At my words the shadow sprang to her face again, more noticeable than before. It was almost a look of distress now.
"What is it, Dryad?" I asked, suddenly; "what worries you?"
She did not answer, but stood meditatively with the tips of her fingers resting upon her lower lip, and her eyes intently focussed downward.
"Come," I added; "I must get some water from the creek, and I'll go that far with you—farther, if you will let me, because it will be late before you get home."
"Oh, no!" she burst out, with what looked like unnecessary vehemence. Then her agile mind took a turn, and she added—"But why don't yo' git yo' water out o' the well?"
I forebore to correct her. The lesson was over, and I must not worry her.
"Well?" I repeated, open mouthed. "What well?"
"The well over yonder—the well the man dug!"
She pointed to a distant corner of the yard, overrun with a heterogeneous mass of greenery.
I almost gasped. A well had been here under my nose all these weeks, a well of cool, good water, and I had been slaving rebelliously to supply my needs from the creek below, which had lately become infested with tadpoles!
"Show it to me!" I cried.
With a hearty "All right!" she started running, and I followed at a smart walk. It was just like her to run. She was a creature of impulse. I watched her skimming over the ground, lightly leaping little obstacles, her wheat-gold hair all a-tremble. When I came up she had a stick, and was diligently prodding about in the weeds, vines and brambles.
"It's here," she muttered, intent on her business. "I've saw it, 'n' drunk out o' it. It's jes' as cold as the spring at home whur granny keeps 'er milk 'n' butter. W'en I—"
My eyes had been fastened on her face, and now she evidently remembered and checked herself purposely, for I saw her teeth clamp her lip for an instant. Then she went on, softer and more slowly, never looking up.
"When—I—came—las'—time—it's—here!"
With the last word she jabbed her stick down, and straightened up triumphantly.
I pressed forward to her side, and peered into the bush. The end of her stick rested upon a piece of wood. With a word to Lessie to wait a moment I hurried back to the lodge and procured a scythe from the store of miscellaneous things which had accompanied me when I came out to make friends with the wilderness. Directly I had uncovered the well's top, a surface of oaken planks four feet square. In the center of this lay a large, smooth stone, covering the hole which gave access to the water below.
"By Jove! Girl, how can I thank you?" I cried, elated at the discovery. "I've been drinking sulphur water and bathing with tadpoles, never dreaming this was here!"
"It'll be a big savin'," she agreed. "Tot'n' water's pow'ful hard work."
She turned to go. I dropped my scythe and said:
"You must let me go part of the way. I know you're not afraid, but won't you? I'd feel better."
She clasped her hands, wrung them once, and took two or three forward steps silently. Something was wrong with Lessie, but nothing like a true solution entered my thick masculine head until she stopped, halfway turned, and flung from tight lips—
"It's 'bout Buck!"
Buck! The ominous figure I had seen watching me in the deep twilight the day before. Buck! Of course, Buck! He had seen me part from Lessie; he had come to her immediately afterward, and had doubtless told her some things which were not good for her peace of mind. Is man really a savage, at rock bottom? In the moment following Lessie's intense announcement of the cause of her distress, what were my feelings? Simply these. There came to my mind the realization that I, too, was a man of physical might; that I, too, had immense muscles of thigh, and chest, and arm; that the trouble which had sent me here was surely checked as I felt my vigor growing day by day, and that if somebody wanted to fight I would give him his fill, rather than be hectored into forsaking Lessie's company—for I felt assured already that this was the burden of Buck Steele's demands.
Something of all this must have showed in my face as I stepped deliberately to Lessie's side and took one of her hands, for I saw traces of terror in the gray eyes.
"Yo'—yo' mustn't git together!" she exclaimed, tempestuously, her fingers closing around mine in a grip which caused me to wonder. "Oh! Yo' mustn't!—Yo' mustn't! Yo' don't know Buck; he c'n ben' a horse-shoe!"
"Lessie," I said, returning her grasp and looking at her determinedly; "I'm not afraid of any man that lives and moves. I don't believe in violence, but there are times when it becomes necessary. And when the necessity arises in my life, I'm going to face it. You have said that you wanted me to help you, and if you still feel this way, nothing and no one is going to prevent me from carrying out my part of the agreement. I've a notion I know pretty much what took place last night, but you must tell me now, as we walk along. We must talk it over—come."
I kept her hand until I had faced her about and we had gone a short distance. Then I let it go.
"Yo' see," began Lessie, in a perplexed little voice, and without waiting for further urging, "Buck's ben comin' to see me fur mos' a year, off 'n' on. He's the only young feller Granny'll 'low on the place. He's ben pow'ful good to me, 'n'—'n' well, he's ast me to marry 'im. But I don't love Buck. I can't he'p lak'n' 'im, 'cause he's so good 'n' kin' 'n' 'd do anythin' on earth I'd ask 'im to. He don't pester me 'bout comin', neither, 'n' w'en I don't feel lak seein' 'im he'll go on 'way, meek lak 'n' not complainin'. 'N' after w'ile here he'll be back ag'in, tryin' to tell me thin's I don't wan' to lis'n' to. I jes' can't hurt 'is feelin's. Somehow 'r 'nother he heerd that you'd come out here 'n' had seen me by the dogwood tree that day—I s'pec' Granny tol' 'im 'bout it, 'cause I didn't tell nobody but the home folks. 'N' so las' night he come—hecameout home to 'quire 'bout it, 'n' he saw you tell me good-by at the bridge. 'N' after you'd gone he came on—'n' I'd never seen 'im look lak he looked then. His eyes wuz black 'n' had fire in 'em 'n' his face wuz lak a piece o' gray rock 'n' his voice wuz diff'unt 'n' ever' now 'n' then he shuk all over."
Her words had gradually increased in velocity until, when she stopped, she was speaking so rapidly I could hardly understand what she said.
"Yes," I replied, but nothing more until we had come to the foot of the knob. Here, as we turned westward toward the creek leading to Lizard Point, I spoke again.
"He talked to you, Dryad, of course. Now you must tell me everything, and keep nothing back—nothing. Even though he said very ugly things—things which may have frightened you, you must tell me them, too."
She stooped to pluck a cluster of little wild flowers growing on a single stem, giving a low exclamation of pleasure as she did so. Then, as she twined the flowers in her hair over the ear away from me, she answered.
"Yes, he talked to me. I tried to make 'im hush, but he wouldn't. 'Twuz 'bout you, mos'ly. He said he knew city fellers 'n' they's all wicked 'n' dang'rous, 'n' that you's jes' tryin' to run with me to pass the time 'n' make a fool o' me—but I didn't b'lieve 'im!"
With the last words she turned toward me a frank and honest countenance.
"No, Dryad; you mustn't believe him when he talks that way. I'm sure that Buck is a good man naturally, but he was excited when he told you that. There are some bad men in the cities, and there are some bad men in the country. There are more bad men in the city because there are more people in the city. But he was wholly wrong when he spoke of my motive in going with you—go on."
"He said he wasn't goin' to have yo' comin' to see me, 'n' that I mus' promise 'im not to see you agin. I tol' 'im I couldn't do that, 'cause you's goin' to learn me. Then he went plum daffy crazy, 'n' cussed 'n' damned, 'n' bruk a great thick stick he had in 'is han's—bruk it 'n' kep' a-breakin' it till it wuz all in little pieces in 'is fis'—'n' then he flung 'em all on the groun' 'n' stood lookin' at me lak he's goin' to hit me, but he didn't. We's down at the en' o' the path nex' to the road, fur we hadn't gone up to the house. I's skeered fur a w'ile, he looked so big 'n' he's so mad. I didn't know a feller c'd git so crazy 'bout—'bout a girl;—did you?"
