Part 19

The Judge laughed. He knew how she had looked at that moment, standing all flushed, irresistible, with a sweet quiver of her mobile lips, and the unconscious appeal growing in her eyes. And clearly Stratton had made the most of his opportunities, as any man must; as he had feared. "So, even Stratton came under the spell," he said; "you made him spoil those immaculate hands. And there was that other time, in the dry season when this meadow slashing accidentally burned. You did not tell me fully, but I understood he arrived, then, at the right moment, and helped to prevent a bad blaze.'

"It was a bad blaze; it looked for awhile as if the whole fence, the buildings, the timber would go. And he found me fallen, my dress afire, and he risked himself to save me. He stayed hours, afterwards, bandaging my burns, bathing my face, doing all he could, when he, himself, must have been suffering agony. Dear Uncle Silas," her voice broke, "I believed in him; he disappointed me, but I'm not ungrateful; I shall never forget."

"I understand," the Judge answered slowly, "I think that I understand. And I appreciate, I am more than grateful, for what he did, but I did not know he was hurt. How was it?"

"I had fallen close to the burning slash pile, and, when he bent to move me, a blazing sapling sprang out and struck the back of his head. I didn't realize it at the time, and he always avoided speaking of it if he could, but it seemed to have left some permanent hurt that affected his eyes; any over exertion or exposure to strong light brought on paroxysms of pain, and once, when he had been taken by an attack on the trail, he was forced to stop here. It was then he told me and that he meant to go to New York and consult an oculist. He was only waiting for his schooner to come back from the North with her cargo of furs. You know she was wrecked--a total loss; and the trip East, the services of a specialist, demanded a great deal of ready money. Sometimes--sometimes--I believe that tempted him to--do what he did. It makes me feel responsible."

"I understand," said the Judge; "it is natural you should feel so, in a measure. But, my dear, he is not what you think; he lived a dual life."

"Oh," she said, "of course you think so; every one must. He persisted, always, in showing his worst side. But I knew him very well. He told me things about his early life; he was handicapped from the start, but he was a man of fine and deep feeling--at heart. In spite of everything I shall always believe that."

"Perhaps, I do not dispute you." And he added after a moment, "Stratton himself wrote me something about that fire; I doubted you knew it, but he asked me to release you."

She stopped, surprised, and tried to read more than he said in his face. "To release me?"

"Yes. I refused. I answered that the request should come from you. Sometimes, off there in Washington, I have expected it, Alice. You seemed so happy here; so--almost--eager to put off our marriage. And Stratton has a handsome face; personal charm; he was right here on the ground. My dear, tell me this; if that schooner had returned, if he had not been tempted, would you have wished my answer to him any different?"

She turned her face away, looking up to the black shadows of the park. "Dear Uncle Silas," she said, and steadied her voice between the words, "if you--don't want me--I shall never marry."

"Want you?" The wind, drawing from the river, brought a closer booming of the falls. It toned with his pleading undernote like a great minor chord. "Want you? I want you so much that I am not willing to share even your gratitude with any other man. I want you--your best--your love--nothing less will do."

They had stopped near a clump of alders, where, in making the clearing, she had preserved an old cedar stump with chairlike arms, overrun now with vines. A little farther on Colonel waited at the meadow bars. She walked a few steps and halted in uncertainty. The Judge moved enough to rest his arms on the flat surface of the trunk, and stood leaning a little, watching her. The noise of the cataract filled the interlude. A branch rustled and a shower of dead leaves fell, slanting from the alders to his feet. Then she turned and came back.

"Dear Uncle Silas," she began, and meeting his look, repeated, her voice shaking, "Dear Uncle Silas, I've got to tell you. It's--Paul. It always was--Paul--before I knew it--when I was a small girl and he carried my books to school. But he--he--" Her breast heaved; she turned her face away once more, to the gloom of the park. "You know--what happened. Louise told you--the truth! It changes things, and, if you still want me, I'll try my best to--get over it, and make you the best wife--that I can."

Colonel moved restlessly and she walked the remaining steps to the bars. The Judge followed and dropped the rails and she led the horse through. Then, "It is all right, little girl," he said, slowly; "it is all right; as it should be. But, whatever you heard through Louise, you have made a mistake. My dear--my dear, you should have written me all about it at the start. It could hardly have made me happier, in the end, to know I had spoiled two young lives, that were meant for each other."

