CHAPTER II

Nell’s Dilemma

A TURN in the trail revealed steeply rising ground, which caused Dick Bronson, spent as he was, to stand still and groan.

It was two days since he had lost his horse in a swamp. The poor creature had been sucked under by the treacherous mud, and as he was unable to extricate it, he had shot the animal with his revolver to end its sufferings.

Since then he had walked and walked, following this mysterious trail which appeared to lead to nowhere, yet which was sufficiently open and well defined to make him certain that he must in time arrive at some habitation, if only he kept on long enough.

But a big forest is an awkward place for a man on foot to get lost in; and Dick Bronson was well aware that the trail might meander on for another thirty miles without passing a human habitation, only he had come to the limit of his endurance, and could go no farther.

As he leaned against the trunk of a mighty cedar, wondering if death from starvation and exhaustion were a long pain, or whether merciful stupor would soon claim him, his weary gaze swept earth and sky in mute farewell.

Then he was suddenly roused to new life and energy by perceiving a thin column of smoke rising against the clear blue of the sky, immediately on the top of the high ground, where the trees grew with wide, open spaces between.

Smoke meant fire, and fire meant people, which in turn meant food of some sort. And the man who had been fasting so long felt that it mattered little what kind of food it was, if only it could stay the gnawing pangs of hunger and give him back his strength once more.

Slowly and painfully he breasted the sharp ascent, only to find that another and longer slope lay before him. But at the top of this second hill stood a wooden house in plain view, with a hospitably open door, and smoke rising from the chimney.

He could not be said to quicken his steps, for he was too worn out for that. But the sight of the open door and the chimney smoke revived his flagging hopes and turned his thoughts from death to life again.

As he came nearer to the house he saw something which, at first sight, he took for a baby’s cradle, with a little awning over it, just at the edge of the forest. Coming nearer, he saw it was no cradle, but a huge dog lying under a tent made of muslin or mosquito netting.

The creature lifted its head feebly, and uttered a low, warning growl at the approach of the stranger; but as it did not move, and was apparently sick or wounded, Dick Bronson came on without hesitation, and, passing the little tent, walked with feeble, uncertain steps towards the open door.

He caught at the door-frame to keep himself from lurching forward into the house, and then found himself confronted by a tall, thin girl in nondescript attire, of which the only details he could remember were a scanty skirt, deplorably shabby, and a man’s holland jacket.

“Will you give me food and shelter for a day or two? I am done up with wandering, and my horse died the day before yesterday.”

Dick’s voice was shaken and unsteady from all that he had gone through, and he looked even more an object of pity than he supposed.

The girl’s eyes were mournful, but she only shook her head, answering regretfully—

“I’m very sorry for you, but this isn’t a hotel, and we don’t cater for strangers.”

“You will surely let me have some food. I can pay you; and can’t you see that I am starving?”

His voice was hoarse and urgent now, and again he had to lay fast hold of the door-frame to keep himself from falling.

“I will give you some food, though I’m afraid you won’t think it is very nice. But you can’t stop here, because granfer wouldn’t let you. Button End, where Joe Lipton lives, isn’t more than ten miles away. He’ll take you in for certain, and make you comfortable too. They often have people there,” the girl answered.

Dick laughed harshly. “A quarter of a mile I might manage by crawling; but ten miles is as much out of the question as a journey to the moon.”

The girl looked troubled, then said, in a soothing tone—

“Come in and sit down, while I get you something to eat. Perhaps if you have a good rest you may——”

But the sentence was not finished, for at that moment Dick swayed towards her, and would have gone crash on the floor at her feet had she not caught him in her strong young arms, and so broken his fall. Only staying to thrust an old coat of her grandfather’s under his head for a pillow, she darted to the fireplace, where a pot of broth was being kept warm in the embers, and, pouring some of it into a cup, came back with it, and kneeling by the stranger’s side tried to put some of it in his mouth with a spoon.

The broth was some that she had made for the sick dog, but it was strong and nourishing, and it was all she had. When a few spoonfuls had trickled down his neck, Dick came back to his senses again, and, being supported by the girl, was able to drink the rest of the broth in feeble gulps.

“Ah, you were nearly done for that time, you poor thing!” she said, in kindly tones, her lustrous eyes shining with a beautiful womanly pity.