Her candor never ceased to amaze me. She seemed to be utterly unaware of anything existing within herself which might lead a man up the dangerous heights of Love, whither this brawny one had plainly gone.
"Ye-e-s," I answered, slowly. "When a man loves a girl, Dryad, he will do anything when the circumstance which calls for that thing exists." Then, realizing that I was talking riddles to her, I added: "I mean, that when a man's in love, especially if he be a strong man, he won't allow any one or anything to come in the way, if he can help it. And that's Buck's position, exactly. He thinks he can't live without you, and he's a big, husky animal whose feelings largely control him. When another man approaches you, he grows jealous, and jealousy is about the hardest headed, most unreasonable, meanest passion the human family has.... What else did Buck say?"
It was too dark now for me to see her expression, but when she replied her voice shook with apprehension, and that haunting note—like a rare minor chord in music—which so moved me when we first met had crept strangely into it, dominating the natural, lighter quality of her speech.
"Oh!"
An exclamation formed of a trembling sigh was her first word, but she went on almost at once.
"He—he saidawfulthin's! He said he couldn'tstan'to see me 'n' you together no more, 'n' he said he's goin'—he's goin'—tokillyo' if—if—"
Here Lessie broke down and began to weep in little, spasmodic snuffles, as you have seen small children do.
I took her hand again and tried to assuage her fears as we went on under the big forest trees through the shadowy, dimly luminous atmosphere. I told her that Buck had spoken in the heat of anger, and that he did not really mean what he said, and that his passion had gotten away with his discretion, and had made him act very foolishly. I ended by laughing at the threats, and treating them in the nature of a joke, but my companion would not have it so.
"Yo' don't know 'im! Yo' don't know 'im!" she insisted, drawing the back of her free hand across her eyes. "Hedidmean it, 'n' hewilldo it—I know he will!"
"Don't you think I can take care of myself?" I asked.
"I don't know; maybe—but Buck's so strong!"
"I'm strong, too, Dryad."
She did not answer, and soon we came to the glade. Here Lessie stopped and faced me.
"Yo'mustn'tcome no fu'ther," she said, so emphatically that I almost blinked. "'N'—'n'—yo' mustn't come to the P'int no more 'n' I won't come to Baldy no more 'n'—"
"Why, Lessie!"
I dropped her hand, and put all the reproach I could summons into the words.
"Yo' know—w'y—"
"And give up all the things I am going to teach you just because—"
It was too much. She turned with a hurt, despairing cry which somehow cut me savagely, and ran swiftly from me across the open ground. I saw the misty fluttering of garments in the gloom, caught the dull glow from her flying hair, then knew that I was alone.
I have just written to 'Crombie. I did not tell him of any of the people I have met. I wrote a chatty letter describing my daily life, my improved condition, and telling of my inability, so far, to locate the life-plant. But on this point I had hopes. I'm sure he will scratch his head when he reads my postscript, and wonder if I have developed brain trouble. Here is my postscript:
"Kindly forward me by mail to Hebron, at once, a primer and a copybook."
I went to Hebron to-day to mail my letter, and to lay in a supply of garden seed.
It was still early morning when I reached Lizard Point, and came upon the road leading to my destination. The sun had not yet topped the high knob range; the air was cool, balmy, moist with dew, and clear. I stood for a moment after I had crossed the bridge, and looked intently up to where Lessie lived. Had I seen her I would have sent her a hail, and told her where I was going. Light blue wood smoke was coming from the kitchen chimney, and spiraling straight up to a great height before it dissipated—a sure sign of fair weather, I have been informed. Soon I descried Granf'er's stooped form plodding across the back yard. He still wore his coffee-sack apron, and was carrying a dishpan of water. This he emptied into a chicken trough, and trudged back to the house. But Lessie did not appear, so I faced about and went on.
The road paralleled this branch of the creek for nearly a mile, running along the base of a steadily curving knob. It was not a bad road, either, considering its location, and I found some pleasure in tramping through the yellow dust between the ruts which the wheels of passing vehicles had made. On the creek side was a rod-wide strip of verdure; flowering weeds choked with long, tough grass, bushes of many kinds, and an occasional tree. On the knob side the rise began at the very edge of the highway. Here was moss, dead leaves, many varieties of creepers, sumac, wild grapevine, and now and again eglantine, its flat, pink-white blossoms brightening the heavy shade. It was on this side the road my eyes dwelt oftener, for in my pocket was the jar of fresh water, and in my heart the hope of ultimate reward. It is true I had found nothing which resembled the life-plant in the least, and already I had traveled far. But I was prepared for disappointment, and schooled for patience. The prize was too valuable to be come at easily. I had already learned that great truth—the things worth while are the things you give your heart's blood in getting. Nothing you can grasp by merely stretching out your hand is worth even that slight effort. It is a law of nature and a law of life that hard work is the price of true success; that attainment means sacrifice; that the natural inclinations and desires of the flesh must be fettered and chained before we can reach any eminence whatsoever, or achieve any noble task. That unalterable decree of life applied to this case as well, and I bowed to it. I would wait and search; I would go on until the last day of my twelve months' exile had sped, believing that sooner or later my reward would come.
Now my mountain road debouched upon a county highway, made of gravel, well packed and smooth. For a moment I was surprised, wondering where all this gravel came from. Then I remembered that a river ran near, and the mystery was plain.
The sun came out as I started on again, pouring its quickening light in a wondrous cascade of shimmering beauty over the dark green sea of foliage. The leaves rustled a welcome, and a breeze which was like a sigh of gratitude from the Earth's big heart, arose. This greeting of nature unto nature that still morning stirred me deeply in some way; I could feel the answering thrill in my breast, and I stopped in my tracks, took my cap from my head, and faced the great golden ball with what I imagine was almost the ardor of a sun-worshiper. I was alone with my ancient mother; the mother from whence I came and unto whom I would return, and clearer than ever in my life before I felt the kinship of the sturdy trees, and knew that the sap and fiber of every growing thing about me was part and parcel of my being. Tiny waves of emotion began to tingle along my nerves as I stood bareheaded, at one with the universe, and then slowly the waves grew in magnitude until every vein and artery was inundated with a mighty surge of joy.
A puff of wind blew a spray of blackberry bush across my cheek, scratching it with a thorn. I started and looked, to find that I had unknowingly come to the edge of the road.
At a turn a quarter of a mile further on I saw the hamlet. Five or six houses, a railway station, the superstructure of an iron bridge, and to one side a formidable building of brick, which I correctly surmised to be the distillery. Between me and the hamlet lay a stretch of cleared bottom land, fenced off into fields. I saw an expanse of wheat, green and full eared; another of oats, not so tall, and having a peculiar bluish shade. Other fields were simply bare, brown reaches of freshly turned earth, prepared for corn or tobacco.
Now to my ears came a sound which has been heard since the world was young; the musical ring of iron against iron; the song of the forge. Across the lowland it drifted to me, losing all harshness in its coming, and falling in pleasing cadences upon the air. I knew it was no uncertain hand which held the hammer, for the strokes were vigorous and in time, interrupted now and again by the drum-like roll as the hammer danced upon the anvil. I went forward leisurely, crossed a stream on a suspension foot-bridge of native manufacture, then up a slight rise till I stood in the broad doorway of the smithy. The worker, intent upon his task, had neither seen nor heard my approach. I stood and looked at him silently.
