The Innocent Adventuress

by Mary Hastings Bradley

  CHAPTER VI

  TWO--AND A MOUNTAIN

  The next morning was given to recovery from the dance. In the afternoonthe Martins had planned a mountain climb. It was not a really badmountain, at all, and the arrangement was to start in the lateafternoon, have dinner upon the top, and descend by moonlight.

  It was the plan of the younger inexhaustibles among the group, but inspite of faint protests from some of the elders all the Martinhouse-party was in line for the climb, and with the addition of theBlair party and several other couples from the Lodge, quite a processionwas formed upon the path by the river.

  It was a lovely day--a shade too hot, if anything was to be urgedagainst it. The sun struck great shafts of golden light amid the richgreen of the forest, splashing the great tree boles with bold light andshade. The air was fragrant with spruce and pine and faint, aromaticwintergreen. A hot little wind rocked the reflections in the river andblew its wimpling surface into crinkled, lace-paper fantasies.

  Overhead the sky burned blue through the white-cottonballs of cloud.

  Bob Martin headed the procession, Ruth at his side, and the stoutwidower concluded it, squiring a rather heavy-footed Mrs. Martin. Midwayin the line came Mrs. Blair, and beside her, abandoning the line ofyoung people behind the immediate leaders was a small figure in shortwhite skirt and middy, pressing closely to her Cousin Jane's side.

  It was Maria Angelina, her dark hair braided as usual about her head,her eyes a shade downcast and self-conscious, withdrawn andtight-wrapped as any prudish young bud.

  But if virginal pride had urged her to flee all appearance ofexpectation, an equally sharp masculine reaction was withholding JohnnyByrd from any appearance of pursuit.

  He went from group to group, clowning it with jokes and laughter, andonly from the corners of his eyes perceiving that small figure, like achild's in its white play clothes.

  For half an hour that separation endured--a half hour in which CousinJane told Maria Angelina all about her first mountain climb, when agirl, and the storm that had driven herself and her sister and herfather and the guide to sleep in the only shelter, and of the guide'ssnores that were louder than the thunder--and Maria Angelina laughedsomehow in the right places without taking in a word, for all the timeapprehension was tightening, tightening like a violin string about tosnap.

  And then, when it was drawn so tight that it did not seem possible toendure any more, Johnny Byrd appeared at Ri-Ri's side, conscious-eyedand boyishly embarrassed, but managing an offhand smile.

  "And is this the very first mountain you've ever climbed?" he demandedbanteringly.

  Gladness rushed back into the girl. She raised a face that sparkled.

  "The very first," she affirmed, very much out of breath. "That is, uponthe feet. In Italy we go up by diligence and there is always a hotel atthe top for tea."

  "We'll have a little old bonfire at the top for tea. . . . Don't take itso fast and you'll be all right," he advised, and, laying a restraininghand upon her arm he held her back while Cousin Jane, with her casual,careless smile, passed ahead to join one of the Martin party.

  It was an act of masterful significance. Maria Angelina accepted itmeekly.

  "Like this?" asked Johnny of her smiling face.

  "I love it," she told him, and looked happily at the green woods aboutthem, and across the river, rushing now, to where the forest wasclinging to sharply rising mountain flanks. Her eyes followed till theyfound the bare, shouldering peaks outlined against the blue and whiteof the cumulous sky.

  The beauty about her flooded the springs of happiness. It was awonderful world, a radiant world, a world of dream and delights. It wasa world more real than the fantasy of moonlight. She felt more real. Shewas herself, too, not some strange, diaphanous image conjured out oftulle and gauze, she was her own true flesh-and-blood self, living in adream that was true.

  She looked away from the mountains and smiled up at Johnny Byrd verymuch as the young princess in the fairy tale must have smiled at theall-conquering prince, and Johnny Byrd's blue eyes grew bluer andbrighter and his voice dropped into intimate possessiveness.

  It didn't matter in the least what they talked about. They were absurdlymerry, loitering behind the procession.