*CHAPTER XXVII*

*LEM CREATES FICTION*

Lem's treble piped above the low of the cows and the answering bawl of the calves outside the corral. He was seated on the top rail of the fence with a short piece of maple in his hand, out of which he was trying to shape a flute.

"--An' I hev be'n frequently so-o-old, an' I hev be'n frequently sold; I've tunneled, hydraulicked, and cradled--an'--

Oh, shet up, Shorts, now do."

He closed his knife with a snap and, slipping down from his perch, opened the wicket and let the white-faced calf through. Martha poured the foaming milk from her measure into a pail and changed her seat. At the same time she lifted her glance to the county road, winding up northward from the meadow. "I should jedge," she said, shading her eyes, "I should jedge that ther's Jake's horse, but it don't look nothin' like Jake."

"Naw, it ain't," answered Lem, raising his ferret eyes to the horseman. "I'll jes' bet it's Mr. Forrest; yes, sir, it's him. He's borryed Ketchem down by ther station, seein's he couldn't git word out fur his own horse." And he put the flute to his lips.

"I've travelled all over ther country, prospectin' an' diggin' fur gold."

It was a discordant peal and the lad knew it. He also felt that this rider, descending now into the lane, regarded him with laughing eyes. Forrest drew his rein outside the bars and Martha came over to the fence. "How do you do?" he said. "You're looking well."

"Wal, yes," she answered with her serious smile, and wiping her hand on her apron, she grasped the palm he offered across the rail, "I'm fair ter middlin'. I calc'late you've kem prospectin', but Eben's off in ther hills; he 'lowed he was gittin' powerful clost ter ther head o' that ther petrified man, an' you're likelier ter find er needle in er haystack 'n him. But ef you'll stop over night 'ith us, mebbe he'll kem in."

"Thank you," said Forrest, "but I'm going right on to the headwaters. It's a long time since I had a night under the stars. I promised to leave Jake's horse with Thornton. I suppose Colonel is here; I'd like to see him, and Miss Hunter too, for a few minutes, before I ride on."

She shook her head. "You'll find her an' ther horse out to ther new ranch."

"Then," said Forrest, "I'll water Ketchem and go on; but I would like a drink of that milk, first, if you have it to spare."

"Land, yes." She dipped the great tin measure into the pail, and having wiped it also on her apron, handed it to him over the rails.

"It always seems to me," he said, pausing between draughts, "that this milk is a little better than any other."

"That's what ther schoolmarm always 'lowed. She said she tasted ther buttercups in it. But that was before ther Jedge sent her them Jerseys."

"So," said Forrest, amused and puzzled at the strangeness of the gift, "So Judge Kingsley sent her some cattle?"

"You bet," Lem answered for his mother; "an' ther ain't never be'n nothin' ter kem up ter them two cows in ther hull deestrict. 'Bout ther color o' young squirrel, an' slick's er peeled fir. Ther Jedge he kem out here las' week in his dogcart. He'd heard 'bout ther new trail an' 'lowed he'd drive straight through." The boy paused to swing himself over the fence and down into the lane. "But Mose, he didn't count on no dogcarts when he done ther slashin'. I went er piece ter show him ther branch. You'd orter o' seen him;--thort I'd bu'st;--a-holdin' onter ther reins 'ith one hand an' ther seat 'ith the other; a bumpin' over logs an' snags; a gittin' ther wheels all tied up; a grabbin' fur his hat an' yellin', 'Whoa, whoa, Carlyle.' Oh, Lord, I thort I'd die."

He seemed in imminent peril now; writhing, twisting, bending his small shape convulsively, and finding vent at last in explosive shrieks of laughter. Forrest laughed, too, from sheer sympathy, and turning his horse, rode over to the trough. So the Judge had presented Alice with some cattle,--he smiled again at the quaintness of the gift,--and she was boarding out at Thornton's new ranch. Strange she had not mentioned that, in some of those letters her sister had given him to read; but she had had a great deal to say about the clearing and Samantha.