He was a young man, near my own age. He was quite as tall as myself, and maybe a trifle heavier. He wore a short brown beard. His flannel shirt was open at the neck for two or three buttons, revealing his thick throat and corded chest. His sleeves were rolled above his elbows, and his fore-arms were knotted and ridged with muscles. His face was rather heavy, and not intelligent. He was welding an iron tire, and I watched his deft manipulations admiringly. Certainly he was no bungler. After a while he thrust the cooling irons back into the fire, and as he grasped the handle of his bellows with one grimy hand, I spoke.
"Good morning, Buck Steele."
He wheeled with the quick movement you have seen a cat display when surprised, his brown eyes widening perceptibly. He knew me. I saw his mouth set, and the outer corners of his eyes contract. In that first long look which he gave me he did not say a word, neither did he move. I could not help thinking what a splendid looking fellow he was, his posture one of natural grace and dignity, at the same time feeling and recognizing the antagonism which radiated from his entire person. I met his gaze unflinchingly, and with a straightforward look. I could see his eyes traveling from my head to my feet, and knew that he was taking stock of me. Then his uncompromising stare settled on my face, and instantly a bitterly hostile expression gathered on his own. For a few moments we stood thus, then his big chest rose over a deep long breath, his mouth went tighter still, his smutty fingers closed on the handle of the bellows and began a downward pull, then he calmly turned his back upon me and resumed his work. My greeting had remained unanswered.
I turned away. I was sorry, but there was nothing I could do. To have forced myself upon his notice would have resulted in violence, I was sure, with probable disaster to myself. I went on past a house or two until I reached the store, a low, narrow building beside a railroad track. A man, bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves, sat on a cracker-box on the small porch, his back against the wall, his hands folded peacefully in his lap.
"Got any garden seed?" I asked, stopping in front of him.
He lazily raised his bleary, red-rimmed eyes, and regarded me stolidly. Absolute vacancy sat upon his countenance. He batted his lids, and stared at me, his lower lip slightly pendulous. His silence became so protracted that I smiled, and repeated my query. A sort of grunt came from him, presently followed by—
"Whut kind o' gyard'n seed?"
I named the varieties I wanted.
Again he grunted—a louder grunt than the first, because now he was preparing to get up. This he presently accomplished, and went into the store, sliding his feet along over the planks of the porch. In process of time I got my seed.
"What's up there?" I asked, as we came out together, pointing to a hill across the railroad up which the pike wound sinuously.
The storekeeper dropped upon the cracker-box and resumed the same position he had when I accosted him, before replying.
"Chu'ch 'n' pa's'nage; s'p'intend'nt's house. 'Stillery yonder; river under th' bridge."
Whereupon he immediately relapsed into his former inertia, and I forebore further questions.
I decided I would take a look at the river. Hebron lay beneath my gaze: small, ill-kept houses; small yards with some dismal attempts at floriculture; dirty children and work-worn women. These latter I glimpsed as I walked on to the railroad, at windows and on porches, staring apathetically at the stranger. I soon reached the bridge, which I found spanned a river of considerable size. It had a gravel bed, and its banks were heavily lined with trees. Its western sweep was particularly attractive from where I stood, and I at once determined upon a closer acquaintance, for the day was but begun, and there was no need for me to hasten home. After a brief search I found a path which conducted me to the side of the stream. The channel here was rather narrow and the water seemed deep, its flow being gentle and placid. Somewhat to my surprise, the path continued, running worm-like between the thick growth of willow and sycamore. I went forward, with no purpose whatsoever, merely yielding to an idling spirit, and the charm of an unfamiliar track through the woods by a river. I may have gone half a mile, never more than a dozen feet from the brink, when I espied a boat snugly beached, and tied to a scrubby oak whose roots were partly submerged. Why not take a ride? The thought was born instantaneously, and quickly took the shape of resolve. Here was a delightful diversion ready to my hand. I loved to pull an oar, and the gleaming, dark-green surface before me seemed to invite. I placed my bundle of seed on the ground, slipped off my coat and flung it across a limb, then laid hold of the painter. It was not locked, as I half feared it would be. The boat was a delicate, shapely affair, painted white, and I marveled that such a dainty craft should be moored here in the wilds about Hebron. The painter was loose, and one of my feet was in the boat as I prepared to shove off, when—
"I beg your pardon," I heard; "but may I have my boat a little while?"
I arose, holding the painter in my hand.
A young woman faced me. Low and slight, dressed in tan from her jaunty straw hat to her russet shoes; short walking skirt tailored to perfection; a laced bodice very low in the neck; a tin fish bucket in one hand. She had evidently taken me for one of the rustics in the neighborhood, for I could see that she was as much surprised as I. A glance sufficed to tell me her story. A jaded society woman, old andblaséat twenty, having nothing but a sniff for the world and all there was in it. She was pitifully young to wear those marks of experience upon her face. Her features were inclined to be peaked; her chin sharp, her blue eyes so weary, in spite of the momentary light which flashed up in them now. There were faint lines about her unstable mouth, and well defined crowsfeet at her eyes. She must have lived hard and furiously from her early teens to have acquired that indescribable expression which needs no interpreter. Whoever she was and whatever she was—and I was convinced she could boast the blood of gentle folks—she had seen some life in her score of years.
"I guess if there is any pardon to ask,—I should ask it," I replied, dragging my cap off as I spoke. "I didn't know it was yours. I'm a stranger. I was out walking, and ran up on the boat, and couldn't see any harm in using it for a half-hour. Shall—that is, may I assist you to get afloat?"
She had gotten rid of all tokens of surprise as I was speaking. Now, with the ready action of a woman of the world, she came forward and held out the bucket.
"You may stow that away.... I'm going to visit my lines."
"Lines?" I repeated, blankly.
"Trot lines," she explained, adjusting a pin in her hat when I was absolutely sure such a thing was unnecessary. "I set them yesterday afternoon."
"Oh! You're a fisherman!" I exclaimed. "Well, I hope you've had luck."
She stepped into the boat before I could offer assistance, got down and took the oars—then stopped. She appeared to be thinking. I stood ready to shove off at her word. Suddenly she looked up with a half smile.
"Would you like to go?"
I was not surprised. Poor little world-worn creature. How many men had she molded with that half smile! I answered without hesitation.
"Certainly!"
There could be no harm to either of us. It was unconventional, but conventionality is a terrible bugbear. She was lonely, I knew, and the echo from a civilized world which I would get in her company would be most welcome to me.
"Come on, then. Day before yesterday I caught a bass which almost wore me out before I could get him aboard. You see you could be of help on an occasion of that kind."
I offered to take the oars, but she declined, and subsequently displayed a degree of skill in rowing that surprised me. She took the middle of the stream and went with the sluggish current. From my position in the stern I faced her, and feeling that conversation was almost imperative, I said:
"Surely you don't live at Hebron?"
She smiled—a bright, winsome smile which somehow awakened a deeper pity in me. Her true nature seemed revealed in that expression. She was not wicked; not inherently bad, but was weak-willed, easily swayed, susceptible to association and environment. One who loved the smooth road of pleasure more than the stony highway of rectitude; one who had given gratis and unthinkingly the perfume of the fresh flower of her girlhood. Kind of heart, warm of sympathy, impulsive of temperament, irresponsible.
"Yes," she said, with a cheery nod; "I live at Hebron."
"But you don'tbelongthere?" I insisted.
