The Lookout Man

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SYMPATHY AND ADVICE

  Every bit of color was swept from Jack's face, save the black of hislashes and eyebrows and the brown of his eyes that looked at her instartled self-betrayal. He saw the consternation flash into her facewhen she first understood how truly her random shot had hit the mark,and he dropped upon the bench by the doorway and buried his face inhis shaking hands. But youth does not suffer without making somestruggle against the pain. Suddenly he lifted his head and looked ather with passionate resentment.

  "Well, why don't you run and tell?" he cried harshly. "There's thetelephone in there. Why don't you call up the office and have themsend the sheriff hot-footing it up here? If Jack Corey's such avillain, why don't you do something about it? For the Lord's sakedon't stand there looking at me as if I'm going to swallow you whole!Get somebody on the phone, and then beat it before I cut loose and bethe perfectly awful villain you think I am!"

  Marion took a startled step away from him, turned and camehesitatingly toward him. And as she advanced she smiled a littleostentatiously whimsical smile and touched the butt of hersix-shooter.

  "I'm heeled, so I should be agitated," she said flippantly. "I alwayswas crazy to get the inside dope on that affair. Tell me. Were youboys honest-to-goodness bandits, or what?"

  "What, mostly." Jack gave her a sullen, upward glance from under hiseyebrows. "Go ahead and play at cat-and-mouse, if you want to.Nobody'll stop you, I guess. Have all the fun you want--you're gettingit cheap enough; cheaper by a darned sight than you'll get the insidedope you're crazy for."

  "_What_ do you _know_ about it!--me running on to Jack Corey, away uphere on the top of the world!" But it was hard to be flippant whileshe looked down into that stricken young face of his, and saw thewhite line around his lips that ought to be smiling at life; saw, too,the trembling of his bruised hands, that he tried so hard to holdsteady. She came still closer; so close that she could have touchedhis arm.

  "It was the papers called you such awful things. I didn't," she said,wistfully defensive. "I couldn't--not after seeing you on the beachthat day, playing around like a great big kid, and not making eyes atthe girls when they made eyes at you. You--you didn't act like avillain, when I saw you. You acted like a big boy that likes to havefun--oh, just oodles of fun, but hasn't got a mean hair in his head. Iknow; I watched you and the fellows you were with. I was up on thepier looking down at you whooping around in the surf. And next day,when the girls at the Martha Washington read about it in the papers, Ijust couldn't believe it was true, what they said about you boys beingorganized into bandits and all that, and leading a double life andeverything.

  "But it did look bad when you beat it--about two jumps ahead of thepolice, at that. You see Fred was along with the man that was shot,and being in the garage and around automobiles all the time, hethought to read the number of your car, and remembered it; near enoughanyway, so that he knew for sure it was the Singleton Corey car by themake and general appearance of it, and identified it positively whenhe saw it in your garage. And that did make it look bad!"

  "What did mother do when they--?" Jack did not look up while hestammered the question that had been three months feeding hisimagination with horrors.

  "Why, she didn't do anything. She went right away, that very morning,to a sanitarium and would not see anybody but her own private nurseand her own private doctor. They gave out bulletins about how sheslept and what she had for breakfast, and all that. But, believe me,brother, they didn't get any dope from her! She just simply would notbe interviewed!"

  Jack let out a long breath and sat up. At the corners of his mouththere lurked the temptation to smile. "That's mother--true to form,"he muttered admiringly.

  "Of course, they scouted around and got most of the boys that werewith you, but they couldn't get right down to brass tacks and proveanything except that they were with you at the beach. They're stillholding them on bail or something, I believe. You know how thosethings kind of drop out of the news. There was a big police scandalcame along and crowded all you little bandits off the front page. ButI know the trial hasn't taken place yet, because Fred would have to bea witness, so he'd know, of course. And, besides, the man hasn't diedor got well or anything, yet, and they're waiting to see what he'sgoing to do."

  "Who's Fred?" Jack stood up and leaned toward her, feeling all at oncethat he must know, and know at once, who Fred might be.

  "Why, he's Kate's brother. He's down here at Toll-Gate cabin, workingout the assessments--"

  Jack sat down again and caressed his bruised knuckles absently."Well, then, I guess this is the finish," he said dully, after aminute.

  "Why? He'll never climb up here--and if he did he wouldn't know you.He couldn't recognize your face by the number of your car, you know!"Then she added, with beautiful directness, "It wouldn't be so bad, ifyou hadn't been the ringleader and put the other boys up to robbingcars. But I suppose--"

  Jack got up again, but this time he towered belligerently above her."Who says I was the ringleader? If it was Fred I'll go down there andpush his face into the back of his neck for him! Who--"

  "Oh, just those nice friends of yours. They wouldn't own up toanything except being with you, but told everybody that it was youthat did it. But honestly I didn't believe that. Hardly any of usgirls at the Martha did. But Fred--"

  Just then the telephone rang again, and Jack had to go in and reportthe present extent of the fire, and tell just where and just how fastit was spreading, and what was the direction of the wind. Theinterruption steadied him, gave him time to think.