Martha fixed her stool and resumed her milking, while Lem, having recovered poise, followed the young man slowly. He raised the flute to his lips and piped softly, then held the instrument off and eyed it with growing dissatisfaction. Forrest watched the eager horse plunge his muzzle in the cool basin, and after preliminary splashing and stamping, settle to a still, long draught. Then his glance moved to the boy. "What's that you have, Lem? A whistle?"

"Yes, but I can't make her work."

"Let me try it." Forrest took the flute and the knife and made several careful cuts in the green wood. "This is a fine knife," he said.

"You kin jes' bet your life on that; ther schoolmarm give it to me."

"Yes?" said Forrest. "How is she, Lem? She must feel the long trail sometimes; in hot weather or when it rains."

"Oh, I dunno. She 'lows it don't 'mount ter much, long as she has Colonel, an' all summer, off an' on, she's be'n havin' pleasant comp'ny. I mean Mr. Stratton. He wa'n't huntin' any ter speak of."

A quick flush flamed in Forrest's face. He gathered the bridle and raised the flute to his lips. The strain was soft, no longer discordant, and Ketchem stood moving a sensitive ear. "So, Stratton rode with her. He has a fine horse."

Lem took the instrument and examined the improvements. "You kin jes' bet on that. Ther ain't never be'n no sech stepper in this here deestrict, leavin' out Colonel. But ther ches'nut's mighty oncertain. I'd hate ter resk my money on him; ef it kem to it, I'd hate ter resk myself." He paused to try a measure. "She blows pretty good," he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Yes, we 'lowed Mill Thornton was powerful sweet on Cousin Samanthy, but land, he couldn't hold er candle ter Mr. Stratton. He was over to school 'bout every day, when he was here. Ef it rained he kem in, but mos' gen'ly he waited outside, er walkin' his horse up an' down tell school let out. You'd orter o' seen him." And with a sidelong glance at Forrest, he raised the flute again and piped a surer strain.

Forrest was silent. Lem repeated the blast with his eyes on the startled young horse. He moved forward, suddenly, with a last shrill note, bringing the whistle close to Ketchem's ear. And he stood grinning his satisfaction, while the animal lunged, reared, and was brought down, trembling, by his rider's firm hand.

"You kin ride. You kin keep your seat 'bout as good as Mr. Stratton. Dunno but what I'd resk you on that ther spirit horse o' his. I 'low you heard 'bout ther way he give them Gov'ment men ther slip?"

"Yes," answered Forrest, "yes. I learned through Mr. Bates. I happened to meet him the day I left Seattle. It seems Stratton used this shooting box out here to cache his dope in. He was bringing it through, with Smith's help, in small lots from Victoria. And the officers cut him off going east towards the Pass. They took his pack-horse, and he, himself, barely escaped on that chestnut."

Lem laughed, a noiseless contortion. "Them dep'ties was mighty puzzled 'bout jes' ther way he give 'em ther slip. Not one in ther hull bunch ever s'picioned that ther chestnut jes' natu'lly lifted his four feet off n ther face of ther earth; yes, sir, and flew clean over ther heads 'mongst ther trees, an' struck back to ther Nisqually, while they was a chasin' on after ther rest o' ther outfit." Lem caught a quick breath; his ferret eyes fell before his listener's level look, and he hastened to add, "But that ther pack-horse was John Phiander's Baldy,--he got er good price for him,--an' when the Gov'ment men found him he was up to his old tricks, a rollin' in er wide piece o' ther trail, tryin' ter get rid o' his load. Oh, gee, I thort I'd bust; you'd orter o' seen him. Them little cans, what you call dope, worked loose an' scattered all over creation. But Baldy'd never o' hed that chanct, an' they'd never o' sighted their man, ef he hedn't stopped ter kidnap ther schoolmarm."

"What?"

Lem started and his sidelong glance moved from the young man's challenging eyes to his strong whip hand. "You ain't heard 'bout that, hev you? I was chasin' round after Shorts an' that ther red heifer, an' I kem ercross 'em up ther branch. Baldy was standin' quiet, an' ther chestnut was stampin' an' rubbin' hisself like all pursest on er alder. Colonel he was snatchin' er mouthful o' grass, an' ther schoolmarm was sittin' in ther saddle 'ith her back to me. I thort she was jes' listenin', an' never sensed things tell I sneaked up close behind an ole cedar snag an' see her hands was tied 'ith er big silk hankerchief, what he wears roun' his neck. He was passin' er hitchin' strap 'cross her lap an' makin' it fast to ther cinch, an' he says mighty softlike, 'You will hate me at first fur this--mebbe a good spell--but in the end you air goin' ter love me, an' marry me.'"

