by Zane Grey
“Milt, I got lost,” replied Roy.
“I feared as much.... You girls look like you’d done better to ride with me,” went on Dale, as he offered a hand to help Bo off. She took it, tried to get her foot out of the stirrups, and then she slid from the saddle into Dale’s arms. He placed her on her feet and, supporting her, said, solicitously: “A hundred-mile ride in three days for a tenderfoot is somethin’ your uncle Al won’t believe.... Come, walk if it kills you!”
Whereupon he led Bo, very much as if he were teaching a child to walk. The fact that the voluble Bo had nothing to say was significant to Helen, who was following, with the assistance of Roy.
One of the huge rocks resembled a sea-shell in that it contained a hollow over which the wide-spreading shelf flared out. It reached toward branches of great pines. A spring burst from a crack in the solid rock. The campfire blazed under a pine, and the blue column of smoke rose just in front of the shelving rock. Packs were lying on the grass and some of them were open. There were no signs here of a permanent habitation of the hunter. But farther on were other huge rocks, leaning, cracked, and forming caverns, some of which perhaps he utilized.
“My camp is just back,” said Dale, as if he had read Helen’s mind. “To-morrow we’ll fix up comfortable-like round here for you girls.”
Helen and Bo were made as easy as blankets and saddles could make them, and the men went about their tasks.
“Nell — isn’t this — a dream?” murmured Bo.
“No, child. It’s real — terribly real,” replied Helen. “Now that we’re here — with that awful ride over — we can think.”
“It’s so pretty — here,” yawned Bo. “I’d just as lief Uncle Al didn’t find us very soon.”
“Bo! He’s a sick man. Think what the worry will be to him.”
“I’ll bet if he knows Dale he won’t be so worried.”
“Dale told us Uncle Al disliked him.”
“Pooh! What difference does that make?... Oh, I don’t know which I am — hungrier or tireder!”
“I couldn’t eat to-night,” said Helen, wearily.
When she stretched out she had a vague, delicious sensation that that was the end of Helen Rayner, and she was glad. Above her, through the lacy, fernlike pine-needles, she saw blue sky and a pale star just showing. Twilight was stealing down swiftly. The silence was beautiful, seemingly undisturbed by the soft, silky, dreamy fall of water. Helen closed her eyes, ready for sleep, with the physical commotion within her body gradually yielding. In some places her bones felt as if they had come out through her flesh; in others throbbed deep-seated aches; her muscles appeared slowly to subside, to relax, with the quivering twinges ceasing one by one; through muscle and bone, through all her body, pulsed a burning current.
Bo’s head dropped on Helen’s shoulder. Sense became vague to Helen. She lost the low murmur of the waterfall, and then the sound or feeling of some one at the campfire. And her last conscious thought was that she tried to open her eyes and could not.
When she awoke all was bright. The sun shone almost directly overhead. Helen was astounded. Bo lay wrapped in deep sleep, her face flushed, with beads of perspiration on her brow and the chestnut curls damp. Helen threw down the blankets, and then, gathering courage — for she felt as if her back was broken — she endeavored to sit up. In vain! Her spirit was willing, but her muscles refused to act. It must take a violent spasmodic effort. She tried it with shut eyes, and, succeeding, sat there trembling. The commotion she had made in the blankets awoke Bo, and she blinked her surprised blue eyes in the sunlight.
“Hello — Nell! do I have to — get up?” she asked, sleepily.
“Can you?” queried Helen.
“Can I what?” Bo was now thoroughly awake and lay there staring at her sister.
“Why — get up.”
“I’d like to know why not,” retorted Bo, as she made the effort. She got one arm and shoulder up, only to flop back like a crippled thing. And she uttered the most piteous little moan. “I’m dead! I know — I am!”
“Well, if you’re going to be a Western girl you’d better have spunk enough to move.”
“A-huh!” ejaculated Bo. Then she rolled over, not without groans, and, once upon her face, she raised herself on her hands and turned to a sitting posture. “Where’s everybody?... Oh, Nell, it’s perfectly lovely here. Paradise!”