  Since the girl knew him, and knew the circumstances of his flight, andsince the boys had turned on him, Jack argued with himself that hemight just as well tell her what little there was to tell. There wasnothing to be gained by trying to keep the thing a secret from her.Besides, he craved sympathy, though he did not admit it. He craved theprivilege of talking about that night to some one who wouldunderstand, and who could be trusted. Marion Rose, he felt, was theonly person in the world he could tell. He could talk to her--Lord,what a relief that would be! He could tell her all about it, and shewould understand. Her sympathy at that moment seemed the most preciousthing in the world.

  So he went outside and sat down again on the bench, and told her theexact truth about that night; how it had started in drunken foolery,and all the rest of it. He even explained the exact route he had takenhome so as to come into town apparently from Pasadena.

  "Well, _what_ do you know about _that_!" Marion murmured several timesduring the recital. And Jack found the phrase soothing whenever sheuttered it, and plunged straightway into further revelations of hisebullient past.

  "I suppose," he ventured, when he could think of nothing more to telland so came back to the starting point, "I ought to beat it outa herewhile the beating's good. I can't go back--on account of mother. Icould hotfoot it up to Canada, maybe...."

  "Don't you do it!" Marion wound the string of her vanity bag sotightly round and round her index finger that her pink, polished nailturned purple. She next unwound the string and rubbed the nailsolicitously. "Just because we're down there at Toll-Gate doesn't meanyou aren't safe up here. Why, you're safer, really. Because if any onegot track of you, we'd hear of it right away--Kate and I walk to townonce in a while, and there's hardly a day passes that we don't seesomebody to talk to. Everybody talks when they meet you, in thiscountry, whether they know you or not. And I could come up right awayand tell you. Having a bandit treed up here on top would make such ahit that they'd all be talking about it. It certainly would be keen tolisten to them and know more about it than any of them."

  "Oh, would it! I'm glad it strikes you that way--it don't me." What afool a fellow was when he went spilling his troubles into a girl'sears! He got up and walked glumly down to the niche in the rocks wherehe hid from tourists, and stood there with his hands in his pockets,glowering down at the fierce, ember-threaded waves of flame thatsurged through the forest. Dusk only made the fire m
ore terrible tohim. Had this new trouble not launched itself at him, he would befilled with a sick horror of the destruction, but as it was he onlystared at it dully, not caring much about it one way or the other.

  Well, he asked himself, what kind of a fool would he make of himselfnext? Unloading his secret and his heartache to a girl that onlythought it would be "keen" to have a bandit treed up here at thelookout station! Why couldn't he have kept his troubles to himself?He'd be hollering it into the phone, next thing he knew. They'd care,down there in the office, as much as she did, anyway. And the secretwould probably be safer with them than it would be with her.

  He had a mental picture of her hurrying to tell Fred: "What do youknow about it? Jack Corey, the bandit, is treed up at the lookoutstation! He told me all the inside dope--" The thought of her animatedchatter to Fred on the subject of his one real tragedy, made himclench his hands.

  The very presence of her brought it back too vividly, though that hadnot struck him at first, when his hunger for human sympathy had beenhis keenest emotion. What a fool he had been, to think that she wouldcare! What a fool he had been to think that these mountains wouldshelter him; to think that he could forget, and be forgotten. And Henhad told them that Jack Corey did it! That was about what Hen woulddo--sneak out of it. And the man wasn't dead yet; not recoveredeither, for that matter. There was still the chance that he mightdie.

  There was his mother hiding herself away from her world in asanitarium. It was like her to do that--but it was hard to know he hadbroken up all the pleasant, well-ordered little grooves of her life;hard to know how her pride must suffer because he was her son. Shewould feel now, more than ever, that Jack was just like his father.Being like his father meant reproach because he was not like her, andthat was always galling to Jack. And how she must hate the thought ofhim now.

  He wished savagely that Marion Rose could go home. He wanted to bealone with his loneliness. It seemed to him now that being alone meantmerely peace and contentment. It was people, he told himself finally,who had brought all this trouble and bitterness into his life.

  He wished she would go and leave him alone, but that was manifestlyimpossible. Angry and hurt though he was, he could not contemplate thethought of letting her go down there into that blackened waste withthe thick sprinkling of bonfires where stumps were all ablaze, fallentangles of brush were smoldering, and dead trees flared like gianttorches or sent down great blazing branches. She might get throughwithout disaster, but it would be by a miracle of good luck. Even aman would hesitate to attempt the feat of working his way across theburning strip.