“Yes, very nearly. If it had not been for you, I think I must have gone under,” he murmured weakly.

His senses were reeling still, but the broth was doing him good. Yet even now he failed to understand how low down in his strength he had come, until, making an effort to rise and stand on his feet, he sank helpless to the ground again.

There was anxiety mingled with the pity on the girl’s face. It was plain to her that the stranger would not be able to continue his journey for hours, probably days, and it was the thought of what Doss Umpey would say to this tax on his hospitality, that was troubling her so sorely now.

“If only you’d been at Joe Lipton’s place, now, instead of here, they could have made you ever so comfortable,” she said, with a sigh of regret, as she hovered about him in anxious wonder as to how she was to get him on to the settle, where he could lie more comfortably than on the floor.

“I am all right here, or should be if I could have some more broth,” he said, with a wistful look at the empty cup in Nell’s hand.

But she shook her head with a decided air. “To over-feed starved things is to kill them outright, so if you want to get better you must just trust yourself to me.”

“Sorry to give you so much trouble,” he murmured weakly.

“Oh, tending sick things isn’t trouble. I just love nursing, only I haven’t had any one to nurse since father died, except a dog or a horse now and then. This is such a lone house, you see, and there are no people here to want helping. I should be just perfectly happy to have you here to take care of till you are well, only granfer will hate it so, that he won’t be even common pleasant to you, I’m afraid.”

“Never mind; I must risk the unpleasantness, as I can’t get any further. It is beginning to rain, too, so it is a mercy I reached shelter when I did,” Dick said drowsily, for a pleasant feeling of languor was stealing over him.

“Rain? So it does. I must get you on the settle somehow, and then go out and bring in Pip—that is our dog, you know. He’s a big, savage creature at ordinary times, but he got fighting last night, and is so dreadfully mauled that there ain’t much life left in him. Now, put your arms round my neck, and I will pull you up.”

Wrapping her thin muscular arms about the stranger, Nell succeeded in getting him on to his feet, and, supporting him as best she could, got him across the floor, dumping him unceremoniously on to a long low settle, which stood beside the great open fireplace. Then she went out for the dog, for by this time the rain was coming down heavily.

The creature must have been a considerable weight, but she staggered into the house with it, laid it tenderly down by the side of the fire opposite to Dick, and ministered to its wants with as much affection as if it had been a child.

The man on the settle watched her in silence, marvelling at the womanly tenderness, which was in such sharp contrast to her appearance; then presently, growing more drowsy, he fell asleep.

Once or twice he was conscious of being roused, and made to swallow something, but the disturbance seemed only like a part of his dreams, and it was hours before he was fully awake again.

Sounds of rather heated argument assailed his ears now. A man’s voice, raised in fretful complaint, was saying—

“I’ve told you often enough that I wouldn’t have a lot o’ strange folk clutterin’ round, pokin’ their noses into what doesn’t belong to ’em, and when I says a thing I mostly means it, as you ought fer to know.”

“Oh, I know it well enough, and I wouldn’t have kept him here if I could have sent him on. But, granfer, he dropped like dead at my feet, and at first I thought he was gone.”

“Not much loss if he had died that I can see. I expect he will be no end of expense to us,” grumbled the man’s voice; and at this Dick considered it high time to make them aware that he was awake and listening.

“I can pay you for all I need, thank you. Although I’m afraid no money can really recompense your granddaughter for her great kindness to me.”

The room was in heavy shadow, and the wood fire gave only a dull red glow, so that Dick Bronson could not see clearly the face of the old man, who turned round with a note of snarling query in his thin voice.

“What are you, anyway? A sheriff’s officer?”

“Nothing half so important. Only just a hard-working man, taking a holiday in the forest; but my horse got stranded in a soft spot, and I had to shoot the poor beast. Then I lost my bearings, and had come almost to the end of my endurance, when I reached this house.”

There was such a ring of sincerity in the simple statement, that Doss Umpey’s suspicions about the good faith of the unknown were allayed to a certain extent, and he asked, in a grudging tone—

“Well, what do you want, anyhow?”

“I don’t quite know what you mean,” said Dick, in a bewildered manner.

“How long do you want to stop, and what do you want us to do for you?” asked the old man, impatiently.