Helen looked around. A fire was smoldering. No one was in sight. Wonderful distant colors seemed to strike her glance as she tried to fix it upon near-by objects. A beautiful little green tent or shack had been erected out of spruce boughs. It had a slanting roof that sloped all the way from a ridge-pole to the ground; half of the opening in front was closed, as were the sides. The spruce boughs appeared all to be laid in the same direction, giving it a smooth, compact appearance, actually as if it had grown there.
“That lean-to wasn’t there last night?” inquired Bo.
“I didn’t see it. Lean-to? Where’d you get that name?”
“It’s Western, my dear. I’ll bet they put it up for us.... Sure, I see our bags inside. Let’s get up. It must be late.”
The girls had considerable fun as well as pain in getting up and keeping each other erect until their limbs would hold them firmly. They were delighted with the spruce lean-to. It faced the open and stood just under the wide-spreading shelf of rock. The tiny outlet from the spring flowed beside it and spilled its clear water over a stone, to fall into a little pool. The floor of this woodland habitation consisted of tips of spruce boughs to about a foot in depth, all laid one way, smooth and springy, and so sweetly odorous that the air seemed intoxicating. Helen and Bo opened their baggage, and what with use of the cold water, brush and comb, and clean blouses, they made themselves feel as comfortable as possible, considering the excruciating aches. Then they went out to the campfire.
Helen’s eye was attracted by moving objects near at hand. Then simultaneously with Bo’s cry of delight Helen saw a beautiful doe approaching under the trees. Dale walked beside it.
“You sure had a long sleep,” was the hunter’s greeting. “I reckon you both look better.”
“Good morning. Or is it afternoon? We’re just able to move about,” said Helen.
“I could ride,” declared Bo, stoutly. “Oh, Nell, look at the deer! It’s coming to me.”
The doe had hung back a little as Dale reached the camp-fire. It was a gray, slender creature, smooth as silk, with great dark eyes. It stood a moment, long ears erect, and then with a graceful little trot came up to Bo and reached a slim nose for her outstretched hand. All about it, except the beautiful soft eyes, seemed wild, and yet it was as tame as a kitten. Then, suddenly, as Bo fondled the long ears, it gave a start and, breaking away, ran back out of sight under the pines.
“What frightened it?” asked Bo.
Dale pointed up at the wall under the shelving roof of rock. There, twenty feet from the ground, curled up on a ledge, lay a huge tawny animal with a face like that of a cat.
“She’s afraid of Tom,” replied Dale. “Recognizes him as a hereditary foe, I guess. I can’t make friends of them.”
“Oh! So that’s Tom — the pet lion!” exclaimed Bo. “Ugh! No wonder that deer ran off!”
“How long has he been up there?” queried Helen, gazing fascinated at Dale’s famous pet.
“I couldn’t say. Tom comes an’ goes,” replied Dale. “But I sent him up there last night.”
“And he was there — perfectly free — right over us — while we slept!” burst out Bo.
“Yes. An’ I reckon you slept the safer for that.”
“Of all things! Nell, isn’t he a monster? But he doesn’t look like a lion — an African lion. He’s a panther. I saw his like at the circus once.”
“He’s a cougar,” said Dale. “The panther is long and slim. Tom is not only long, but thick an’ round. I’ve had him four years. An’ he was a kitten no bigger ‘n my fist when I got him.”
“Is he
perfectly tame — safe?” asked Helen, anxiously.
“I’ve never told anybody that Tom was safe, but he is,” replied Dale. “You can absolutely believe it. A wild cougar wouldn’t attack a man unless cornered or starved. An’ Tom is like a big kitten.”
The beast raised his great catlike face, with its sleepy, half-shut eyes, and looked down upon them.
“Shall I call him down?” inquired Dale.
For once Bo did not find her voice.
“Let us — get a little more used to him — at a distance,” replied Helen, with a little laugh.
“If he comes to you, just rub his head an’ you’ll see how tame he is,” said Dale. “Reckon you’re both hungry?”
“Not so very,” returned Helen, aware of his penetrating gray gaze upon her.
“Well, I am,” vouchsafed Bo.
“Soon as the turkey’s done we’ll eat. My camp is round between the rocks. I’ll call you.”
