Part 18

But clearly this portion of the trail was now impassable. He backed Sir Donald slowly away from the bastion, and when he was able to turn him, rode down to a point where a rivulet, cascading from a hidden snow field high up, formed a gully in the slope. He took this rocky stairway, dismounting where he must, swinging into the saddle again, making detours through crumbling earth, on over slippery stone, doubling back, pressing up once more, and so gained the summit of the cliff. He left his horse and crept to the eastern edge and looked down on the slide. It was terrible. For half a mile, obliterating the trail to the next curve, stretched ruin. Midway a crag, like a broken mainmast, dismantled, toppled out of the wreckage, and at the same time a warning and a menace, held the Pass. It was also a monument. There was no longer room for doubt; somewhere down there in the bottom of the gorge, under tons of rock, the unfortunate sorrel was buried with Smith.

Aside from the light provision Stratton carried in his saddle-bag, and his blanket rolled at the crupper, the camp outfit and the remainder of the opium had gone down with the pack-horses. But he could not return to the Nisqually. Even if Bates had given up the pursuit, the roused settlement, by this time holding him responsible for Thornton's horse, would keep a tireless watch for him. He must go on.

He drew back from the precipice and stood erect. The buttress was only the advanced paw of the monster height that loomed above him. He looked up, measuring its sharp pitches, trying to shape a course around the slide. The sun dipped behind a spur, and the wind, pulling up the defile, sharpened. Then suddenly the great peaks that encircled him seemed to draw closer. They gathered personality; they became a tribunal, austere, uncompromising, sitting in supreme judgment; ready to follow quick sentence with swifter execution. Each mighty, hoary head turned to him, waiting, watchful, and a voice, intangible yet dominant like the silence, said, "Next."

"No," he answered aloud, and set his lips, "No, not yet. There is a way through, or else I can make one."

But close on this challenge there rang a rifle-shot. He swung around and dropped to his knee. Looking over the opposite edge of the buttress, he saw three horsemen at the curve which he had lately passed. Bates he knew instantly, from the powerful, white-faced bay he rode; and the big fellow, holding the rifle in readiness, while he checked in the long-limbed, nervous brown mount, was of course Thornton; the third was probably a deputy, and presently, while they waited reconnoitering the cliff, Myers joined them, urging Ginger. Then they all came slowly forward, and disappeared under the rim of the bastion.

Instantly Stratton was up. He threw himself into the saddle and put Sir Donald to the slope. The men would stop at the slide; they would turn back and doubtless pick up his trail at the rivulet. They would follow to the surface of the cliff and from there he would be an easy target along the bald face of the mountain. He pushed on tirelessly, winding, doubling, looking back often, listening, but keeping a course, always, for a small spur capped by two tilting tables of granite. He made the last steep stretch on foot, and Sir Donald, protesting, yet invariably obedient, pricking this ear, the other, to his master's brief, low command, followed to the level. The slabs, in falling from a higher ridge, had pitched shedwise against a wall, and Stratton crowded the chestnut into the hiding-place they roofed. Again, as in the hollow cedar trunk, there was not standing room for the horse; but a soft, peremptory word, a light blow on the forelegs, and he dropped to his knees, to his side, and became motionless. From his position, while he held down Sir Donald's head, Stratton looked out through the crack where the tables joined. It gave him a view of the buttress and a breadth of the trail approaching the lower curve.

Presently he saw Bates ride back to this bend with his deputy, and, after a brief halt, again to reconnoiter the top of the bastion, they rounded the curve and were gone. A moment later Thornton appeared on the top of the buttress, followed closely by Myers. They had left their horses, but the young rancher still carried his rifle, and when they had inspected the slide from the cliff, they took up the trail of the chestnut. But the light was failing, and the tracks were often lost on rocky stretches. They were forced to turn back repeatedly for the clue. Finally, not far from the granite tables, they stopped. "I 'low you might's well give it up, Mill," said Myers. "Ther sorrel was stumbling consider'ble on that ther last grade; she was losin' her nigh shoe. An' this here horse is pickin' up his feet like he was ready ter walk on air. It's ther chestnut, sure; he's er mighty good stepper in er mean place."