  Suddenly it occurred to Maria Angelina that it had been some time sincehe had drawn her back from Cousin Jane's casual but comprehendingsmile, some time since they had even heard the echo of voices ahead.

  Her conscience woke guiltily.

  "We must hurry," she declared, quickening her own small steps.

  Teasingly Johnny Byrd hung back. "'Fraid cat, 'fraid cat--what you'fraid of, Maria Angelina?"

  He added, "I'm not going to eat you--though I'd like to," he finished inlower tone.

  "But it is getting dark! There are clouds," said the girl, gazing up infrank surprise at the changed sky. She had not noticed when the sunlightfled. It was still visible across the river, slipping over a hill'sshoulder, but from their woods it was withdrawn and a dark shadow wasstretching across them.

  "Clouds--what do you care for clouds?" scoffed Johnny gayly, and in hisrollicking tenor, "Just roll dem clouds along," sang he.

  Politely Maria Angelina waited until he had finished the song, but shewaited with an uneasy mind.

  She cared very much for clouds. They looked very threatening, blowing sosuddenly over the mountain top, overcasting the brightness of the way.And behind the scattered white were blowing gray ones, their edgesfrayed like torn clothes on a line, and after the gray ones loomed adark, black one, rushing nearer.

  And suddenly the woods at their right began to thresh about, with asurprised rustling, and a low mutter, as of smothered warning, ran overthe shoulder of the mountain.

  "Rain! As sure as the Lord made little rain drops," said Johnnyunconcerned. "There's going to be a cloudful spilled on us," he told thetroubled girl, "but it won't last a moment. Come into the wood and findthe dry side of a tree."

  He caught at her hand and brought her crashing through the underbrush,pushing through thickets till they were in the center of a great groupof maples, their heavy boughs spread protectingly above.

  A giant tree trunk protected her upon one side; upon the other Johnnydrew close, spreading his sweater across her shoulders. Looking upwards,Maria Angelina could not see the sky; above and about her was softgreenness, like a fairy bower. And when the rain came pouring like hailupon the leaves scarcely a drop won through to her.

  They stood very still, unmoving, unspeaking while the shower fell. Therewas an unreal dreamlike quality about the happening to the girl. Then,almost intrusively, she became deeply aware of his presence there besideher--and conscious that he was aware of hers.

  She shivered.

  "Cold," said Johnny, in a jumpy voice, and put a hand on her shoulders,guarded by his sweater.

  "N-no," she whispered.

  "Feel dry?"

  His hand moved upward to her bared head, lingered there upon the heavybraids.

  "Yes," she told him, faintly as before.

  "But you're shivering."

  "I don't like t-thunder," she told him absurdly, as a muttering rollshook the air above them.

  His hand, still hovering over her hair, went down against her cheek andpressed her to him. She could hear his heart beating. It sounded asloudly in his breast as her own. She had a sense of sudden,unpremeditated emotion.

  She felt his lips upon the back of her neck.

  She tried to draw away, and suddenly he let her go and gave a short,unsteady laugh.

  "It's all right, Ri-Ri--you're my little pal, aren't you?" he murmured.

  Unseeingly she nodded, drawing a long, shaken breath. Then as he startedto draw her nearer again she moved away, putting up her arms to her hairin a gesture that instinctively shielded the confusion of her face.

  "No? . . . All right, Ri-Ri, I won't crowd you," he murmured. "But oh,you little Beauty Girl, you ought to be in a cage with bars about. . . .You ought to wear a mask--a regular diving
outfit----"

  Unexpectedly Ri-Ri recovered her self-possession. Again she fled fromthe consummation of the scene.

  "I shall wear nothing so unbecoming," she flung lightly back. "And ithas not been raining for ever so long. Unless you wish to build a nestin the forest, like a new fashion of oriole, Signor Byrd, you had betterhurry and catch up with the others."

  Johnny did not speak as they came out of the woods and in silence theyhurried along the path on the river's edge.