Not until his broad back was turned did Helen notice that the hunter looked different. Then she saw he wore a lighter, cleaner suit of buckskin, with no coat, and instead of the high-heeled horseman’s boots he wore moccasins and leggings. The change made him appear more lithe.
“Nell, I don’t know what you think, but I call him handsome,” declared Bo.
Helen had no idea what she thought.
“Let’s try to walk some,” she suggested.
So they essayed that painful task and got as far as a pine log some few rods from their camp. This point was close to the edge of the park, from which there was an unobstructed view.
“My! What a place!” exclaimed Bo, with eyes wide and round.
“Oh, beautiful!” breathed Helen.
An unexpected blaze of color drew her gaze first. Out of the black spruce slopes shone patches of aspens, gloriously red and gold, and low down along the edge of timber troops of aspens ran out into the park, not yet so blazing as those above, but purple and yellow and white in the sunshine. Masses of silver spruce, like trees in moonlight, bordered the park, sending out here and there an isolated tree, sharp as a spear, with under-branches close to the ground. Long golden-green grass, resembling half-ripe wheat, covered the entire floor of the park, gently waving to the wind. Above sheered the black, gold-patched slopes, steep and unscalable, rising to buttresses of dark, iron-hued rock. And to the east circled the rows of cliff-bench, gray and old and fringed, splitting at the top in the notch where the lacy, slumberous waterfall, like white smoke, fell and vanished, to reappear in wider sheet of lace, only to fall and vanish again in the green depths.
It was a verdant valley, deep-set in the mountain walls, wild and sad and lonesome. The waterfall dominated the spirit of the place, dreamy and sleepy and tranquil; it murmured sweetly on one breath of wind, and lulled with another, and sometimes died out altogether, only to come again in soft, strange roar.
“Paradise Park!” whispered Bo to herself.
A call from Dale disturbed their raptures. Turning, they hobbled with eager but painful steps in the direction of a larger camp-fire, situated to the right of the great rock that sheltered their lean-to. No hut or house showed there and none was needed. Hiding-places and homes for a hundred hunters were there in the sections of caverned cliffs, split off in bygone ages from the mountain wall above. A few stately pines stood out from the rocks, and a clump of silver spruce ran down to a brown brook. This camp was only a step from the lean-to, round the corner of a huge rock, yet it had been out of sight. Here indeed was evidence of a hunter’s home — pelts and skins and antlers, a neat pile of split fire-wood, a long ledge of rock, well sheltered, and loaded with bags like a huge pantry-shelf, packs and ropes and saddles, tools and weapons, and a platform of dry brush as shelter for a fire around which hung on poles a various assortment of utensils for camp.
“Hyar — you git!” shouted Dale, and he threw a stick at something. A bear cub scampered away in haste. He was small and woolly and brown, and he grunted as he ran. Soon he halted.
“That’s Bud,” said Dale, as the girls came up. “Guess he near starved in my absence. An’ now he wants everythin’, especially the sugar. We don’t have sugar often up here.”
“Isn’t he dear? Oh, I love him!” cried Bo. “Come back, Bud. Come, Buddie.”
The cub, however, kept his distance, watching Dale with bright little eyes.
“Where’s Mr. Roy?” asked Helen.
“Roy’s gone. He was sorry not to say good-by. But it’s important he gets down in the pines on Anson’s trail. He’ll hang to Anson, an’ in case they get near Pine he’ll ride in to see where your uncle is.”
“What do you expect?” questioned Helen, gravely.
“‘Most anythin’,” he replied. “Al, I reckon, knows now. Maybe he’s rustlin’ into the mountains by this time. If he meets up with Anson, well an’ good, for Roy won’t be far off. An’ sure if he runs across Roy, why they’ll soon be here. But if I were you I wouldn’t count on seein’ your uncle very soon. I’m sorry. I’ve done my best. It sure is a bad deal.”
“Don’t think me ungracious,” replied Helen, hastily. How plainly he had intimated that it must be privation and annoyance for her to be compelled to accept his hospitality! “You are good — kind. I owe you much. I’ll be eternally grateful.”
Dale straightened as he looked at her. His glance was intent, piercing. He seemed to be receiving a strange or unusual portent. No need for him to say he had never before been spoken to like that!