Forrest frowned darkly at the water trough. He reached and swept the brimming surface with a sharp cut of his whip. Lem's lips twitched with keen appreciation. "But," he went on slowly, "she jes' looked at him 'ith her chin up in ther air, an' says, 'You ruffi'n--you outlaw. I kin die jes' once an' it's goin' ter kem ter that before I ever marry you.'"

Forrest struck the flooding trough again, still more sharply, so that the fretting young horse lunged and wheeled, and Lem sidled out of possible range. He saw Ketchem brought firmly back, then went on cautiously, "He stood watchin' her a minute an' I see his face was whiter'n ashes, an' er kind o' white fire was blazin' out'n his eyes. Then he says powerful slow, 'Is it ther black's master?'

"An' she looks off down ther trail 'ith her cheeks gittin' pink as rhododendron flowers in ther springtime, an' says, 'As long as I live I shall never love any man but--'" Lem paused, smiling his impish smile,--"'Jedge Kingsley,'" he added.

Forrest's whip hand fell limp at his side. He drew a sharp breath and looked at the boy. The sternness went out of his face; there came over it a great weariness; his eyes brimmed misery.

"Gee, gee," said Lem, "I wisht you'd a be'n there. 'You are goin' ter marry me,' says he. An' he unslung Colonel's lariat an' jumps on ther chestnut. But he wa'n't countin' ernough on that ther pack-horse. I shied er stone at him an' it took him smart on ther flank an he broke away like mad fur Salal prairie. Colonel he flung up his head, an' 'fore he could make up his mind bout Baldy, he heard them ther Gov'ment men poundin' up ther trail. The same minute he felt his rope, an he jes' give ernother fling an' jerked clear, an' swung 'round an' fit out fur ther schoolhouse. A bird couldn't o' ketched him. An' when he got ther he gentled down, nice as er kitten, an' waited fur Mose,--I 'low it must o' be'n Mose,--ter kem an' untie ther schoolmarm."

There was a brief silence, during which the young man again regarded the brimming trough and Lem watched him. Then the boy said, arbitrating with some remaining atom of conscience, "I 'low I hedn't no call ter say what I did 'bout ther Jedge."

"No," answered Forrest quickly, "No, Lem, you're right. But I'm hardly the man to repeat it, and I happened to know it already. I've known it for a long time." A pull at the bridle; a word to the horse. "Good-by, Lem," he said. Then, as Ketchem broke into a canter, he turned in his saddle to throw a piece of silver to the rogue.

The lane was muddy, after a heavy rain, and the coin dropped into a little pool. But Lem secured it, and having wiped it on the seat of his trousers, examined it narrowly. "It's a dollar," he exclaimed. "A hull dollar. Beats me what it's fur. Mus' be fur talkin'. I wisht,--" slowly, as one who sees lost possibilities,--"gee, gee, I wisht I'd a said more." He slipped the money into his pocket with a swift look at his mother, milking still in the corral, "Ef dad knew he'd 'low it's bout time fur me ter be payin' board."

Forrest found himself not in the old rough track of the herds, but following a well beaten though narrow trail, from which branched many paths. Then at length he rode along the frowning front of a great hill, and looking up his eyes traced sections of an abandoned switchback which he and Alice had pushed up that day, to find it lost in the slide on the edge of the windfall. And here, on the bank of the creek that skirted the hill, was a deserted shepherd's hut, where Eben had cached a deer, that he had shot on the trail that morning. But the roof had fallen in, and between the fragments fern and salal crowded, waist-high from the earth floor.

Forrest had believed that all he needed was to be out-of-doors; to get in touch with the growing timber again; to ride or tramp all day through the great stillness; to have the opportunity to think over and outline, undisturbed, his contemplated work, and he would be himself once more. But now, a bit of ruined cabin, the sound of running water, the pungent wind idling through a glade, a hundred small associations, brought the old futile desire sweeping back with the force of a sudden mountain flood. It was as though he saw her up there, easing her weight as Colonel set himself to the pitch; how graceful she was, dipping this way and that to his steps; avoiding encroaching boughs; sending him a swift glance across her shoulder, with the delight shining in her eyes. And how fond she was of a horse, of the forest, of all out-of-doors. She was so bright, so warm, so full of life, sparkle, charm. How could he ever forget her? How could he ever ride or tramp the woods without remembering her?