  The sun came out again to light them; on the green leaves about them thewetness glittered and dried and the ephemeral shower seemed as unreal asthe memory it evoked.

  With her head bent Maria Angelina pressed on in a haste that grew intoanxiety. Not a sound came back to them from those others ahead. Not avoice. Not a footstep.

  And presently the path appeared dying under their feet.

  Green moss overspread it. Brambles linked arms across it.

  "They are not here. We are on the wrong way," cried Maria Angelina andturned startled eyes on the young man.

  Johnny Byrd refused to take alarm.

  "They must have crossed the river farther back--that's the answer," hesaid easily. "We went past the right crossing--probably just after thestorm. You know you were speeding like a two-year-old on the homestretch."

  But Ri-Ri refused to shoulder all that blame.

  "It might have been before the storm--while we were lingering so," sheurged distressfully. "You know that for so long we had heard nothing--weought to go back quickly--very quickly and find that crossing."

  Johnny did not look back. He looked across the river, which ran moredeeply here between narrowed banks, and then glanced on ahead.

  "Oh, we'll go ahead and cross the next chance we get," he informed her."We can strike in from there to old Baldy. I know the way. . . . Trustyour Uncle Leatherstocking," he told her genially.

  But no geniality appeased Maria Angelina's deepening sense offoreboding.

  She quickened her steps after him as he strode on ahead, gallantlyholding back brambles for her and helping her scramble over fallen logs,and she assented, with the eagerness of anxiety, when he announced aplace as safe for crossing.

  It was at the head of a mild rush of rapids, and an outcropping of largerocks made possible, though slippery, stepping-stones.

  But Ri-Ri's heelless shoes were rubber soled, and she was both fearlessand alert. And though the last leap was too long for her, for she landedin the shallows with splashing ankles, she had scarcely a down glancefor them. Her worried eyes were searching the green uplands beforethem.

  Secretly she was troubled at Johnny's instant choice of way. Her owninstinct was to go back along the river and then strike in towards oldBaldy, but men, she knew from Papa, did not like objections to theirwisdom, so she reminded herself that she was a stranger and ignorant ofthis country and that Johnny Byrd knew his mountains.

  He told her, as they went along, how well he knew them.

  Steadily their path climbed.

  "Should we not wind back a little?" she ventured once.

  "Oh, we're on another path--we'll dip back and meet the other path alittle higher up," the young man told her.

  But still the path did not dip back. It reached straight up. But Johnnywould not abandon it. He seemed to feel it inextricably united with hisown rightness of decision, and since he was inevitably right, soinevitably the path must disclose its desired character.

  But once or twice he paused and looked out over the way. Then,hopefully, Ri-Ri hung upon his expression, longing for reconsideration.But he never faltered, always on her approach he charged ahead again.

  No holding back of brambles, now. No helping over logs. Johnny was thepathfinder, oblivious, intent, and Ri-Ri, the pioneer woman, enduring asbest she might.

  Up he drove, straight up the mountain side, and after him scrambled thegirl, her fears voiceless in her throat, her heart pounding withexertion and anxiety like a ship's engine in her side.

  Time seemed interminable. There was no sun now. The gray and whiteclouds were spread thinly over the sky and only a diffused brightnessgave the suggestion of the west.

  When the path wound through woods it seemed already night. On barrenslopes the day was clear again.

  Hours passed. Endless hours to the tired-footed girl. They had left thelast woods behind them now and reached a clearing of bracken among thegranite, and here Johnny Byrd stopped, and stared out with anunconcealed bewilderment that turned her hopes to lead.

  With him, she stared out at the great gray peaks closing in about themwithout recognizing a friend among them. Dim and unfamiliar they loomed,shrouded in clouds, like chilly giants in gray mufflers against thedamp.

  It was not old Baldy. It could not be old Baldy. One looked up at oldBaldy from the Lodge and she had heard that from old Baldy one lookeddown upon the Lodge and the river and the opening valley. She had beentold that from old Baldy the Martin chalet resembled a cuckoo clock.. . .