“I want to lie here only until I am strong enough to get on to the nearest hotel. I will pay you for the accommodation, and for the food I eat. I am really very hungry now; may I have something more to eat?” Dick asked, turning his head to look at Nell, who stood by the side of the settle, her face a study of vexation and worry.

“Can you pay for it, I want to know?” Doss Umpey began, but Nell silenced him in an imperious fashion.

“It won’t make any difference, anyhow, granfer, for we ain’t going to let him starve, and if you ain’t willing for him to have supper, you won’t get any yourself.”

“Of course I’m willing he should eat. Only a poor man like me, with others depending on him, has got to be careful,” grumbled the old man, climbing down with so much haste that Dick would have laughed if he had not been so angry.

He was about to fumble for his pocket-book in order to hurl some money at his inhospitable host; but Nell, divining his intention, stopped him with an authoritative gesture, then spoke to the old man with quiet decision in her manner.

“If you are so anxious to get rid of the gentleman, granfer, you had best give Blossom a good supper to-night; then by to-morrow morning the horse could take him to Button End. They’d be able to house him comfortable at Joe Lipton’s.”

“That’s a good idea, Nell. What a pity you didn’t think of it sooner! Then I’d have saddled the beast and taken him over to-night. We should have been able to be quit of him the sooner.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t have been fit to go to-night,” she answered.

“Well, he shall go bright and early to-morrow morning, anyhow,” said the old man; then departed, slamming the door behind him.

When he had gone, Nell stirred the dull fire into a cheerful blaze, then brought a bowl of some savoury stew to the settle where Dick was lying.

“You’d best sit up and take your supper now, while you can have it in peace. Granfer is a bit trying sometimes, and he just hates strangers like poison,” Nell said, as she arranged the bowl and the iron spoon so that her guest, by turning on his elbow, could sup comfortably without rising.

“I should think he just is trying. Why, he is about the most disagreeable old man that it has ever been my ill fortune to meet. Why do you stay and put up with it? If I were in your place I should run away,” Dick said.

“Where should I run to? And who would take me in? A girl isn’t able to shift for herself and defy the world like a man. Besides, I don’t know how to do things properly. I can saw wood, do rough cooking, and such work, but nothing nicer, so no one would want me,” Nell responded wistfully.

“The stew is good, anyhow, if it is only rough cooking, and I suppose you could learn to do other things if you had the chance,” Dick went on, as he ate his supper with slow enjoyment, covertly studying Nell the while as she sat in the light of the fire.

“I can learn anything if only I get the chance. I’ve got an old dictionary upstairs, and I’ve taught myself to spell every word there is in it. I know I talk rough, but that is only because I haven’t had a chance of being with educated people and hearing how they sound their words.”

“A whole dictionary? Why, you must be a perfect prodigy of learning!” exclaimed Dick, smothering a laugh, as he looked at the thin girl in her shabby attire.

“That means something out of the ordinary course of nature,” she said quickly, evidently quoting from her much-studied dictionary. “No, I don’t think I’m out of the ordinary, only, you see, I do have such a lot of time to myself when granfer is working down beyond, that I just have to do something.”

“I see. Have you got any more books?” asked Dick, who was finding Nell decidedly interesting to talk to.

“Only a few. There is a Bible, an old geography with a great many leaves gone, Longfellow’s poetical works, and Bacon’s essays. I wanted some of father’s books, only granfer said they must be sold to pay for my board, so he let the schoolmaster have the lot for ten dollars.”

“What a shame!” There was a thrill of boyish indignation in Dick’s voice that brought a flush of pleasure to Nell’s thin cheek. Then he asked, “Are your father and mother dead?”

Nell nodded, rose abruptly from her seat, and going over to the opposite side of the fire, stooped down to do something to Pip. When she came back there was only a strained something in her tone to show that he had touched on a sore subject.

“Mother died ever so long ago, when I was only three years old. But I was eleven when father died, and I came up here to live with granfer.”

The door opened at this minute, and the old man came in, the water dripping from his garments, and his mood even more unpleasant than before.

But Dick Bronson, soothed by his supper and weak from his long fasting, fell asleep very soon, and so escaped the constant complaints of his unwilling host, who grumbled as long as he was awake, then, betaking himself to a hammock, snored loudly until the morning. Nell did not close her eyes, however, but, sitting on the floor of her loft, kept vigil from reasons best known to herself.