“You may have to stay here with me — for weeks — maybe months — if we’ve the bad luck to get snowed in,” he said, slowly, as if startled at this deduction. “You’re safe here. No sheep-thief could ever find this camp. I’ll take risks to get you safe into Al’s hands. But I’m goin’ to be pretty sure about what I’m doin’.... So — there’s plenty to eat an’ it’s a pretty place.”
“Pretty! Why, it’s grand!” exclaimed Bo. “I’ve called it Paradise Park.”
“Paradise Park,” he repeated, weighing the words. “You’ve named it an’ also the creek. Paradise Creek! I’ve been here twelve years with no fit name for my home till you said that.”
“Oh, that pleases me!” returned Bo, with shining eyes.
“Eat now,” said Dale. “An’ I reckon you’ll like that turkey.”
There was a clean tarpaulin upon which were spread steaming, fragrant pans — roast turkey, hot biscuits and gravy, mashed potatoes as white as if prepared at home, stewed dried apples, and butter and coffee. This bounteous repast surprised and delighted the girls; when they had once tasted the roast wild turkey, then Milt Dale had occasion to blush at their encomiums.
“I hope — Uncle Al — doesn’t come for a month,” declared Bo, as she tried to get her breath. There was a brown spot on her nose and one on each cheek, suspiciously close to her mouth.
Dale laughed. It was pleasant to hear him, for his laugh seemed unused and deep, as if it came from tranquil depths.
“Won’t you eat with us?” asked Helen.
“Reckon I will,” he said, “it’ll save time, an’ hot grub tastes better.”
Quite an interval of silence ensued, which presently was broken by Dale.
“Here comes Tom.”
Helen observed with a thrill that the cougar was magnificent, seen erect on all-fours, approaching with slow, sinuous grace. His color was tawny, with spots of whitish gray. He had bow-legs, big and round and furry, and a huge head with great tawny eyes. No matter how tame he was said to be, he looked wild. Like a dog he walked right up, and it so happened that he was directly behind Bo, within reach of her when she turned.
“Oh, Lord!” cried Bo, and up went both of her hands, in one of which was a huge piece of turkey. Tom took it, not viciously, but nevertheless with a snap that made Helen jump. As if by magic the turkey vanished. And Tom took a closer step toward Bo. Her expression of fright changed to consternation.
“He stole my turkey!”
“Tom, come here,” ordered Dale,
sharply. The cougar glided round rather sheepishly. “Now lie down an’ behave.”
Tom crouched on all-fours, his head resting on his paws, with his beautiful tawny eyes, light and piercing, fixed upon the hunter.
“Don’t grab,” said Dale, holding out a piece of turkey. Whereupon Tom took it less voraciously.
As it happened, the little bear cub saw this transaction, and he plainly indicated his opinion of the preference shown to Tom.
“Oh, the dear!” exclaimed Bo. “He means it’s not fair.... Come, Bud — come on.”
But Bud would not approach the group until called by Dale. Then he scrambled to them with every manifestation of delight. Bo almost forgot her own needs in feeding him and getting acquainted with him. Tom plainly showed his jealousy of Bud, and Bud likewise showed his fear of the great cat.
Helen could not believe the evidence of her eyes — that she was in the woods calmly and hungrily partaking of sweet, wild-flavored meat — that a full-grown mountain lion lay on one side of her and a baby brown bear sat on the other — that a strange hunter, a man of the forest, there in his lonely and isolated fastness, appealed to the romance in her and interested her as no one else she had ever met.
When the wonderful meal was at last finished Bo enticed the bear cub around to the camp of the girls, and there soon became great comrades with him. Helen, watching Bo play, was inclined to envy her. No matter where Bo was placed, she always got something out of it. She adapted herself. She, who could have a good time with almost any one or anything, would find the hours sweet and fleeting in this beautiful park of wild wonders.
But merely objective actions — merely physical movements, had never yet contented Helen. She could run and climb and ride and play with hearty and healthy abandon, but those things would not suffice long for her, and her mind needed food. Helen was a thinker. One reason she had desired to make her home in the West was that by taking up a life of the open, of action, she might think and dream and brood less. And here she was in the wild West, after the three most strenuously active days of her career, and still the same old giant revolved her mind and turned it upon herself and upon all she saw.