  There was no other place where she could go. She could not go alone,in the dark, down the mountain to any of the lower ranches. She wouldget lost. A man would not try that either, unless forced to it. A manwould rather spend the night under a tree than fight through miles ofunderbrush in the night. And she could not take the old Taylorvilleroad down to Indian Valley, either. It was too far and too dark, and aslight change of the wind would send the fire sweeping in thatdirection. She might get trapped. And none of these impossibilitiestook into account the prowling wild animals that are at the bestuntrustworthy in the dark.

  She would have to stay. And he would have to stay, and there did notseem to Jack to be any use in making a disagreeable matter still moredisagreeable by sulking. He discovered that he was hungry. Hesupposed, now he came to think of it, that Marion Rose would behungry, too. The protective instinct stirred once more within him andpushed back his anger. So he turned and went back to the littlestation.

  Marion had lighted the little lamp, and she was cooking supper overthe oil stove. She had found where he stored his supplies in atightly built box under a small ledge, and she had helped herself. Shehad two plates and two cups set out upon his makeshift table, andwhile he stopped in the door she turned from the stove and begancutting slices of bread off one of the loaves which Hank had broughtthat day. With her head bent toward the lamp, her hair shown like palegold. Her face looked very serious--a bit sad, too, Jack thought;though he could not see where she had any reason to be sad; she wasnot hiding away from the law, or anything like that.

  When she became conscious of his presence she glanced up at him withswift inquiry. "How's the fire?" she wanted to know, quite as thoughthat was the only subject that interested them both.

  "She's all there," he returned briefly, coming in.

  "Everything's ready," she announced cheerfully. "You must be halfstarved. Do you see what time it is? nearly eight o'clock already. AndI never dreamed it, until a bird or something flew right past my faceand brought me to myself. I was watching Mount Lassen. Isn't it_keen_, to have a volcano spouting off right in your front view? And afire on the other side, so if you get tired looking at one, you canturn your head and look at the other one. And for a change, you canwatch the lake, or just gaze at the scenery; and say!--does the starspangled banner still wave?"

  "She still waves," Jack assented somberly, picking up the wash basin.Why couldn't he enter the girl's foolery? He used to be full of ithimself, and he used to consider that the natural form ofcompanionship. He must be getting queer like all other hermits he hadever heard of. It occurred to him that possibly Marion Rose was notreally feather-brained, but that the trouble was in himself, becausehe was getting a chronic grouch.

  He was thinking while he ate. He had plenty of encouragement forthinking, because Marion herself seemed to be absorbed in her ownthoughts. When she was filling his coffee cup the second time, shespoke quite abruptly.

  "It would be terribly foolish for you to leave here, Jack Corey--orwhatever you would rather be called. I don't believe any one has thefaintest notion that you came up here into this country. If they had,they would have come after you before this. But they're still on thewatch for you in other places, and I suppose every police station inthe country has your description tacked on the wall or some place.

  "I believe you'd better stay right where you are, and wait tillsomething turns up to clear you. Maybe that man will get well, andthen it won't be so serious; though, of course, being right throughhis lungs, the doctors claim it's pretty bad. I'll know if he dies ornot, because he's a friend of Fred's, and Fred would hear right away.And we can make up a set of signals, and flash them with glasses, likewe were doing just for fun this afternoon. Then I won't have to climbclear up here if something happens that you ought to know about--don'tyou see? I can walk out in sight of here and signal with my vanitymirror. It will be fun.

  "And when you're through here, if I were you I'd find some nice placehere in the hills to camp. It isn't half as bad to stay right in themountains, as it would be to stay in town and imagine that everystrange man you see has come after you. Sometimes I wish I could getright out where there's not a soul, and just stay there. Being in thewoods with people around is not like being in the woods with just thewoods. I've found that out. People kind of keep your mind tied down tolittle things that part of you hates, don't you know? Like when I'mwith Kate, I think about facial massage and manicuring, and shows thatI'd like to see and can't, and places where I'd like to go and eat andwatch the people and dance and listen to the music, and can't; andgoing to the beaches when I can't, and taking automobile trips when Ican't, and boys--and all that sort of thing. But when I'm all bymyself in the woods, I never think of those things."

  "I saw you down there by the hydrometer, all by yourself. And you wereusing your powder puff to beat the band." A twinkle lived for a secondor two in the somber brown of Jack's eyes.

  "You did? Well, that was second nature. I wasn't thinking about it,anyway."

  "What were you thinking about when you kept staring up here? Not thebeauties of nature, I bet." A perverse spirit made Jack try to pushher back into the frivolous talk he had so lately and so bitterlydeplored.