"An' it's Stratton I'm lookin' fur," answered Thornton grimly. "I don't keer what anybody says, he's responsible fur my horse. It was his business ter watch Smith; an' ef my little filly was cut down in that ther slide, Stratton's got to reckon 'ith me. He was here, standin' on that ther rock, when we kem 'round that curve; I saw him, an' so'd you, plain's day. He must hev gone up 'round ther slide, I dunno how, but he must hev, while we was foolin' erlong fur his blamed trail."

"Ther's somethin' mighty curious 'bout that ther chestnut," said Eben, dropping his voice and casting an apprehensive glance along the impossible way; "don't act like er nat'ral born horse. I dunno's I'd like ter ketch up 'ith him after night. You know that ther deputy 'lowed he got over ther woods, from ther schoolhouse trail, 'ithout leavin' er sign; an' Lem's ready ter swear, up and down, he see 'em, horse an' man, fade out o' sight close by that ther cedar snag. Mebbe it ain't so, but where in tarnation did he go? An' that boy kem home skeered out'n a hull year's growth."

"I dunno's I've figgered out these here inviserble folks correct, myself," said Thornton with deep irony, "but, fur a spirit horse, ther chestnut is able to take his fodder mighty reg'lar."

Eben stroked his beard and laughed softly. "Oh, I 'low he kin stand it ter hev his wings clipped, when he strikes ther bunch grass country. An' ef Bates catches ther Northern Pacific fur Portland, say to-morrow night, like he counted on, he'll hev time ter make ther upper Columbia an' lay fur his man, all right."

"I count on takin' him this side ther Pass, myself," answered Mill. "Bates 'lowed ther Government 'ud set up a mighty good reward; mebbe five hundred. An' ef that smart little filly o' mine went down in ther slide, I 'low an extry pack-horse went with her. Stratton can't go far 'ithout his outfit; he's got to sneak back sometime fur rations."

Eben already had started back down the gully, and Thornton followed. In a little while Stratton saw the two men riding towards the curve below. When they rounded it, he brought the chestnut from his hiding-place and in the deepening twilight resumed the perilous detour around the slide. The lack of "rations" need not trouble him. He knew the art of woodcraft too well; he could snare a bird, take a beaver like an Indian, and the Palouse wilderness before him was an open book. But had he not his rifle, with ammunition in the saddle-bags; besides his full cartridge-belt and good pistols? There was no further use of taking that overland train, and, once through the Cascades, he would shape his course northward for the Fraser. Bates--he laughed aloud--Bates might lie in wait until he rusted, there on the upper Columbia.

*CHAPTER XXVI*

*THE JUDGE*

Already Nature stretched busy hands out of the shadows of the great park, and with manifold browns and greens softened the newness and crudeness of the little homestead enshrined at its heart. The clearing teemed with fresh life. The charred rails of the meadow fence were overgrown with tangles of wild blackberry and raspberry, with which the stiff foliage of the Washington holly disputed room. Ferns, springing from the ashes of the fire, reached a height of eight and ten feet and opened umbrella fronds. At the cottage sweetbrier and wild honeysuckle interlaced with the tendrils of a Virginia creeper and climbed to the eaves; maidenhair unfolded pale canopies over the shallow boxes on the edge of the balcony, where were planted sweet peas, and a syringa, supported by a pillar, offered its branches to trellis the insistent hopvine, which dropped from the gable a misty curtain of green. Backward, towards the small stable, and the huge hayrick thatched with lichened bark, a wild cherry held its own among thrifty young orchard trees, and vigorous shoots of alder and maple pushed up hedge-wise along the corral. Everywhere Nature had been encouraged to retouch, and eradicate and bring to a finish the general plan.

