CHAPTER XXIX

Blue Skies and a Cloud

Had Colonel Hallibut known that the Bushwhackers had awaited the melting of the snows quite as impatiently as he himself had, it might have surprised him. And had he known that the Bushwhackers were just as eager to have an explanation from him as he was to have an explanation from the Bushwhackers, he certainly would have been somewhat puzzled.

During the long evenings, as the loom of the weavers chided and the good wives turned the spinning-wheels, the men of the wood molded bright leaden bullets and measured black powder into curved horns. When the three-days’ rain began Bill Paisley went over to McTavish’s and stayed with Boy until the snows were licked away. All throughout Bushwhackers’ Place there surged a wave of unrest; a feeling of apprehension held the people, and they waited for what they felt must soon come. Hallibut, so they believed, had threatened to drive them from their rights. Behind him lay a power of which they knew little, but which they were prepared to combat if necessary with their lives. So during the rains that broke the manacles of winter the bushmen came together, strong-armed and clear of eye, strong of purpose and true to the great law that governed them. On one point they had unanimously agreed, and that was, no shot must be fired upon the interlopers until they themselves had opened hostilities. Big McTavish had urged this and was firm in his mandate.

“We’ll fight, men,” he said, his arm about his wife’s shoulder. “We’ll fight for our own, even if we be but a handful, but we’ll not fire first. Best to be sure than sorry.”

Now the men had met together again on what they seemed to feel was the eve of battle. The trails would be clear to-morrow and Hallibut and his followers would come very soon. So, throughout the night, with the soft rain falling and the forest waking beneath the kiss of spring, the Bushwhackers sat speaking in low tones before the fire in the big inner room, and the wives sat together discussing the probabilities of the coming conflict.

Big McTavish was for having all remain in their domain until the appearance of the enemy. Bill Paisley thought differently.

“What I advise,” he suggested, “is that we send out three men along the trail, and have ’em act as scouts. Let ’em keep to the timber, an’ when they see Hallibut and his men comin’, let ’em drop back and give the alarm. We’ll know best how to meet ’em when we know their numbers.”

Declute supported Paisley.

“I’ll go for one,” he volunteered, “and Peeler thar I know’ll go for another.”

“I’m with you,” nodded Peeler, and Boy sprang up.

“Let me go,” he begged; but the others shook their heads.

“You’re needed here,” they said, and Paisley drew Boy back into his seat again with:

“You can’t go, Boy; that’s all there is to it. Somethin’ tells me that Hallibut won’t bring his men down in a rush. Seems it ain’t his way to do things like ordinary men do ’em. He’s most like to send word by one of his tools that he’s comin’, first. I wouldn’t be at all surprised but that he’d come first himself. He’s goin’ to blame us for burnin’ his schooner, I have no doubt. He’s goin’ t’ do that so’s to have an excuse t’ wipe us out. He’s deep as he is wily. However, be that as it may, you men along the line mus’n’t let your feelin’s get the best of you. If Hallibut sends a spy along, keep clear of him, and don’t cock a gun, remember.”

Gloss stood in the doorway between the two rooms listening to the conversation of the men. Beside her was Daft Davie, his hand in hers. The girl’s face was pale and she looked as though she had not been resting well. Her great eyes were fastened on Boy’s face, and once he glanced toward her, but looked quickly down again. She passed across the room now, and over to him. The men were laying their plans of picketing along the trail. Boy looked up and smiled. Davie squatted in his old attitude beside him.

“Boy,” said the girl softly, “won’t you promise me what I’ve asked—won’t you?” she pleaded, bending over him.

Her breath fanned his cheek and the red blood leaped in his veins. She brushed back his tangled curls with an old-time caress.

“It seems just as though we was little boy and girl again,” she whispered, “and you always promised me what I wanted then.”

“I can’t promise you——” he hesitated. “Glossie,” he said tenderly, “won’t you please not ask it? I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep, and you know what I intend to do.”

“And if you do it,” she gasped, “oh, Boy, if you do, I can’t—we can’t——”

She turned her head away and he saw a shudder run through her frame. He reached out and drew the girl close to him.

“You’ve got to finish,” he said. “What can’t we do, Gloss?”

“I don’t know,” she answered wearily.

She was looking past him and the despair in her eyes cut his soul.

“Girl,” he whispered, “I’ll promise you not to kill Simpson; ’course I’ll promise you. I reckon I understand why you want my promise. I didn’t know before, I only suspicioned and dreaded. If he was a good man, now,” he smiled, “why, I’d be right down glad for your sake. But I won’t hurt him, Gloss, not even if he tries to shoot me.”