  "Well, I was wondering if you had gumption enough to appreciate beingup where you could watch the mountains all the while, and see them byday and by night and get really acquainted with them, so that theywould tell you
things they remember about the world a thousand yearsago. I wondered if you had it in you to appreciate them, and knowevery little whim of a shadow and every little laugh of the sun--orwhether you just stayed up here because they pay you money forstaying. I've been so jealous of you, up here in your little glasshouse! I've lain awake the last three nights, peeking through thetree-tops at the little speck of sky I could see with stars in it, andthinking how you had them spread out all around you--and you asleep,maybe, and never looking!

  "I'm awful sorry you're in trouble, and about your mother and all. ButI think you're the luckiest boy I know, because you just happened toget to this place. Sometimes when I look at you I just want to takeyou by the shoulder and _shake_ you!--because you don't half know howlucky you are. Why, all that makes the world such a rotten place tolive in is because the people are starved all the while for beauty.Not beauty you can buy, but beauty like this around us, that you canfeast on--"

  "And I get pretty well fed up on it, too, sometimes," Jack put in,still perverse.

  "And for that I pity you. I was going to wash the dishes, but you cando it yourself. I'm going out where I can forget there are any peoplein the world. I'll never have another night like this--it would be toomuch luck for one person."

  She set down her cup, which she had been tilting back and forth in herfingers while she spoke. She got up, pulled Jack's heavy sweater off anail in the corner, and went out without another word to him or a looktoward him. She seemed to be absolutely sincere in her calm disposalof him as something superfluous and annoying. She seemed also to bejust as sincere in her desire for a close companionship with thesolitude that surrounded them.

  Jack looked after her, puzzled. But he had discovered too manycontradictory moods and emotions in his own nature to puzzle long overMarion's sudden changes. Three months ago he would have called hercrazy, or accused her of posing. Now, however, he understood wellenough the spell of that tremendous view. He had felt it too often andtoo deeply to grudge her one long feast for her imagination. So hetook her at her word and let her go.

  He tidied the small room and sent in another report of the headlongrush of the fire and the direction of the wind that fanned it. Helearned that all Genessee was out, fighting to keep the flames fromsweeping down across the valley. Three hundred men were fighting it,the supervisor told him. They would check it on the downhill slope,where it would burn more slowly; and if the wind did not change in thenight it would probably be brought under control by morning. Afterthat the supervisor very discreetly inquired after the welfare of theyoung lady who had telephoned. Had she found any means of getting backto her camp, or of sending any word?

  Jack replied she had not, and that there was no likelihood of hergetting away before daylight. There were too many burning trees andstumps and brush piles on the ground in the burned strip, heexplained. It would bother a man to get down there now. But he offeredto try it, if he might be excused from the station for a few hours. Hesaid he would be willing to go down and tell them she was all right,or, a little later, he might even take a chance of getting her across.But it would take some time, he was afraid.

  Ross seemed to consider the matter for a minute. Then, "N--o, as longas she's up there, she'd better stay. We can't spare you to go. Youmight call her to the phone--"

  "I can't. She's off somewhere on the peak, taking in the view," Jackreplied. "She grabbed my sweater and beat it, an hour or so ago, and Idon't know where she went.... No, I don't think she tried that. Sheknows she couldn't get there. She said she wanted to see all she couldof it while she had the chance.... What?... Oh, sure, she's got senseenough to take care of herself, far as that goes. Seems to be one ofthe independent kind.... All right. I'll call up if she comes back,and she can talk to you herself."

  But he did not call up the supervisor, for Marion did not come back.At daybreak, when Jack could no longer fight down his uneasiness, andwent to look for her, he found her crouched between two boulders thatoffered some shelter from the wind without obstructing the view. Shewas huddled in his sweater, shivering a little with the dawn chill butscarcely conscious of the fact that she was cold. Her lids werered-rimmed from staring up too long, at the near stars and down at theremote mountains--as they looked to be that night. She seemed ratherto resent interruption, but in a few minutes she became human andpractical enough to admit that she was hungry, and that she supposedit was time to think about getting home.

  When she got up to follow Jack to the station, she walked stifflybecause of her cramped muscles; but she didn't seem to mind that inthe least. She made only one comment upon her vigil, and that was whenshe stopped in the door of the station and looked back at the heavingcloud of smoke that filled the eastern sky.

  "Well, whatever happens to me from now on, I'll have the comfort ofknowing that for a few hours I have been absolutely happy." Then, withthe abruptness that marked her changes of mood, she became the slangy,pert, feather-headed Marion Rose whom Jack had met first; and remainedso until she left him after breakfast to go home to Kate, who would beperfectly wild.