But he must forget. He couldn't go on feeling like this about another man's wife. And he was glad she loved the Judge. Yes, since she was going to marry, he was glad she loved the Judge. Sometimes--he had been a little in doubt. Still--what did all this Lem had told him really amount to? Of course the young imp had exaggerated, for instance there was that yarn about Stratton's horse, still--just what shreds of truth had he possessed, out of which to fabricate the story? Another time he could have laughed at the boy's rendition of Stratton's careful language, but had this man approached her, disgraced, outlawed as he was, in that way? Yes, he was bold enough; he had stopped her, spoken to her, pressed his case; that much was true. The thought of this quickened Forrest's blood; it ran hot in his veins. Once more his hands tingled, burned, for close physical contact with this man.

When he was again conscious of his surroundings it was twilight in the forest. The trees no longer stood out singly but in confused masses. Light fog began to lift from the hollows, wet still from the recent rains; the air grew chilly. Then presently, through an opening ahead, appeared the knob-like crest of the south hill, girdled with a ribbon of mist; and as he rode towards the clearing, there unfolded a company of peaks, shading from copper and amethyst to a purplish black. He passed a branch trail, rising and winding up in the direction of the canyon, and making a final curve, came upon Thornton's cabin, and Samantha churning and singing in the little porch.

"How do you do?" he said, swinging down from the saddle and taking her offered hand; "I sent my congratulations to Mill, through Miss Hunter, some time ago, but I must congratulate you both on this homestead. It makes a great showing. I'm coming back in a day or two to look over the section, but tonight I'm going right on to the falls."

"You'll kem ercross Mill down ther," she answered, smiling. "He 'lowed he'd hev er look at ther river. It's out on a reg'lar tear. You kin hear it, can't you? It's ripped out ther teacher's sluice-gate, an' carried away a mighty nice little bridge Mr. Stratton put in below ther falls."

So Alice had built a sluice-gate. He smiled, puzzled, and then with a flash of understanding. Of course it was she who had taught Thornton the problem of bringing the stream to his land. It was she who had suggested the line of sluice-box he had noticed ahead, along the trail. Well, he could spare the water. He was glad to.

"I promised to leave Ketchem with Mill," he said, and loosened his snug blanket roll from behind the saddle. "Jake expects him down at the Station tomorrow. I would like to have a look at my own horse, and see Miss Hunter for a moment before I go on."

"Why," said Samantha in surprise, "she ain't here. I 'low she's too powerful busy tendin' to her own ranch."

"Her own ranch?" he repeated.

"Yes. Fur ther land sakes, don't you know she homesteaded that ther piece to ther falls?"

Forrest stood a silent moment. His look moved from Samantha's face to a high spur of the hill. His breath came a little heavily, with a slight uplift of the shoulders, and he raised his hand to the handkerchief, knotted loosely at his throat, and eased it, as though it choked. Then he took up the strapped blanket from the step and swung it to his back and started on down the trail. He had forgotten to say good-night, and Samantha waited, watching him curiously, and holding in the fretting horse. Presently he stopped in uncertainty, like a man lost, and turned and came back.

"I didn't expect to find a house at the falls," he said and forced a smile; "and, you see it seems pretty good to me to get out-of-doors again. I've been looking forward to spending tonight in the open air. I think, if that branch I passed back there around the curve, goes to the canyon, I'll try it."

"Yes, it does," answered Samantha. "It goes up past ther granite tower an' down to ther ford above Mr. Stratton's place. I 'low Pete Smith blazed that ther branch ter skip our ranch. He wa'n't goin' ter resk no chances o' kemin' ercross Mill."

"Then," said Forrest, "that's the trail I want. I intend to prospect south from the canyon. And I ought to find it dry up there for a camp tonight; it's pretty wet in the timber, and the tower should make a good windbreak from this Chinook. But I must hurry to make it before dark."

"You better stop 'ith us," said Samantha, her warm heart creeping into her tone. "It's lonesome up ther, an' I could cook you some mighty nice trout."