She laughed in a high, not unmusical key, and suddenly dipping her oars, began to propel the boat swiftly through the water. Rowing shows a graceful girl off to advantage, and my companion was richly endowed in this particular. Her little russet shoes were firmly braced, the short skirt revealing a few inches of tapering, tan-stockinged legs; her brown hands gripped the oars firmly, and as she swayed forward and backward with the rhythmic strokes I was conscious of a feeling of admiration for her prowess. In a few moments we had rounded a bend, and here I saw a line stretched across the river, with smaller lines depending from it into the stream. The girl glanced back over her shoulder, dipped one oar and adroitly piloted the boat toward a certain hook, before she spoke.
"I belong up yonder—for the summer," she said.
I followed her short gesture, and discovered upon a hill to my right what I took to be a brick church, with a brick dwelling near it.
As I turned to make reply I saw that something was happening. The girl was doing her best to haul in one of the sunken lines, but the hidden force beneath the surface was combatting her strength fiercely. Before I could offer assistance she had loosed her hold, and instantly the line shot out and tightened, swaying this way and that, cutting the water silently.
"I believe I have a whale!" she declared, in big-eyed seriousness, shifting her position and kneeling before taking up her task afresh. "No, don't help me yet"—as I made a forward movement—"it's lots more fun to land one's own fish!"
She bent again to the vibrating line, while I held the boat steady and eagerly awaited developments.
"I'm from Kansas City," she flung over her shoulder all at once, "and I'm spending the summer with my uncle, the Rev. Jean Dupré—Father John, the villagers call him. I am Beryl Drane."
The catastrophe cannot be told in detail. It may have been partly my fault, for my guard was lax at the moment. Before I realized what had happened Miss Drane was gone and I was in the water clinging to the upturned boat. A sucking, gurgling whirlpool was moving down the stream, and the cable line had disappeared. For a moment a cold horror crept to my vitals and chilled me so that I could not move. Then my duty swept over me with a swift rush, and, letting go the boat, I dived desperately. Madly I swept my arms to left, right, everywhere, grasping blindly for the touch of flesh or clothing. Dimly I seemed to realize that I was in a measure responsible for the accident, and that I must find the lost girl. Back and forth I fought through the water savagely, my lungs hurting, my head throbbing. I could not give up. I had to find her. She was there, somewhere in that silent, treacherous element. Into my chaotic mind leaped the thought that perhaps she had risen to the surface. Instantly I ceased my efforts and rose. Dashing the streaming drops from my eyes and mouth I gulped in a deep breath, and glared around despairingly. Silence; solitude; a shining, disc-like spot where the reflection of the sun lay, and a dozen feet off the glistening bottom of the boat. That was all. A man's length to the south I saw some bubbles rise and burst. There can be no bubbles without air. Maybe—
Resurgent hope filled my breast as I plunged downward again, striking out with all my might. I grasped a sodden something. I opened my eyes. The water was clear and the sunlight filtered dimly through it. A confused shadowy shape confronted me. I could get no outlines. An instant later I touched a hand, and knew it was Beryl Drane. A conception of the truth came then. When the fish, or whatever it was, had dragged her overboard, she had become entangled in the lines, and the thing which had power to pull her from the boat likewise had power to hold her below the surface while it struggled to escape. I clasped her in my arms, gave a tug, and together we shot upward. I looked at her as we reached light and air. She was limp, and to all appearance perfectly lifeless. Her lips had a bluish tinge, and were parted the least bit. Her eyes were half closed; she did not breathe.
Filled with foreboding which trembled on the verge of certainty, I swam for the shore. The distance was short, and presently I was struggling up the slippery mud bank with the senseless form of the girl. My mind had been busy while I was swimming. Should I stop on shore and attempt resuscitation, or should I hurry on to the priest's house, just up the hill? I decided on the latter course as the most expedient, as the delay would be practically nothing, and proper restoratives could be had at the house. There probably was a road. Straight up the wooded slope I dashed. My exertions in the water had tired me, and now as I made my way through the dense undergrowth up the steep hill I was conscious of intense physical fatigue. But I pressed grimly on, with a dread in my heart which far outweighed any physical weakness.
At length I reached a rail fence. How I surmounted it with my burden, I do not know. Beyond the fence was a pasture lot with only a gentle incline, and across this I raced. Another fence, the back yard of the parsonage, wherein squalling chickens fled precipitately as I tore by, around the house to the front porch, where sat a little old man in a swinging chair, clad in a priest's robe. I knew it was Father John. He was quietly reading, and smoking a meerschaum pipe with a stem as long as my arm, but the sound of my feet aroused him, and he raised his head.
"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, jumping up, dropping his book, but holding to his pipe, which he waved wildly. "In ze name of heaven, m'sieu! What was it zat has happen?"
The front door stood open, and I rushed into the house without replying. A couch was in the hall, and on this I laid the form of the girl. Father John, his wrinkled face stamped with terror and anguish, was beside me in an instant.
"Madonna! Jesu!" he wailed. "My blessed Bereel!"
I began the treatment for the drowned, explaining hurriedly how the accident had occurred.
"Call your housekeeper!" I added. "Her clothes must be loosened. Quick! If no doctor is near there is no use sending. I know what should be done. Bring brandy, or whiskey—hurry!"
Father John ran from the hall crying at every step:
"Marie! Marie! Marie!"
His tremulous voice receded in the rear.
I unfastened the girl's belt, tore open her clothing at the waist, and as I worked feverishly, was conscious of a gaunt, austere woman of fifty-five or sixty suddenly falling on her knees at my side, and unhooking the tight corset which my rude haste had exposed. Thereafter we worked together, in silence, moving the arms up and down and striving for artificial respiration. Father John hovered just out of reach, an uncorked flask in one shaking hand; the long stemmed pipe, which he had never abandoned, in the other. In the stark silence which accompanied our efforts I could hear him whispering incoherent but fervent prayers in his native tongue.
Closely I watched the pallid face—the poor, peaked face which had looked upon so much that a woman ought not to know exists—but no signal flare came to the waxen cheeks. I took the flask and carefully poured some brandy between the parted lips—poor lips, which I knew had taken kisses not given by love. The fiery liquid trickled down her throat, but there was no movement, no attempt to swallow. I gave more, for this was the sovereign test for life. There came a rigor, so slight that I was not altogether sure of it. More brandy. A shiver passed over the limp form; a choking, gasping sound issued from her throat, followed by a moan of pain. I stood erect, looking down at her intently. Almost imperceptibly the faintest glow showed in the marble pallor of her skin. She was reviving. The danger was past. The gaunt woman crouched at my feet looked up at me mutely, interrogatively.
"Continue to rub her hands and feet," I said. "Keep all her clothing loose. Give her very small quantities of liquor from time to time. She had better not see me immediately on awaking."
Then I took the priest by the hand and silently led him out on the porch. A wooden settee was placed against the railing at one end. I conducted him here, and we sat down. My clothes were still wet, but I gave this no thought.
I proceeded first to assure Father John that his niece was practically out of danger, then recounted everything in detail pertaining to the accident in the river. He listened in eager silence, his expression still one of amazement and distress. I looked at him as I talked. He was a very small man. His skin was yellowish brown, like parchment. His brows projected; his eyes were black and keen; his nose was straight and thin, but quite large. His chin protruded into rather a sharp point, and his mouth was the most sensitive I have ever seen on a man. His lips were beautifully bowed, and had retained their color. They were never in perfect repose, but were constantly beset by what I am tempted to describe as "invisible" twitchings. As I spoke on, he gradually became calmer, after a while relighting his pipe. This seemed to act magically upon him, for soon after he began to smoke the wild expression vanished from his face.
"So you are ze stranger on ze Bal' Knob?" he queried, when I had finished my recital.
"Yes; I am out after health."