She stooped and looked into his face.

“Boy,” she said softly, “thanks for the promise; but it’s you I love—not him.”

Then she ran from the room.

Boy arose. In his heart a song was ringing that set the whole world—his world—agog with joy. Paisley came over and touched him on the shoulder.

“I’ve asked you somethin’ three times,” he said. “It’s comin’ mornin’, and the rain is done. The scouts are goin’ out along the trail. I want to know who is to stay here with you and Mac while the rest of us are totin’ up what we’ll maybe need for a seige.”

“I guess we don’t need anybody here,” said Boy.

He walked absently about the room and, coming back, put his hands on Paisley’s shoulders.

“Bill,” he pleaded, “I want t’ go with the scouts.”

Paisley shook his head decisively.

“No good,” he said firmly, “you can’t go; that’s all.”

“Bill,” said Boy, “I’ve give my promise that I won’t hurt Simpson, won’t that let me go?”

“Nor anybody else?”

“Nor anybody else.”

“Well, I guess that _will_ let you go,” chuckled Bill. “I guess it will. Fact is, you’re the one ought to go. You’re worth all the others put together at scoutin’. Here you, Lapier, come back here. Boy’s goin’ along in your place. Your wife’s kickin’ like everythin’ on your goin’, so you stay here.”

Boy stepped forward and looked into the inner room. On the floor here and there, on furs, lay chubby-faced babies, sleeping sweetly, and on fur shake-downs close beside them the mothers of Bushwhackers’ Place lay sleeping and dreaming perhaps of olden days in the retreat, before troubles came to cloud its tranquil skies. He tiptoed across the room and stood beside two sleepers in the shadow. His mother’s arm encircled the neck of the girl who had let happiness into his heart. He removed his cap and kneeling kissed the mother’s cheek tenderly, then reverently he touched the girl’s brow with his lips, and slipped away. And through the faint light a pair of wide-open eyes, mellow with God’s earthly happiness, followed him. Boy found his waiting companions outside, and, slapping Declute’s narrow shoulders, he bounded down the path toward the creek.

All the world was waking up to spring. The woody doty smells of the Wild crept into his life and stirred his pulse to the symphony of his world. His whole being responded to the waking-time and his kingdom was still his—aye, more than his kingdom was now his. Above his head, a gray streak against the smoky fog, a flock of home-nesting ducks fluttered lazily by. They were flying low and the leader’s soft quack sounded to him like a greeting from friends long absent. The creek, washed of its snow, lay still ice-fast, but clear and milk-blue with the tinge of wakefulness upon its face. By night the ice would be broken and the current would bear it, grinding and joyful, out to the open water of the bay, and by and by into the clear waters of the lake. A lone grouse strummed his joy upon a log hidden in a thicket. Down in the fallow a cock-quail was whistling “Bob-White.” Across the creek the heavy snows of winter had carried the flimsy roof of Hallibut’s mill to the bank. It lay where the current would sweep it out into the open water. The schoolhouse, through the fog, loomed up totteringly, seeming to bend as though imploring the creek to carry it away from the place from which it was estranged.

“Think the ice strong enough to bear us?” queried Declute. “It’s some worn, ain’t it?”

“It’s strong enough,” Boy answered. “We’ll drag the canoes across. This ice’ll be gone by night.”

Quickly the men secured the boats and with two men to a boat they passed across the creek, carefully keeping to the white ice. Once a man broke through, and one of the others, by a quick movement, caught him and pulled him to safety. So, with a laugh and a “now all together,” they beached the boats on Totherside and sought the soft-wood where the Triple Elm trail lay.

Along the trail the men moved, speaking little, for each was occupied with his own thoughts. To one and all the opening of spring had come as a blessing after the shackles of a long, harsh winter. They all felt its spirit and their steps were springy, their hearts, in spite of apprehension, were glad. Three miles along the trail Boy stationed his first picket.

“You’d better stay here, Jim,” he said, “and keep a sharp lookout for Ander. If you hear a high-holder call, you answer it. Then make for Bushwhackers’ Place fast as your legs’ll carry you.”

Two miles further on Declute took up his station and Boy passed on down the trail alone. In the wood it was deep and still and gloriously restful. Squirrels bounded hither and thither and grouse twittered their joy-notes. A red fox slunk into the thicket and the kittens rolled in front of him in playful dispute. He had to step over them to keep to the path. Further on, a pole-cat, or skunk as the animal was called by the Bushwhackers, was grubbing for food in a decayed log. Boy knew at a glance that she too had babies sleeping somewhere close by, and he smiled as she cast a look of inquiry at him from her bright eyes and went unconcernedly on with her work.

