The Heritage of the Hills

by Arthur Preston Hankins

  CHAPTER XX

  "WAIT!"

  For over an hour Oliver Drew was obliged to lie flat at the bottom ofthe shallow prospect hole, while Foss remained astride the limb of thedigger pine and Tommy My-Ma kept hidden under the pile of brush.

  There was no chance to steal out and crawl away through the chaparral,for, while Digger's back was always toward him, he could not tell whichway the brush-screened Showut Poche-daka was looking.

  At last, though, the man on lookout began to show signs of vastuneasiness. His position was uncomfortable, and down at the cabin therewas, of course, no movement to arouse his interest and relieve thetedium of his watch. He squirmed incessantly for a time; and thenapparently he decided that the object of his espionage had left theranch, for he thrust his glasses in his shirt front and began monkeyingto the ground.

  Oliver's security now was in the hands of chance. If the halfbreed lefthis observation post by a route which passed near the prospect hole,Oliver would be discovered. If he decided to leave the thicket bycrawling downhill, Oliver would be safe from detection.

  It was rather a breathless minute that followed, and then he heard thegunman moving off through the chaparral in the direction of thecanyon--the least difficult route by far. Apparently he had not comemounted, else he would have retraced his course back to where he wouldhave left his horse.

  Gradually the sounds of his retreat died away. Still there was nomovement in the pile of brush, so far as Oliver's ears were able todetect. He dared not look up over the edge of the prospect hole that hidhim.

  Minutes passed. Quail called coolly from afar. Still not the slightestsound from the brush pile.

  For half an hour longer Oliver lay motionless and silent. Had TommyMy-Ma slipped out noiselessly and followed Foss? Or was he for someobscure reason still hiding under the dry manzanita tops? At the end ofthis period Oliver decided that the Indian must have gone. Anyway, hedid not purpose to remain in that hole till nightfall.

  So he elevated his nose to the land level and peered about cautiously.

  Everything remained as he had seen it last. He rose to his feet, leftthe hole, and walked boldly to the brush pile.

  A swift examination of the ground showed that Tommy My-Ma had left hisplace of concealment, perhaps long since. There was a plainly markedtrail through the shattered leaves that led in the same direction takenby the departing halfbreed.

  Oliver studied the brush pile, and found that the facilities for hidingwere as he had deduced. Pine limbs had been laid across the hole likerafters, and the brush heaped on top of them. Beneath was a space deepenough for a man to sit erect; and he might thrust his head up into thebrush and peer out in all directions. Loose brush concealed theentrance, and it had been replaced when the Indian took his leave.

  What was the meaning of it all? Foss, of course, had reason to hate him;but what could he gain by secretly watching him from cover? And why wasthe Indian watching Foss in turn? All indications pointed to the beliefthat Foss had occupied his observation tree often, and that his shadowhad as frequently trailed him and spied on him from a prearranged hidingplace.

  What strange, mysterious intrigue had enveloped his life because of theunanswered question with which old Peter Drew had struggled for overthirty years? When would he face the question? Would the answer be Yesor No? Would his college education prove a safeguard against his readingthe answer wrong, as his poor, unlettered old father had hoped? AndJessamy! Would she figure in the answer? Somehow he felt that hope andlife and Jessamy hung on whether his answer would be Yes or No. His deadfather's hand seemed to be weaving the warp and woof of his destiny.

  Oliver gave up further search for the bees that day. By a circuitousroute he returned to his irrigating of the garden.

  June days passed after this, and July days began. The poison oak hadturned from green to brilliant red, and now was dark-green once more.The air was hot; the grass was sear and yellow; the creek was dry butfor a deep pool abreast the cabin. But Oliver did not worry much nowabout the creek, except for the loss of its low, comforting murmur andthe greenness with which it had endowed its banks, because the enlargedflow from his spring was ample for his needs.

  No longer did linnets sit near his cabin window and sing to theaccompaniment of his typewriter keys. Their season of love was over; theyoung birds were feathered out and had left their nests. The wildcanaries still were with him, and hovered about the rambling willow overthe spring. Eagles soared aloft in the clear, hot skies. Lizards baskedlazily about the cabin, and blinked up contentedly when he tickled theirsides with a broomstraw, or dangled pre-swatted flies before theirgrinning lips.

  For a week now he had seen no member of the Poison Oaker Gang. The cowsbearing their brand were all about him, but gave him no trouble, and hethought it strange that he chanced to meet no one riding to look afterthem. He had not been bothered. Whether Digger Foss spent his idle hourswatching him from the branches of his lookout pine he did not know orcare. He had not seen Jessamy since the morning he left Poison OakRanch, and all his worriment and discontent found vent in this.

  Why had she not ridden down to him, as of old? Had he offended her inany way? The thought was unbelievable, for he could recall not theslightest hint of any misunderstanding.