Still, had you approached the clearing that September afternoon,--however wayworn, however surprised, charmed,--you must have allowed your glance to rest longest on the bit of life in the landscape. The teacher had laid aside her pruning shears, and taking a rake from the wall, proceeded to draw weeds and clippings into a neat hummock. Her simple gown of brown barred gingham, catching a breath of wind, stirred gauzily. Upon her head the broad sun-hat with muslin bow and strings became a picture hat, quaint, pleasing. Still, had you once known her, you must have noticed that her figure had lost a little of its roundness; the skin its old transparency and velvet smoothness; shadows lurked under her brave eyes, and, sometimes, her sweet and mirth-provoking mouth stiffened into a patient self-suppression.

She stopped at length to rest, leaning on the gate, and looked up the trail, which began a level stretch through pale alders, dipped to a hollow and rose over a knob where, set like a flaring torch, a first changing maple illumined the way, and was lost to reappear briefly on higher ground. It was there on the hillside she presently discovered Mose. He came with his swift swinging stride his gun on his shoulder, a brace of birds in his hand, and was hidden directly in foliage. She waited, and when he came over the lower knoll, under the flaming maple, she drew the wooden pin and threw the gate open. "Grouse, Mose?" she asked with evident interest. "What beauties."

"But, ya-as, Mees," he answered, and smiled broadly, "I ees keel dem by Myers' plas. You know where de creek ees come roun' dat ole fir log; well, it ees dare I shoot dem. Dis one she ees come tek drink; she doan be so hard shot, for sure. But dis one, saprie, he ees fool me gre't; running an' flying, w-r-r-r, w-r-r-r, an' hiding heemself unner dat beeg cedar stump."

His enthusiasm was reflected in her face; her eyes caught from his a sudden fire. "Oh," she said with a soft intake of breath, "I know just how it happened. And he was out again in a flash, almost at your feet; you hadn't room to aim, but you waited and held yourself in, till he rose; then you took him, nice and clean, in the wing."

"Monjee, Mees," he said, and laughed aloud, "but you ees on'stan' lak you ees dare." He shifted the birds to the gun hand, and closing the gate, set the pin. "But it ees good t'ing I ees fin' dose grouse, nawitka; for I ees see mo'sieur, de Judge, down to Myers' plas. He mus' be long here 'bout dinner tam, for sure."

"So soon?" she answered in surprise. "I thought from his last letter that he would be delayed longer at the mills. But it is fortunate that we have the grouse," and the corners of her mouth lifted and dimpled; "we'll show him the right way to serve a bird."

"Nawitka, Mees." Mose was feeling in the depths of his blouse. "But Eben Myers, he ees go pas' de Station today, an' he ees tell me to bring you dis mail." He paused to scrutinize the address and weigh the letter speculatively in his palm. "Saprie, it ees good t'ing Mose Laramie doan' have to write so mooch spelling, an' mebbe read it all. Monjee, he doan' be able, den, to shoot some birds, an' fish by de Nisqually. Den, Mees, it ees pos'ble you ees be, sometams, hongry."

She laughed, shaking her head. "But you are learning, Mose. The trouble was in having three languages forced on you at the start. They were bound to tangle, and I guess the English was caught in the first knot at the bottom of the snarl. But it's all right; we only need a little more patience and time."

She walked on with the boy towards the cottage, opening the letter as she went, but when she glanced down the page the humor faded from her face. She reached the branch path to the river, and turned that way.

The letter was from her sister; the first she had received since Louise's rupture with Philip. She dwelt on the Judge's return and the closing of the mills. He had told her that Forrest had saved the property; that he had met emergency after emergency with a level-headedness not one young man in five hundred could have shown. Why, there were times when he had done the work of three responsible men, and most creditably. But at last, when she had finished the Judge's eulogy, to which was added one gently eloquent of her own, she took up briefly the matter of the separation.

Alice turned back and slowly re-read this portion.

"... I am leaving my husband. I can never explain it to you--please let the question rest--but Uncle Si will tell you I am right. It was necessary to tell him the truth and he admits my only course is a separation. There can never be any sort of a compromise, as long as I live, and I hope I shall never be obliged to see Philip Kingsley again.

"I am starting home to Olympia with Uncle Si today, but if you know of anyone in the settlement who can take me in, with little Si, I would rather go out there and stay, until I can shape my plans. Possibly, when you give up the school, I may be able to fill your place as well as any. Uncle Silas, however, is urging me to go, at least for a time, to Washington. I own it will be hard to have you both so far away, and I am tempted by the security of a strange city, with the whole continent between me and--what is past."