"Health?" he repeated, sweeping his keen eyes over my stalwart form in open astonishment.
"I don't appear to be an invalid, I'll admit," I hastened to add. "But something started up in here"—I touched my chest—"and the doctor sent me to the woods."
"Ah! Ze—ze—ze lungs.... You never struck me to have ze consumption. You are ze stron' man."
"It was just a beginning—a fear, rather than an actuality. I have been there a month, and I am already much better."
The housekeeper appeared in the doorway.
"Miss Bereel ees awake, and has asked for you both," she said.
When we again stood beside the couch, the girl made an effort to take my hand, but was too weak. Seeing her purpose, I grasped hers instead.
"Thank you," she said, in a thin, ghostly little voice. "It was not his fault, uncle; he saved me. Come to see me sometime, and we'll go—rowing again!"
She tried to smile, but was too exhausted.
"I shall certainly come to inquire about you," I replied, gently laying her hand down. "I fear I was somewhat to blame, and I hope you will be all right very soon."
She looked at me with a wan light of gratitude in her eyes, and a few moments later I was bidding Father John adieu on the porch step.
"Come again, m'sieu," he said, squeezing my hand warmly. "You shall have ze welcome!"
I thanked him, again expressed my hope and belief that his niece would be quite all right in a day or two, and struck out for Hebron.
It is one o'clock in the morning—and I have been going to bed at nine!
You will wonder what has happened to so outrageously disturb the rigorous routine governing my night hours, and I shall tell you, for that is the purpose of this chronicle.
It is now three days since I went to Hebron. After leaving the priest's house I came on down the hill, trudged back to the river to get my coat and garden seed, then turned homeward. The sun was hot by this time, my clothes quickly dried on me, and I have felt no bad effects since. Another sign, it seems to me, of my increasing physical sturdiness. These three days have passed without sight or sound of a soul. I have pottered about my yard, mowing down the insistent heterogeneous growth which daily now threatens to take me; clearing a broad space about my precious well—whose water, by the way, is sparkling, clear and cold—and this morning spading in my garden for two hours or more.
I cannot explain that which follows, but a little before nine, as I was preparing to light my bedtime pipe and sit down for a chuckle with that old pagan monk, Rabelais, I felt the call to go up. As I said, I can offer no explanation. But all of us have been subject, many times in our lives, to sudden, inexplicable yearnings; silent longings as powerful and real as though a voice had spoken them. There is no need to specialize. You, if you have a spark of temperament, will understand, because you will have experienced something of the sort. You have felt that mysterious tugging toward a certain thing, when there was nothing on earth to incite it. What was it? I felt it to-night as I held my pipe in one hand and a lighted match in the other; felt it growing and expanding until it became a fierce desire. I tossed my half-burned match among the logs in the fireplace, put my filled pipe in my pocket, and with something akin to awe sobering my face, drew my cap on my head and walked softly outdoors.
It was a perfect moonless May night. I had never seen the stars brighter or nearer. I felt that by tiptoeing I might almost reach them. And their number amazed me. The sky was looking down at me with a million eyes, and each eye was a voice which said "Come up! Come up!" I went, not stopping to question, analyze, or combat. Something irresistible urged me to surmount the peak, and I bent to the climb. As I came out of the Stygian gloom of the belt of evergreens I knew that some subtle change had taken place. The atmosphere had a different feel; a different smell. There was no wind, but when I swept my gaze around I saw many horizon clouds; jagged, mountainous looking outlines, with floating fragments everywhere. Some of the cloud fragments would touch and merge even as I watched them. I did not know the significance, if there was any. I turned to the slope again. Before the last steep stretch I halted the second time. Far as I could see the perspective was bounded by a black, towering wall, which seemed to grow taller every moment. This wall was topped by fantastic turrets and towers which swayed, lengthened, expanded, or disappeared at will. Still there was no wind, even at the great height to which I had already come. The day had been suffering hot, and the perspiration was streaming from me. I breathed softly, and listened. No sound but the monotonous call of the night insects, except from a point far below, like the muffled cry of a lost soul pleading for grace, the ineffably sad tones of a whip-poor-will pulsed dimly through the dark. I turned my face upward. The calm stars still called, and I answered.
Presently I could go no further. I stood on the apex of my high hill, a jubilation of spirit making my breast to heave in deeper breaths than my exertion had caused. Then, ere I knew what I was about I had flung my arms out and up, toward the vast deeps from which had come the still summons I had felt in the quiet peace of the Lodge. I felt unreal; I was trembling. I knew not what impended, but the air was charged with an electrical tenseness, and the pall of utter silence which hung over the world was pregnant with import. My arms dropped, and a sweet calm stole over me. Slowly I turned my gaze in every direction. That mammoth wall of blackness encircled the earth in an unbroken line, and was now quickly mounting to the zenith. How grand the sight! I bared my head before the majesty of it. How like battlements and ramparts the grim expanses appeared, crowned with their changing towers! And to make the comparison still more true, I now saw the flash of cannon through the jagged embrasures, and caught the distant thunder of their detonations. Quickly the conflict grew. North, south, east and west, and all between, the batteries of the sky unveiled. Not loud, as yet, but perpetual, and furious in the very absence of thunderous sound. There were constant growlings and incessant flashings, as back and forth over the aerial battleground the challenges were sent and answered. Now, a girdle of glory, the lightning zoned the middle sky, and ever upward, as though propelled by forces set in the earth beneath, the walls arose, blotting out stars by the thousands, and steadily converging toward a common meeting point directly overhead. Then, for the first time, I knew that the Harpist of the Wood had awakened.
The unnatural stillness was disturbed by motion which became a breath of music. I leaned forward involuntarily, my lips apart, my hands out-thrust from me in the attitude one unconsciously assumes when listening intently. From the thick darkness hundreds of feet below I caught the first faint pianissimo notes from a million strings, all attuned by the unerring touch of Nature. In gentle waftures of sound the vast prelude arose, filling my soul with an eerie delight, and causing me to draw a deep, shuddering breath. Then I crept to the rim of the peak and sat down, both humbled and exalted. Faintly now I sensed the reason of that imperious call to come up. Each succeeding measure struck by the invisible Harpist became louder, sweeter, and more stupendous. It seemed as if all creation was one mighty instrument, and a myriad-fingered master was sweeping the throbbing strings. The clouds were now a canopy without a rent. From a dozen points at once the lightning flashed and staggered and reeled in dazzling splendor across the sable field. There were no terrific thunder crashes. But, like the pedal bass of a pipe organ, there was the ever present subdued reverberation like far-off guns fired in unison. Then the strength and skill of the Harpist increased simultaneously, and waves of barbaric melody rushed upward. There was shriek and groan; there were living voices awfully mingled in one wild chorus, and in brief lulls trembling tones as sweet as a mother's good-night song to her babe. Flute-like and full of delicate color a cadenza breathing of sylvan joys rippled forth, and as its last bubbling notes yet fluttered like apple-blossoms of sound against my ravished ears, they were drowned and whelmed by a crashing diapason of majestic harmony which rushed on wide wings over leagues and leagues of forest; a thundering gamut fearfully blended into an oratorio inexpressibly sublime! Wild and shrill came a fife-like call from the west, whistling out of the gloom in a quivering cadence of victorious escape. Then it was blended with a multitudinous legion of loosened chords, and dashed over me as a surging, resplendent sea of mind-numbing melody.
So the oratorio advanced, and I sat enthralled.