  He brooded and moped over it, and loved her more and more--realized,because of her absence, just how deeply he desired her. He experiencedall the tortures of first love; and then one day he found his senses.

  Then he laughed loud and long, and ran for Poche, and threw thesilver-mounted saddle on his back. She had come to him when he could notgo to her. Now her step-father had invited him to her home, and if hewished her companionship he must take the male's part and seek it. Whatan utter ass he had been indeed!

  It was one o'clock when Poche bore him into the cup in the mountainsthat cradled Poison Oak Ranch. At once the longed-for sight of hergladdened his heart once more, for she apparently had seen him comingand was walking from the house to meet him.

  How her sturdy, womanly figure thrilled his soul! Black as night was thehair that was now coiled loosely on her head, in which a red rose blazedas when he had seen her last. The confident poise of her head, the warmtints of that strong column that was her neck, the brave carriage of hershoulders, her swinging stride, the long black lashes that seemed to beetched by an Oriental artist--they set his heart to pounding until hefelt faint; the yearning, hopeless void of love tormented him.

  And then with his senses awhirl he leaned from the saddle and felt herwarm, soft hand in his, and gazed dizzily into the unsounded depths ofthe trout pools shaded by grapevines, to which his fancy had likened hereyes. His hand shook and his heart leaped, and his soul cried out forher; and all that he could say was:

  "How do you do, Miss Selden!"

  He saddled White Ann, and over the hills they rode together.Commonplaces passed between them until the wilderness enveloped them.Then as they sat their horses and gazed down a precipitous slope to theriver, she asked:

  "Just why have you kept away from us all these weeks?"

  He reddened. "I'll tell you frankly," he said: "I was a fool. I wasmoping because you had not ridden to see me. You had come so oftenbefore. And I woke up only today. Today for the first time I realizedthat, since Old Man Selden has opened his door to me, it is my place togo to you."

  "Of course," she said demurely.

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  "Some time ago," he told her, "I realized that you sought me out in thefirst place for a purpose."

  He paused, and the look he cast at her was eager, though guardedcarefully.

  "Yes?" she questioned.

  "Yes," he went on. "I realized that. And also that you _continued_ tocome because that purpose was not yet fulfilled, and because conditionsmade it necessary for you to look me up."

  "Yes, I understand--" as he had come to a stop, rather helplessly.

  "Well, just that," he floundered. "And then Selden changed his tactics,and I could go to y
ou. So you--you didn't come to me any more."

  "Fairly well elucidated," she laughed, "if repetition makes forclearness. Well, you understand now--so let's forget it."

  "I want you to understand that it wasn't because I didn't wish to come.It was just thick-headedness."

  "So you have said. Yes, I understand."

  The gaze of her black eyes was far away--far away over the deep, ruggedcanyon, over the hills that climbed shelf after shelf to the mysticsnow-topped mountains, far away into a country that is not of the earthearthy. Under her drab flannel shirt her full bosom rose and fell withthe regularity of her perfect breathing. Her man's hat lay over hersaddle horn. Like some reigning goddess of the wilderness she sat andoverlooked the domain that was hers unchallenged; and the profile of herbrow, and the long, black, drooping lashes, tore at the heart-strings ofthe man until he suffered.

  "I can't stand that!" he cried out in his soul; and a pressure of thereins brought Poche close to White Ann's side. "Jessamy!" said the manhuskily. "Jessamy!"

  He could say no more, for his voice failed him, and a haze swam beforehis eyes as when he had lost control of himself on the hillside.

  "Jessamy!" he managed to cry again; and then, for lack of words, hespread his arms out toward her.

  The black lashes flicked downward once, but she did not turn her face tohim. The colour deepened in her throat and mounted to her cheeks, andher bosom rose and fell more rapidly.

  Then slowly she turned her face to his, and her level gaze searched him,unafraid. But not for long this time. Down drooped the black lashes tillthey seemed to have been drawn with pen and India ink on her smoothbrown cheeks; and they screened a light that caused his heart to boundwith expectation that was half of hope.

  Her red lips moved. "Wait!" she whispered.

  His arms fell to his sides. "You--you won't hear me!"

  "No--not now."

  "You know what I'm trying so hard to say. It means so much to me. It'shard for a man to say the one word which he knows will make him or breakhim for all time to come. He'd rather--he'd rather just hope on blindly,I guess, than to speak when he can't guess how the woman feels.Must--must I say it--right out, Jessamy?"

  "No, my friend, don't say it."

  "Is there anything that stands between us?"

  "Yes. But don't ask what."

  "Then you don't love me!"

  Her red lips quivered. "I said for you to wait," she told him softly.

  "Why should I wait? For what? I know myself. I'm grown. I know that I--"

  "Don't!" she interrupted. "Wait!" And she leaned in the saddle and swungWhite Ann away from him.

  "Let's ride back home," she said. "You'll stay to supper? The moon willbe bright for your ride home later. I'll make you a cherry pie!"