"Oh, Louise, my poor, sweet Louise, I'd love to see Phil Kingsley taught his lesson, but I know you, dear." Alice walked on the remaining distance to the falls. "You shall come and stay with me, as long as you want to, but you're going to forgive him, yes, you are, the first time he asks it."

Still, Louise had explained to the Judge; why should she find it more difficult to tell her? And just what was this reason, anyway? Then suddenly, in one great shock, the wedge which Stratton had tried to fix, drove home. She stood, white, tense, on the trembling ledge, and stared with unseeing eyes into the upper cataract. Its thunder and passion were lost in the greater forces that engulfed her. All that Stratton had said in their last interview, his whole monstrous story, rejected hitherto, surged back, statement on statement, and compelled her belief. She saw now what that friendly intimacy of nearly two years, in that isolated place, must have meant to both Louise and Forrest. How she had created for him his only social and home life; how, day after day, countless times each day, she must have felt his quiet sympathy, helpfulness, in sharp contrast to the neglect and irresponsibility of Philip. And they had played, sung, innumerable evenings together; no man on earth could so appreciate her beautiful voice, her personal sweetness; and she had always loved his violin. How could she--how could any woman--have remained indifferent? And he--how could he help forgetting there were other women in the world? All men, good, strong men, had their fancies when they were boys in school; it was afterwards that they found the right, the one woman.

For a long time the thought of Forrest had seemed to bring him near. She felt his presence; it was as though he stood there, behind her on the ledge, watching her with clear, reproachful, almost frowning gaze. The color surged and went in her face; her shoulders shook, and the letter, which she had crushed in her hand, dropped from her relaxed hold. The torrent swirled it away. "I don't blame you," she said, and to her halting phrases the cataract stormed accompaniment, "Oh, I don't blame you. I know how you have fought it--stamped it down. But you can't kill it--it springs and springs again; it can't die. I know--I know. I've been through it--all."

At last she walked back through the meadow. The sun was dropping behind the purpling hills; birds piped night calls in the thicket; one of the Jerseys was lowing at the bars.

"Patience, Blossom, patience," she said, "Now, then, slowly, slowly." She laid her hand lightly on the tawny neck, and the cow picked her way over the lowered rails and turned towards the corral.

It was there, milking Blossom, that the Judge discovered her, when he came from the stable where Mose had helped him put up his horse. He did not speak directly, but stopped, leaning a little on the fence, his arms resting on the top bar, and watched her. There was in his eyes the look of a man who has found at last what he has long desired.

She did not yet know that he was there. Her shoulder was turned to him and she was looking up absently to a high spur of the slope. "My dear," he said, "My dear--it is a long time since I climbed a fence, but no doubt I could do it unless there is a gate."

She started and gave him a quick, backward glance, while her hand sent a swifter stream into the pail. Then she sprang up from her stool and hurried smiling to the rails.

But, presently, when she had shown him the little wicket, screened by two infant alders, the Judge found himself squeezing through, to wait for the almost filled pail. "It isn't nearly as difficult as it looks," she said, and her eyes challenged him over her shoulder.

"No, thank you," he answered laughing, "I like, better, just looking on."

But he lifted the brimming pail and carried it, not without difficulty, to the house. He set it down in the living-room and stepped back into the cool doorway, where he stood, fanning himself slowly, with his hat, and surveying the interior with growing approval.

Mose was already seated in the chimney corner, turning the roasting grouse on their spit. At the same time he tended a savory haunch of venison, while the old madame divided her attention between a boiling pot on the crane, and a tin reflector set in front of the fire.

"You see it's all very primitive," said Alice.

The Judge's eyes rested on the spit with manifest satisfaction. "It is the only right way to cook a bird," he answered.

"Nawitka," said Mose gravely. "But de mowitch, too, dis tam de year, ees gre't."