The lightning increased. Not for the space of a single breath was darkness absolute. In the vivid flashes I could see the bending tree-tops far below, and the tossing, swaying, writhing branches. And ever in my ears was the awful roll of that supernatural music; so full, so deep, so filling all the universe with its changing rhythm! There was something of the ocean's voice in it all, when the wind whips it to fury. I sat dazed, imperfectly comprehending what was passing, but aware all the time of a physical sensation of exquisite pleasure. Music had always wrought upon me thus, but before the presence of this new and strange manifestation my sensibilities were quickened twentyfold. I did not know till later that I was on the peak three hours. I would have said it was only a few minutes.
When all was over, and the strings of the Harp were still again, or vibrating only as an echo, I got on my feet, dizzy and weak. All was dark. The lightning, too, had ceased. But as I turned my eyes upward, a rent showed in the cloud canopy, and through this a blood-red meteor fell burning toward the earth. So I knew that the Maestro was pleased with the performance, and from the blooming fields above had cast down a flower in token of His favor.
Now that has come to pass of which I had a premonition the first time I sat on the top of old Baldy and hugged my knees. In consequence thereof I write to-night with my left wrist rudely bandaged, from a hurt I took this morning. The day has been full of adventure and surprise, and I find it difficult to harness my leaping brain as I start about my record of events. Truly I have encountered enough to set my mind buzzing, and two long, full pipes since supper have failed to tranquilize and soothe. But the happenings of the day must be transcribed before I go to bed.
I went to the post-office soon after breakfast, to see if a reply had come from 'Crombie. A package and a letter awaited me. The thought came to me to run on up the hill and inquire about Beryl Drane, but I didn't. I can't say why I didn't. But I merely asked the sloth-like storekeeper about her instead, and learned from him that she was "putty peart," and was up and about the house. When I passed the blacksmith shop I saw the door was open, but there was no one within. I started to ask the storekeeper where Buck was, but refrained on second thought, and betook myself up the railroad instead, intending to reach home by a circuitous route. By this time I was fairly familiar with the lay of the country, and I had a natural longing for exploration anyway. Then, too, deep in the bottom of my mind, I had laid a plan to come down the huge spur back of Lessie's house, and surprise her with a short visit.
I followed the railroad for perhaps a mile, made some calculations as to distance and location, then descended into a heavily wooded ravine and continued my way in a northeasterly course. I had never been in this part of the knobs before, and I found the country more rugged, if possible, than that to which I was accustomed. As I proceeded, I closely scanned the ground before me and on either side as far as my eyes would go. I had scant hope of finding the life-plant here, because one of its requisites was sunshine, and the shade was so dense that I walked in a sort of cool, green gloom, wonderfully attractive to the senses. Now and again a sun-shaft would come trembling and swaying down, brightening the brown forest floor with shining, shaking spots of pale yellow. But no green stemmed plant with golden leaves rose up from the mold to confront me. I have begun to think my quest is almost as elusive as that for the Holy Grail, but, like Sir Launfal, I shall persevere.
I became engrossed in the natural beauty of the hollow I was traversing, and forgot my secret determination to go by Granny's house. After a time the ravine opened and broadened into a little amphitheater, grass-set, jungle-like in its wildness. But few tall trees were here. Dozens of smaller ones grew on every side, and many of these were covered with the odorous green mantle of the wild grapevine. The birds had likewise sought out this spot, and the air was musical with chirp, and twitter, and song. I stopped to regale myself with Nature's prodigal loveliness, and as I drew a deep breath of satisfaction and appreciation I heard something which had come to my ears once before. A long-drawn bird note, shrill but sweet, and ending with a quick upward inflection. I started guiltily, and knew that my whole body was a-tingle. Then I stared about, trying to locate the sound. Again I heard it, and again I thrilled. Straight ahead, beyond that bosky wall of herbage. Eagerly I started forward, my pulse bounding. I reached the screening leaves and thrust out one hand to make a way, but a vagrant gust of wind at that moment formed a lane for my eyes, and the next instant I was staggering back, choking, muttering crazily, my face afire, my chest tight as though bound by constricting bands of steel. God above! Suppose I had crashed through, as I would have done a second later! With gritted teeth and set eyes I tiptoed away—away—anywhere, so that spot was left to Nature and to her!
She was there, bathing in a sheltered pool in the secluded heart of the everlasting hills. My one swift glance had showed me the Dryad in her haunts. The curling mass of her copper-gold hair she had piled regardlessly on top of her small, shapely head; she was almost entirely immersed; her back was toward me, and I saw only her head with its bewildering crown, one ivory shoulder upthrust from the water, gleaming like wet marble in the sunlight, and a naked, outheld arm whereon sat the tiny bird she had summoned. Small cause for wonder that I reeled, grew dizzy with the hard-pumped, hot blood which deluged my brain, and crept like a thief from that hidden pool—crept crouching, with rigid face and bated breath. Dear Christ! How thankful I was that the protecting water had covered her! Had it been otherwise; had my unwilling gaze dwelt upon her revealed beauty from head to foot, I think I could have taken my own life from shame. Certain it is I never again could have looked into those honest Irish gray eyes. It was what might have been, rather than what was, which planted the volcano in my breast, and sent me trembling and quaking through the bird-sung silence of that secret, sacred glen. As I went, I heard a bubbling laugh, and the tinkle of falling water drops.
Now I was speedily destined to another shock, almost as great. How far I had gone I cannot say, but all at once I knew that I was looking down upon a plant about a foot in height, with green stem and yellow leaves. I halted as though turned to stone, but I did not think. I couldn't think. My mind refused its office, and in the face of what I took to be a momentous discovery, stood still. Almost simultaneously with my finding this significant growth the third shock came, as important in its way as either of the other two, and far more ominous.
"Whut 'n' hell yo' doin' prowlin' 'roun' here?"
The voice was harsh and deep; indignation and rage ran through it.
The savage tones brought me to myself; they acted on my senses as a battery might on my flesh. I stood erect and threw my head up. The smith was not a dozen steps away. Where he had come from, how he had got there, and why he was there I could not guess. He was dressed as I had seen him at the forge on the occasion of my first visit to Hebron; plainly he had not come courting in that garb. One hand held a large club, in a position almost of menace. I brought a serious, determined expression to my face, and looked him squarely in the eyes. In that moment as we stood in silence, a darkness spread over the glen, and a cool breath as from a summer storm cloud blew upon us; I saw it lift and drop the brown hair on the forehead of the man facing me. He had me at a disadvantage. He had doubtless seen me coming from the direction of the pool, and weaker circumstantial evidence than this has condemned many a man. If he supposed for a moment that I had been spying upon the privacy of the girl he loved—and that this idea was in full possession of his mind I did not doubt—then mischief was brewing, and from his standpoint, justly so. Had our positions been reversed, had I seen him skulking away from that fringe of greenery, I doubt if I would have given him the chance he offered me. All this raced swiftly through my brain in that short period following his hard question, and though my first feeling, a very human one, was of cold and haughty resentment, I quelled this immediately as both dangerous and unjust, and decided to speak him fairly and honestly. So I said:
"I might ask the same of you, Buck Steele."
I purposely pitched my voice low. Not that I feared she would hear it, for I realized the pool must be out of earshot from where we stood, but there is a certain low tone which permits of modulation and inflection carrying greater convincing power than when spoken in a higher key. I paused only long enough to take breath after my first sentence, then resumed.
"It's none of your business what I am doing here, but I am going to tell you, because, in a way, you have a right to know."