Three miles deeper into the wood Boy stepped aside into the undergrowth and seated himself upon a log. All through the forenoon he sat there thinking and dreaming of Gloss and wondering why he had never before thought she cared. He reviewed bit by bit the events of the past four months and strove to piece them together so as to make something of the whole. Why had Hallibut instructed his men to steal Gloss? And why was Simpson one of the gang? He thought he knew the answer to that question.

The forenoon passed and two hours of the afternoon had gone before Boy’s ears were rewarded with the sound of hoof-beats along the trail. He crept forward and peered down the path. Colonel Hallibut, astride a bright-bay horse, came riding slowly along the trail. His head was low on his breast and he passed so closely to Boy that he might have touched the horse’s nose. Boy let him pass, his intention being to drop back into the timber and run ahead of him. Just as Boy was about to creep back into the bush he heard the muffled tread of a man’s foot. He waited, his hand fumbling the lock of his rifle. As he peered through the brush he could hardly suppress an exclamation, for Amos Broadcrook, his huge form bent and his face haggard and sunken, crept swiftly past him. Five paces on the man sank on one knee and threw his rifle forward. Boy was quick to divine his motive and just as quick to act. His own rifle was leveled and one second before Broadcrook’s rifle cracked Boy’s bullet struck the barrel of the other gun and the would-be murderer’s bullet went singing into the bush on the right.

The shock threw Broadcrook upon his face, and before he could regain his feet Boy was upon him. In vain the giant strove to shake off that sinewy form. Boy clung to him and held him. He heard Hallibut give a cry of surprise and a moment later Amos was pinned down the more effectively by the Colonel’s weight. The big man held a pistol at Broadcrook’s head and Boy arose and unbuckled one of the stirrup-straps. In another minute Amos was fast bound. Then Colonel Hallibut turned to Boy.

“Seems as though life was very uncertain about here,” he remarked. “I understand that animal tried to shoot me, but can’t understand why you didn’t let him. Suppose you explain.”

He frowned at Boy and put his pistol in his belt.

“I understand you Bushwhackers made a threat to shoot me on sight. Why didn’t you let _him_ do it?”

Boy’s eyes gleamed dangerously.

“It won’t do you any good to talk like that,” he cried. “I guess if we did shoot you on sight it’s about what you deserve. You tried to steal our little Gloss, you and your gang. And you send us word that you intend to drive us into the bay. Well, Colonel Hallibut, you’ll find it pretty hard to drive us people anywhere. I saved you from bein’ killed just now, but that was only ’cause you wasn’t gettin’ a chance. Us Bushwhackers are queer. We have a funny way of givin’ things a square deal. We don’t fire at folks from behind, and we don’t try to steal women, either.”

The Colonel’s eyes opened in surprise.

“What are you talking about?” he thundered. “Do you mean to say that I tried to kidnap one of your women? Young man,” he warned, “I’m grateful to you for what you’ve just done, but don’t you try to be funny with me. I haven’t been across on your Bushwhackers’ Place. I haven’t done anything to any of your people, either. I did try to buy your timber, but that’s all. My agents have been among you, and a nice way you’ve used them, I must say. Nearly killed Watson, and stole six hundred dollars of my money from him. Then you up and burn my schooner. That’s what I call hospitality with a vengeance.”

“You burned your own schooner,” cried Boy, “and if Watson and Simpson got rough handlin’, it was because they deserved it.”

“What had Simpson to do with this affair you speak of?” asked Hallibut quickly.

“He was there with you and Watson the night you tried to steal Gloss,” said Boy, his mouth twitching.

“Young fellow, you’re crazy,” groaned Hallibut. “I tell you if anybody tried to steal the girl, I don’t know anything about it.”

“Your agent, Watson, says that you threatened to kill a few of us off,” said Boy grimly. “Broadcrook there heard him, didn’t you, Amos?” glancing down at the shaggy form on the ground.

Hallibut snorted.

“Humph! and come to think of it, it was Watson heard you say that you would set fire to my schooner,” he flashed. “You’re Boy McTavish, I guess, aren’t you?”

“I am Boy McTavish, but I never said that.”

“It was me fired the schooner,” said Amos.

“You?” cried the Colonel.

“He as much as hired me to do it,” said Amos, “—Smythe did. And he hinted as he’d pay me fer doin’ fer old Noah, and I did.”

“No, you didn’t,” cried Boy; “Noah is alive and well.”

“Then I ain’t got no murder ’gainst me,” cried Broadcrook, “an’ they can’t hang me, kin they?”