  No cuckoo clocks in those vague sweeps below.

  "Can we not go down a little bit?" said Maria Angelina gently. "Fartherdown again we might find the right path. . . . Up here--I think we areon the wrong mountain."

  Turning, Johnny looked about. Ahead of him were overhanging slabs ofrock.

  Irresolution vanished. "That's the top now," he declared. "We are justcoming up the wrong side, that's all. I'll say it's wrong--but here weare. I'll bet the others are up there now--lapping up that food. Comeon, Ri-Ri, we haven't far now to go."

  In a gust of optimism he held out his hand and Maria Angelina clutchedit with a weariness courage could not conceal.

  It seemed to her that her breath was gone utterly, that her feet wereleaden weights and her muscles limply effortless. But after him sheplunged, panting and scrambling up the rocks, and then, very suddenly,they found themselves to be on only a plateau and the real mountain headreared high and aloof above.

  Under his breath--and not particularly under it, either--Johnny Byrduttered a distinct blasphemy.

  And in her heart Maria Angelina awfully seconded it.

  Then with decidedly assumed nonchalance, "Gosh! All that way to supper!"said the young man. "Well, come on, then--we got to make a dent inthis."

  "Oh, are you sure--are you _sure_ that this is the right mountain?"Maria Angelina begged of him.

  "Don't I know Baldy?" he retorted. "We're just on another side of itfrom the others, I told you. Come on, Ri-Ri--we'll soon smell the coffeeboiling."

  She wished he had not mentioned coffee. It put a name to that gnawing,indefinite feeling she had been too intent to own.

  Coffee . . . Fragrant and steaming, with bread and butter . . .sandwiches filled with minced ham, with cream cheese, with olivepaste--sandwiches filled with anything at all! Cold chicken . . . salad. . . fruit. Food in any form! _Food!!_

  She felt empty. Utterly empty and disconsolate.

  And she was tired. She had never known such tiredness--her feet ached,her legs ached, her back ached, her arms ached. She could have droppedwith the achingness of her. Each effort was a punishment.

  Yet she went on with a feverish haste. She was driven by a compulsion towhich fatigue was nothing.

  It had become terrible not to be reunited with the others. She thoughtof the hours, the long hours, that she and Johnny Byrd had been aloneand she flinched, shivering under the whiplash of fear.

  What were they saying of her, those others? What were they thinking?

  She knew how unwarrantable, how inexcusable a thing she had done.

  It had begun with deliberate loitering. For that--for a little ofthat--she had the sanction of the new American freedom, the permissionof Cousin Jane's casual, understanding smile.

  "It's all right," that smile had seemed to say to her, "it's all rightas long as it's Johnny Byrd--but be careful, Ri-Ri."

  And she had loitered shamefully, she had plunged into the woods withJohnny in that thunder storm, she had let him take her on the wrongpath.

/>   And now it was growing dark and they were far from the others--and shewas not sure, even, that they were upon the right way.

  But they _must_ be. They could not be so hideously, so finally wrong.

  Panic routed her exhaustion and she toiled furiously on.

  "You're a pretty good scout--for a little Wop," said Johnny Byrd with asudden grin and a moment's brightness was lighted within her.

  She did not speak--she could only breathe hard and smile.

  Nearer and nearer they gained the top, rough climbing but not dangerous.The top was not far now. Johnny shouted and listened, then shoutedagain.

  Once they thought they heard voices but it was only the echoes of theirown, borne hollowly back.

  "The wind is the other way," said Johnny, and on they went, charging upa steep, gravelly slope over more rocks and into a scrub group of firs.. . .

  Surely this was as near the top as one could go! Nothing above butbarren, tilted rock. Nothing beyond but more boulders and stunted trees.The place lay bare before their eyes.

  Round and round they went, calling, holding their breath to listen.Then, with a common impulse, they turned and stared at each other.

  That moment told Maria Angelina what panic was.