarse woolen stocking.

  "That is the best that I can do for you," he said, extending it towardher somewhat diffidently.

  "And that will do very nicely," said the girl. "It will cover thebandage and that is the main thing."

  The man laid on the table by the side of the stocking another strip ofbandage torn from the same sheet; as he did so he noticed the picture.He caught it up quickly, a dark flush spreading over his face, andholding it in his hand he turned abruptly away.

  "I will go and cook you some breakfast while you get yourself ready. Ifyou have not washed, you'll find a bucket of water and a basin and toweloutside the door."

  He went through the inner door as suddenly as he had come through theouter one. He was a man of few words and whatever of social grace hemight once have possessed and in more favorable circumstances exhibited,was not noticeable now; the tenderness with which he had cared for herthe night before had also vanished.

  His bearing had been cool almost harsh and forbidding and his manner wasas grim as his appearance. The conversation had been a brief one and heropportunity for inspection of him consequently limited, yet she hadtaken him in. She saw a tall splendid man, no longer very young,perhaps, but in the prime of life and vigor. His complexion was dark andburned browner by long exposure to sun and wind, winter and summer. Inspite of the brown there was a certain color, a hue of health in hischeeks. His eyes were hazel, sometimes brown, sometimes gray, andsometimes blue, she afterward learned. A short thick closely cut beardand mustache covered the lower part of his face, disguising but nothiding the squareness of his jaw and the firmness, of his lips.

  He had worn his cap when he entered and when he took it off she noticedthat his dark hair was tinged with white. He was dressed in a leatherhunting suit, somewhat the worse for wear, but fitting him in a way togive free play to all his muscles. His movements were swift, energeticand graceful; she did not wonder that he had so easily hurled the bearto one side and had managed to carry her--no light weight, indeed!--overwhat she dimly recognized must have been a horrible trail, whichburdened as he was would have been impossible to a man of less splendidvigor than he.

  The cabin was low ceiled and as she had sat looking up at him he hadtowered above her until he seemed to fill it. Naturally she hadscrutinized his every action, as she had hung upon his every word. Hisswift and somewhat startled movement, his frowning as he had seized thepicture on which she had gazed with such interest aroused the liveliestsurprise and curiosity in her heart.

  Who was this woman? Why was he so quick to remove the picture from hergaze? Thoughts rushed tumultuously through her brain, but she realizedat once that she lacked time to indulge them. She could hear him movingabout in the other room, she threw aside the blanket with which she haddraped herself, changed the bandage on her foot, drew on the heavywoolen stocking which of course was miles too big for her, but whicheasily took in her foot and ankle encumbered as they were by the rude,heavy but effective wrapping. Thereafter she hobbled to the door andstood for a moment almost aghast at the splendor and magnificence beforeher.

  He had built his cabin on a level shelf of rock perhaps fifty by ahundred feet in area. It was backed up against an overtowering cliff,otherwise the rock fell away in every direction. She divined that thedescent from the shelf into the pocket or valley spread before her wassheer, except off to the right where a somewhat gentler acclivity ofhuge and broken boulders gave a practicable ascent--a sort of titanticstairs--to the place perched on the mountain side. The shelf wasabsolutely bare save for the cabin and a few huge boulders. There were afew sparse, stunted trees further up on the mountain side above; a fewhundred feet beyond them, however, came the timber line, after whichthere was nothing but the naked rock.

  Below several hundred feet lay a clear emerald pool, whose edges werebordered by pines where it was not dominated by high cliffs. Already thelakelet was rimmed with ice on the shaded side. This enchanting littlebody of water was fed by the melting snow from the crest and peaks,which in the clear pure sunshine and rarefied air of the mountainsseemed to rise and confront her within a stone's throw of the placewhere she stood.

  On one side of the lake in the valley or pocket beneath there was alittle grassy clearing, and there this dweller in the wilderness hadbuilt a rude corral for the burros. On a rough bench by the side of thedoor she saw the primitive conveniences to which he had alluded. Thewater was delightfully soft and as it had stood exposed to the sun'sdirect rays for some time, although the air was exceedingly crisp andcold, it was tempered sufficiently to be merely cool and agreeable. Sheluxuriated in it for a few moments and while she had her face buried inthe towel, rough, coarse, but clean, she heard a step. She looked up intime to see the man lay down upon the bench a small mirror and a cleancomb. He said nothing as he did so and she had no opportunity to thankhim before he was gone. The thoughtfulness of the act affected herstrangely and she was very glad of a chance to unbraid her hair, comb itout and plait it again. She had not a hair pin left of course, and allshe could do with it was to replait it and let it hang upon hershoulders; her coiffure would have looked very strange to civilization,but out there in the mountains, it was eminently appropriate.

  Without noticing details the man felt the general effect as she limpedback into the room toward the table. Her breakfast was ready for her; itwas a coarse fare, bacon, a baked potato hard tack crisped before thefire, coffee black and strong, with sugar but no cream. The dishesmatched the fare, too, yet she noticed that the fork was of silver andby her plate there was a napkin, rough dried but of fine linen. The manhad just set the brimming smoking coffee pot on the table when sheappeared.

  "I am sorry I have no cream," he said, and then before she could makecomment or reply, he turned and walked out of the door, his purposeevidently being not to embarrass her by his presence while she ate.

  Enid Maitland had grown to relish the camp fare, bringing to it theappetite of good health and exertion. She had never eaten anything thattasted so good to her as that rude meal that morning, yet she would haveenjoyed it better, she thought, if he had only shared it with her, ifshe had not been compelled to eat it alone. She hastened her meal onthat account, determined as soon as she had finished her breakfast toseek the man and have some definite understanding with him.

  And after all she reflected that she was better alone than in hispresence, for there would come stealing into her thoughts thedistressing episode of the morning before, try as she would to put itout of her mind. Well, she was a fairly sensible girl, the matter waspassed, it could not be helped now, she would forget it as much as waspossible. She would recur to it with mortification later on, but thepresent was so full of grave problems that there was not any room forthe past.