There flashed upon me the thought that I must play for time. If Lessie had not left the pool she would leave soon, for a storm impended. In what direction she would go to reach home I had no notion. She might come straight down the glen where we were. In any event, if blows were to be struck, and in my heart I believed they would come before we parted, it would be better if the girl was not in the neighborhood. This train of reasoning came and passed without interrupting my flow of speech.
"It's not my fault we're not friends. I came to these knobs a total stranger, intending to treat everybody right. But when I spoke to you in Hebron, you turned your back on me. Why did you do that? I know why, and in a measure I forgive it. But it was not a manly thing to do. I'm going to talk plainly to you, Buck. I'm glad of this chance to have it out right here in the woods. But before we go any further tell me this—what's that thing?"
I pointed at the plant before me.
My audacity stupefied him. He blinked at me with scowling forehead—at me and at the plant—probably deeming me crazy.
"I mean it," I insisted; "I'm not fooling with you. Tell me what that thing is, if you know, and then I'll tell you what I'm doing out here in the wilderness."
"That's a May apple," he said, suddenly and reluctantly.
"May apple!" I gasped, my high hopes shattered and gone. "I didn't know; I'm obliged to you."
Then I told him the object of my stay in the hills, not sparing words to prolong my story, and ended by asking him if he had ever seen the life-plant, ever heard of it, or ever heard of anybody that had heard of it. He shook his head to each question, then said, emphatically:
"They ain't no sich thing!"
I knew that the Dryad was safe and away by this time, so now I came back to the topic of the moment. Indeed, the smith had listened to my speech with ever increasing restlessness. I think he suspected I was trying to delay my explanation, but I doubt if he guessed the true reason for it.
"You asked me at the beginning what I was doing here, and I'm going to tell you, and tell you thetruth; mind you that—thetruth. I've never told a lie since I was old enough to know how base a thing it was." I took two steps toward him. "You suspect me, Buck Steele, of the lowest, most contemptible, hell-born, dastardly trick one who calls himself a man could commit. I'm not going to put it into words, because it's too damnably vile!"
The smith began to move forward as I spoke; short, hurried steps, like one takes when about to spring. But whatever his impulse he checked himself, and waited, his broad chest heaving in troubled breaths, his face contorted, his eyes veined and bulging. I knew that I fronted a deadly peril. I knew the man was surely insane that moment; that reason, argument or logic could find no place in his perceptions. He had grasped the idea that I had knowingly and willingly violated the sanctity of this secret place, and nothing that I could say would sweep that illusion from his disordered brain. He saw red. The blood-lust was on him in all its primal force; in every lineament of his twisted countenance was written the word—"kill."
A strong gust of wind tore down the glen, shuddering among the murmuring leaves, and with its coming the gloom deepened. The shape before me assumed a more formidable aspect in the lessened light, but I felt no fear. I thought of my revolver—and was ashamed. Still it might serve a purpose. It might help bring this madman to his senses. I drew it quickly from my pocket, and holding it out in the palm of my hand, said:
"I could kill you, man; I could shoot you down, and no one would ever guess I did it. You're bent on trouble; you're prepared not to believe anything I say. But for this revolver I am unarmed. I am not going to take an unfair advantage of you. See?" I broke the weapon, emptied its chambers, then put the cartridges and revolver in separate pockets.
The act had no apparent effect. It may be the look of ferocity deepened; certainly there was no recognition of my attempt to place our relations upon an equal basis. Now I knew that nothing short of physical violence would bring about a reaction to sanity, and for an instant I hesitated. The temptation to evade the whole truth assailed me wickedly. Something within told me that I could not cope with this giant in a personal encounter; that death or disablement awaited the revelation I was contemplating. The something which gave this warning also suggested the remedy—the lie whereby I might pass Buck Steele with a whole skin and an outraged conscience. I believe I wavered. I believe that for the shortest time I came near to yielding, then my manhood asserted itself in a swift rush, before Buck's words stung my blood hot.
"Go on, yo' damn sneak'n' fox!—Whur'd yo' ben w'en I seen yo'?—Whur?—Whur?"
I stripped off my coat as I answered, for I knew there was work ahead. And Buck laughed as I cast the garment aside; a hoarse, growling laugh in which dwelt no note of mirth. It was simply an indication that he was pleased with the meaning of the act; that the pagan desire to give and take blows which possessed him would be satisfied.
"I'm going to tell you. I went to Hebron this morning, and started home by the railroad. I don't know this country as well as you, and as I was making my way back toward Lessie's house—for I wanted to have a word with her—I stumbled into this place."
A malevolent grin of disbelief greeted this speech. The fellow's insolence nettled me, but I went on.
"I heard a bird-call which I knew—which I had heard her give before. I went to look for her. I came to the line of bushes which fringe the pool; I was preparing to pass through them in my search for her, when the wind blew the leaves aside and I saw——"
With a roar like a wounded bull he was on me. He had been holding himself back for this confession. Too late I realized that I had blundered. I might have approached the denouement more circumspectly; I might have prepared him for things as they actually had been, instead of allowing him, by my extreme candor, to suppose that matters were worse than they really were. He swung his club as he rushed, and it hissed above me. I crouched and leaped aside, striking up blindly with all my might. I had flung my left arm out to balance myself, and the descending club caught my wrist a slanting blow. I am sure now it scarcely more than touched it, but an arrow of acute pain shot through my entire arm. The bludgeon hit the earth with a force which splintered it into a dozen pieces, and Buck wheeled more than half around, for my fist had found his ribs. Even as he turned with a harsh, bellowing, wordless oath, I was at him. I thrust deliberately, coolly, but with all my concentrated power, aiming over his shoulder at his neck. He saw the stroke coming, but, in the attitude where my former blow had forced him he could parry but ineffectually. His shoulder went up, off and over it my fist slid and with all the weight of my body behind it caught him on the ear. Then back he staggered, his windmill arms waving hugely, aimlessly, his knees wobbling, his feet slithering uncertainly over the short grass. Back and back he went, seeming to try to stop, but couldn't, till fifteen paces must have separated us. I did not follow him, though I suppose I should have done so. I think I was a trifle dazed at my success, and the spectacle of the great body of the smith moving crazily backward with wide arms threshing the air over his head, must have unconsciously served as a check for any further assault.
When nearly a score of yards lay between us Buck came to himself. His arms dropped, he shook his shoulders, felt his damaged ear, now covered with blood,—and saw me. Instantly he made ready to rush me. He possessed to the full that instinct held by all fighting animals which does not allow them to give up. As long as he could stand on his feet he would do battle. I squared myself and awaited his onslaught. My temporary advantage had not deceived me. I knew too well that chance had a hand in the operations just concluded, and that if I ultimately succeeded in whipping Buck Steele it would be a miraculous happening. I saw him bend his body to advance, then earth and sky and air became blended in one burning, blinding, deafening, fiery chaos. My eardrums vibrated under a volume of sound such as I would not have deemed possible; a white sword of dazzling brightness was laid across my eyes, searing the balls and scattering a myriad colored sparks dancing and ricocheting through my brain. Vaguely I seemed to see an oak tree back of Buck slough its bark as a snake does its skin—shake it out and away from its white trunk; saw it rip off its own limbs and cast them down; saw it take its leaves by vast bunches, strip them from their hold, and scatter them abroad like feathers. Accompanying this phenomenon I saw my enemy sink down in his tracks. It all happened within the fractional part of a second, for on the heels of the crash and the awful light, a great blackness and silence settled over me.