Hallibut stood biting his lip, his shaggy brows twitching. At last he raised his eyes slowly to Boy McTavish.

“See here,” he said at length, “I can’t just make this thing out. I guess I’ve been making a mistake and I guess you have, too, Boy. I’ve done you no wrong, neither you nor yours. And I know now that you and yours have done me no wrong. I came over here purposely to demand that you give yourself up for burning my boat, and I’m glad I came. I want to shake hands with you, if you’ll do it, and thank you for saving my life. Then I want to go down to Bushwhackers’ Place and shake hands all round. I—I——”

The big man’s face was working, and Boy found it difficult to keep his own voice steady as he wrung the Colonel’s hand and said:

“You won’t find any of us hard to get acquainted with, Colonel. We’re a queer lot in some ways, but I guess we all know real men. You come along with me and I’ll show you.”

“What are we going to do with this crazed wretch?”

Hallibut pointed down at Broadcrook.

Boy did not answer at once. He stood looking at Amos thoughtfully.

“What made you try to kill the Colonel?” he asked sternly.

“Smythe and Watson told me he was goin’ t’ set the hounds arter me,” groaned the man, “an’ I thort if I got his horse I would get across the border too quick fer ’em. Oh, I’ve been in hell, I tell you; shut up in the dark for three long months. I guess I was crazy.”

“Here are Declute and Peeler,” cried Boy. “We’ll let them bring Amos back with them. You and I’ll go on, Colonel Hallibut, if you’re ready.”

The Bushwhackers came running up, their faces showing their surprise. In a few words Boy explained everything, and leaving the two men to look after the captive, they passed down the trail, the Colonel riding and Boy leading the way. As they passed into the open of Totherside the Colonel pointed to the mill.

“That’s got to come out of there,” he said. “There aren’t going to be any more mills or schoolhouses in these parts until you people want them. Then you’re going to get what you want.”

Boy did not answer. He could not answer. But there was a crushing, choking joy in his heart. They stabled the horse in widow Ross’s barn. The place was strangely silent. The Rosses were over at Bushwhackers’ Place.

The ice in the creek was breaking up and running out fast. The creek, fed by the rivulets of the wood, was swollen now so as to make crossing by boat comparatively easy. This accomplished, Boy led Colonel Hallibut up to the house.

“Come in,” he invited.

The Colonel stepped inside and bowed low to the body of astonished people who watched him. Boy waved his hand for silence, then he stated the true facts of the case.

“Now,” he cried, “let every man shake hands with Colonel Hallibut.”

They surged about the big man joyfully. Hands were extended, and the Colonel with a laugh made as though to speak, but, instead, he stood gazing across at a tall girl clad in soft deerskin skirt and jacket. She was gazing back at him from eyes he had known long years ago in that playground far back.

“So like!” he whispered. “Same face, same hair, same great, glorious eyes!”

He leaned against the wall, trembling.

“Phoebe,” he said at length, and held out his arms.

Gloss leaned toward him.

“That was my mother’s name,” she said. “Did—did you know my mother, sir? See, this is her likeness in this little locket about my neck.”

She ran over to him and he took the locket from her hand and opened it. For a brief moment he gazed on the face of the little picture, then he raised it to his lips.

“Little girl,” he said simply, “I did know your mother: she was my dear sister.”

Then, with a dry sob, the man clasped her in his shaking arms. She stroked his gray hair with her hand, her soul claiming him and clinging to him, and as she looked into his face she said softly:

“I’m so glad; so very, very glad. I had so much before you came and now I have you—you.”

The Colonel attempted to speak. The tears were streaming down his cheeks. Paisley walked from the room blowing his nose on his red handkerchief. Peeler, his back to the others, whistled a tuneless dirge and looked through the window. As for the women, they were one and all behaving like foolish women must behave on such an occasion. Only Boy stood unmoved, watching, thinking, waiting. It came at last.

“All I have in the world belongs to you now, little girl,” said Hallibut gently. “I give it all to you for the sunshine you have let into my gloomy life. You will never leave me again, now I have found you, Gloss, will you?”

Then Boy went out into his dark-blue open and sought his woods again. Thank God he was strong and able to fight. It was all over now—his newly found dream of happiness. His hope was dead, buried and put away forever. But even a grave may feel the warmth of sunshine. The sunshine of a girl’s new happiness would always warm the grave Boy dug that afternoon alone in the awakening forest. It is the nature of a hurt wild thing to creep away into the dark and heal its wounds or die alone. When Boy returned that night his scar was hidden, and no one guessed that he had fought and conquered for love’s sake.