"And this was the finest stag brought in this season," said the teacher. "Mose trailed him to Nisqually ford. Those are the antlers." And if she, herself, had been the hunter, she could not have shown greater pride in the trophy over the doorway. "And this is the pelt of the cinnamon bear I wrote you about. The one Mose tracked with her two cubs. She was very savage and it was his last cartridge. Isn't the fur splendid?"

"Bien," said the pleased and embarrassed boy, "dat ees nothing. Dat ees one ver' fine gun de Mees ees give to me. It ees mooch too fine for no 'count half-breed lak me. Laramie, my fader, ees say so."

The Judge went up the little stairway built across the living-room, to the low gabled chamber under the eaves; and when he came down, presently, brushed and freshened, he found Alice laying the cloth in the balcony. She had changed the brown cotton frock for one of soft pink, and where the surplice crossed below the full throat, she had fastened a bunch of sweet peas. Others were tucked in her belt, and she gathered more from the long box on the edge of the veranda, and with a handful of mignonette, arranged them in a crystal bowl for the center of the board.

The light paled in the west; the high spur darkened; a few thin clouds parted over a far crest, and showed a young, ring-defined moon. A gust of wind fluttered the cloth and roughened her hair. The Judge lighted the lamp on the wall, and set the pink shade as she would have it, so that a soft glamour fell on the modest array of glass and china. He filled the water pitcher and placed the rustic chairs; and finally they were seated and he found himself carving the savory grouse.

"What an Arcadia you have made of it," he said at last. "But it is simply sorcery; nothing else. Any other woman must have failed; or, succeeding, would have made a wreck of herself and spoiled her life. Even a man could only have accomplished it through hardship and long toil. But you--you have a charmed life. You have looked--you have cast your spell--and presto it was done."

"It took more than that," she answered and shook her head gravely; "you should know it."

"Yes, yes," he said quickly, "you are right. And I do know it."

"It was work, the hardest kind. Mose can prove it. He helped Mill Thornton clear the building site; he helped the settlers the day they came to slash and, again, to burn the brush piles. He cut logs for the cabin, shakes for the stable, rails for fencing. He opened the new trail."

"And wasn't that sorcery? To make a steady laborer of Mose? To coerce all of these young ranchers into service?" The Judge laughed softly, deeply.

"You know it was the pioneer spirit," she answered. "Nothing else influenced Mill Thornton to drive oxen for his neighbor, grubbing out stumps, when his own clearing was hardly under way, and Samantha wavered in the balance. Nothing else led Mr. Myers to lend his cattle for the work, in plowing time. And this same spirit, that calls the whole district out in a body to fight a forest fire, or hunt a trespasser, brought these men together to give their best effort to my house-raising. It meant a step further for the settlement, and each man takes a personal pride and interest in the new homestead he helped to make. Can't you understand that? And, dear Uncle Silas, can't you see what it means to me?"--Her voice was low and vibrant; her eyes gathered a soft brightness.--"I worked for it--endured--it's mine. Every foot of this ground is dear to me; every log in these walls. You mustn't expect me to love any other home--as well."

"I understand," said the Judge slowly, "I think that I understand. But--Forrest will be here in a few days; he intends to take up a systematic search for that lost prospect. And his heart is still set on this section. What will you do?"

"Meet my promise," she said, "of course. What else can I do? I will commute it, if you advise that, or relinquish, or sell him my right. I'm ready any time. But,--" she rose from her chair and looked off to the meadow, "I must go down and bring Colonel in. Wait here, won't you?--and have your cigar."

"I would rather walk with you," and he rose and went with her down the steps. "I noticed that meadow from the spur up the trail; it is a fine field."

"And you noticed my hayrick," she said quickly. "That was the best yield of timothy, to the acre, in the settlement this year. Jake Myers came from the prairie with his father's team to help me with the harvesting. I undertook to drive in a load,"--she paused, and he felt rather than saw, in the uncertain light, that her face rippled a smile,--"and Mr. Stratton rode down the trail just in time to see me spilled, hay and all, into the field. He was over the fence, in an instant, to rescue me from the bottom of the heap. And he stayed to help me reload, though he must have found it hard learning to use a pitchfork that warm afternoon."