I awoke with a quivering, indrawn breath, and knew that the little fists of a heavy rain were pounding me in the face. Slowly my mind grasped the situation. Struggling to my hands and knees, my arms trembling under my weight, I looked at Buck. He lay perfectly still. He had been much nearer the tree which had received the bolt than I, and the fear that he was dead took hold of me. Painfully I dragged myself toward him over the wet grass, my head buzzing and swimming, and throbbing with queer, unnatural pains. I reached his side and grasped his wrist, sliding the tips of my fingers back of the small bone where the pulse manifests itself. I held my breath in fear, at once conscious of no perceptible movement. A few moments longer I waited, but the signal of life failed to come. Then I firmly seized the shirt where it opened at the neck, and ripped off the remaining buttons with a quick jerk. A big, deep chest, covered with black hair, was revealed. I know a moan came from me as I drew my body over his, and fell across him with my ear pressed to his heart. As I lay the pounding rain revived me more and more, the thrumming in my head ceased, and then, muffled, weak, but real, I heard the feeble beating of the engine of life. There was nothing I could do for him, but I sat there and waited his return to consciousness, knowing that it would be wrong to leave him absolutely helpless. My strength came back momentarily, and when Buck began to stir I was capable of standing erect. So presently I went away, realizing that his iron constitution would quickly right him.
I did not have the heart to get dinner, but ate what cold stuff I could find, then went to the seat under the tall pine, and thought. I was not scared. Fright did not enter into my feelings in the smallest way, although, when I reviewed the incident, I was confident Buck would have worsted me had it not been for the unexpected and startling intervention. He was unquestionably the stronger man, and had I defeated him, it would have been due to my skill in fisticuffs. I was not a stranger to the science of the ring, while abhorring prize-fighting. I believe it every man's duty to himself and those he loves to equip himself physically for life's battles. So I had trained, and kept myself in training. But the smith had been transformed into a raging demon of a man; his great natural power had been doubled, quadrupled, and had his clutching hands once found me I would have fared as Carver Doone fared at the hands of John Ridd.
I was sick at heart because of what these things which had just transpired foretold. Would Buck voice his hellish belief in my poltroonery to Lessie? A shiver shook me at the thought; it seemed as if a thousand-legged worm with feet of ice was laid along my spine. Then my neck and face burned, and my throat grew tight, so that my breath came hard. What ailed me? Never before had such a sensation possessed me. Why did it matter so very greatly what Buck told? I knew that I was entirely innocent of any wrong—what else mattered? I know the good opinion of our fellow creatures is worth striving for and maintaining, but why should I be so concerned as to what these hill people thought of me? A few months more and I would be gone, would never see them again in all my life. Why—then suddenly, in the midst of my reflections the Dryad's face swam before my mind, and I saw it as it would look when Buck, crudely but earnestly, told her what he believed to be true. I saw the expression on her face when she heard the hateful words; the swift, responsive blood bathing her cheeks into red peonies—the terror and shame in her eyes—the anguish of betrayed faith—and in that moment I knew that I cared more for what Buck should say to Lessie than for anything else in all the world. I got up, breathing fast, and looked out over the great valley of billowing trees. In former days this sight had a magical effect; it brought a sweet calm and content. This afternoon I did not feel the response to which I was accustomed. Instead, I knew that war was in my breast, and that every passing moment loosened a lurking devil with a shape of fear. Peace cannot come from without when there is strife within. Had Buck already told her? I found myself wondering. Had he gone direct to her after he recovered, and poured out the poisoned tale? He would do it, I felt assured. His passion had reached a stage which not only suggested, but declared this course, and he, rough, untrained, with no restraining leash of civilization and refinement to hold him back, would make instant capital of his supposed discovery to further his wooing. If I could see her first—
Down my hill of refuge I tore, bareheaded, coatless. Along the familiar route I ran, to Dyrad's Glade, to the creek which flowed south, to the tree spanning the creek. Midway across the tree sat the object of my quest, fishing. A pool of some depth spread out beneath her, and here her hook was cast. Her rod was a slender hickory pole, while a rusty tin can at her side held her bait—the fishing-worms of our boyhood. As I appeared she drew up and at once became engaged in impaling a fat bait on the hook. With the greatest nonchalance she drew the wriggling thing over the barb, and sighted me just as the operation was concluded. She smiled, and the relief wave which swept over me threatened to inundate me root and branch. By this I knew I had reached her first. Then, as I climbed eagerly up, she deliberately pursed her lips and spat on that worm!
"Hello!" she said, and cast her line.
I did not say hello, nor anything else for a time—for an appreciable time. I felt foolish; light-headed, light-footed, light all over. Something inside my breast seemed spreading and spreading, and I wanted to sing—to shout insanely. This most candid confession will probably arouse grave suspicions in the mind of the reader, but that is so much in favor of a narrative which always sticks closely to the truth. Had I intended to practice any deception, just here is where I would have begun, for I realize, after writing the above, that I am laying myself liable to almost any charge one would care to bring along the line of general idiocy. Just why the ordinary sight of a girl on a log fishing—a back country girl at that—should make a man of the world who has long since left the adolescent stage behind feel like singing and dancing and yelling, is beyond my ability to explain. Let him who reads draw his own conclusions.
"You did that for luck, didn't you?" I asked, when I was seated tailor fashion beside her. It had been a boyhood belief of mine; I had simply outgrown it. She was still primitive.
She nodded, and put a finger on her lips, turning to me wide eyes of warning. She evidently harbored the other belief that fish won't bite if you talk. I turned to her cork—an old bottle stopper—and saw that it was bobbing; short little ducks sideways which suggested a minnow to me. But the Dryad was all engrossed with the prospects, and watched the stopper's movements intently. Presently it went under in a slanting sweep, and the pole came up promptly and vigorously. A sun perch the size of a small leaf glinted and leaped at the end of the line. Dexterously the girl swung her prize within reach, skilfully removed the hook from its hold in a gill, and dropped her catch in a tin milk bucket at her other side.
"I tol' you!" she said, triumphantly, referring to her treatment of the worm before committing it to the stream.
At once her tapering fingers began burrowing in the dirt which half filled the can, in search of more bait.
"Hold on, Dryad!" I whispered. "Let up on fishing a few minutes, unless you'll allow me to talk, too. I've something to tell you. Don't you know it seems an age since I saw you last?"
"I tol' you not to come no more," she said, eyeing me closely to see the effect of her words.
"But you didn't believe I would stay away!" I retorted, and her face instantly lighted with laughter. "You rogue!" I went on; "I have stayed longer than I should as it is."
One of the quick transitions which marked her now took place, and in a twinkling she was serious, and her eyes grew darker, as still water changes when a cloud hides the sun.
"If Buck sees you here there'll be trouble; you'd better 'a' kep' to Baldy."
"Buck saw me to-day, and there was trouble," I answered. "Now let me tell you all about it."
How frightened she was, although I endeavored to speak in a matter-of-fact way. She regarded me as though she found it difficult to believe that I really existed after "trouble" with Buck, and her face turned white, leaving her freckles oddly prominent. Her pole dipped, too, so that its further end went under the water. So she sat, her hands in her lap, her feet with the ugly, shapeless little shoes swinging, and listened to my story. I told it with absolute truthfulness, but very carefully, even condoning Buck's jealous frenzy. She remained very still while I was talking, but when I came to the place where I had inadvertently glimpsed her in the pool she dropped her head with a short, shuddering gasp, and grew crimson. I, too, looked away then, and tried to tell her how sorry I was of the incident, at the same time endeavoring to make it plain that I was the victim of an accident. I did not dwell upon the situation, but soon hurried on to my encounter with the smith.
"I wanted you to hear just how it was," I ended; "because Buck will tell you another story. You believe me, don't you, Dryad; and we are good friends still, aren't we?"