Dan sighed and stretched out to rest until the dinner hour arrived.
Julie and Gerald joined them, jubilantly declaring that they were to reach their destination the next morning before sun-up.
“Then we must all retire early,” Dan said. This plan was carried out, but for hours Jane sobbed softly into her pillow. It was almost more than she could bear. She had started this journey just on an impulse, and shedidwant to help Dan, who had broken down trying to work his way through college that there might be money enough to keep her at Highacres. It was their father who had been inconsiderate of them. If he had let the poor people lose the money they had invested rather than give up all he had himself, she, Jane, could have remained at the fashionable seminary and Dan would have been well and strong.
Indeed everything would have been far better.
But the small voice in the girl’s soul which now and then succeeded in making itself heard caused Jane to acknowledge: “Of course Dad is so conscientious, he would never have been happy if he believed that his money really belonged to the poor people who had trusted him.”
It was midnight before Jane fell asleep, and it seemed almost no time at all before she heard a tapping on her door. She sat up and looked out of the window. Although the sky was lightening, the stars were still shining with a wonderful brilliancy in the bit of sky that she could see. Then a voice, which she recognized as that of Mr. Packard, spoke.
“Time to get up, young friends. We’ll be at Redfords in half an hour.”
Gerald leaped to his feet when he heard the summons. Then, when he grasped the fact that they were nearly at their destination, he gave a whoop of joy.
“Hurry up, Julie,” he shook his still sleeping young sister. “We are ’most to Mystery Mountain, and, Oh, boy, what jolly fun we’re going to have.”
Half an hour later, Mr. Packard and the young Abbotts stood on a platform watching the departing train. Then they turned to gaze about them. It surely was a desolate scene. The low log depot was the only building in sight, and, closing in about them on every side were silent, dark, fir-clad mountains that looked bold and stern in the chill gray light of early dawn. Jane shuddered. How tragically far away from civilization, from the gay life she so enjoyed—all this seemed.
The station master, a native grown too old for more active duty, shuffled toward them, chewing tobacco in a manner that made his long gray beard move sideways. His near-sighted eyes peered through his brass-rimmed spectacles, but, when he recognized one of the new arrivals, he grinned broadly. In a high, cracked voice he exclaimed: “Wall, if ’tain’t Silas Packard home again from the East. Glad to git back to God’s country, ain’t you now, Si? Brought a parcel of young folks along this trip? Wall, I don’t wonder at it. Your big place is sort o’ lonesome wi’ no wimmin folks into it. What? You don’ mean to tell me these here are Dan Abbott’s kids! Wall, wall. How-de-do? Did I know yer pa? Did I know Danny Abbott? I reckon I was the furst man in these here parts that did know him. He come to my camp, nigh to the top of Redfords’ Peak, the week he landed here from college.” The old man took off his bearskin cap and scratched his head. “Nigh onto twenty-five year, I make it. Yep, that’s jest what ’twas. That’s the year we struck the payin’ streak over t’other side of the mountain, and folks flocked in here thicker’n buzzards arter a dead sheep. Yep, that’s the year the Crazy Creek Camp sprung up, and that’s how yer pa come to buy where he did.”
Then, encouraged by the interest exhibited by at least three of the young people, the old man continued:
“The payin’ streak, where the camp was built, headed straight that way, and I sez to him, sez I—‘Dan Abbott,’ sez I, ‘If I was you I’d use the money I’d fetched to get aholt of that 160 acres afore it’s nabbed by these rich folks that’s tryin’ to grab all the mines,’ sez I. ‘That’s what I’d do.’ And so Dan tuk it, but as luck would have it, that vein petered out to nothin’ an’ I allays felt mighty mean, havin’ Dan stuck that way wi’ so much land an’ no gold on it, but he sez to me, ‘Gabby,’ that’s my name; ‘Gabby,’ sez he, ‘don’ go to feelin’ bad about it, not one mite. That place is jest what I’ve allays wanted. When a fellow’s tired out, there’s nothin’ so soothin’,’ sez he, ‘as a retreat,’ that’s what he called it, ‘a retreat in the mountains.’ But he didn’t need 160 acres to retreat on, so he let go all but ten. He’d built a log cabin on it that had some style, not jest a shack like the rest of us miners run up, then Dan went away for a spell—but by and by he come back.” The old man’s leathery face wrinkled into a broad smile. “An’ he didn’t come back alone! I reckon you young Abbotts know who ’twas he fetched back with him. It was the purtiest gal ’ceptin’ one that I ever laid eyes on. You’re the splittin’ image of the bride Danny brought.” The small blue eyes that were almost hidden under shaggy gray brows turned toward Jane. “Yep, you look powerful like your ma.”
But Jane had heard only one thing, which was that even this garrulous old man knew one other person whom he considered more beautiful. How she wanted to ask the question, but there was no time, for “Gabby” never hesitated except to change the location of his tobacco quid or to do some long distance expectorating.
Turning to Mr. Packard, he began again: “Meg Heger’s took to comin’ down to Redfords school ag’in. She’s packin’ a gun now. That ol’ sneakin’ Ute is still trailin’ her. I can’t figger out what he wants wi’ her. The slinkin’ coyote! She ain’t got nothin’ but beauty, and Indians ain’t so powerful set on that. Thar sure sartin is a mystery somewhere.”
The old man stopped talking to peer through near-sighted eyes at the canon road.
“I reckon here’s the stage coach,” he told them, “late, like it allays is. If ’tain’t the ho’ses as falls asleep on the way, then it’s Sourface his self. Si, do yo’ mind the time when the stage was a-goin’ down the Toboggan Grade——”
It was quite evident that Gabby was launched on another long yarn, but Mr. Packard laughingly interrupted, placing a kindly hand on the old man’s shoulder.
“Tell us about that at another time, Gab,” he said. “We’re eager to get to the town and have some breakfast.”
He picked up Jane’s satchel and Dan’s also, and led the way to the edge of the platform, where an old-fashioned stage was waiting. Four white horses stood with drooping heads and on the high seat another old man was huddled in a heap as though he felt the need of seizing a few moments’ rest before making the return trip to Redfords.
“They have just come up the steep Toboggan Grade,” Mr. Packard said by way of explanation. “That’s why the horses look tired.”
Then in his cheerful way he shouted: “Hello, there, Wallace. How goes it?”
The man on the seat sat up and looked down at the passengers with an expression so surly on his leathery countenance that it was not hard for the young people to know why he had been given his nickname, but he said nothing, nor was there in his eyes a light of recognition. With a grunt, which might have been intended as a greeting, he motioned them to get into the lower part of the stage, which they did.
Then he jerked at the reins and the horses came to life and started back the way they had so recently come. Gabby had followed them to the edge of the platform, and as far as the Abbotts could make out, he was still telling them the story which Mr. Packard had interrupted.
“How cold it is!” Julie shivered as she spoke and cuddled close to Dan. He smiled down at her and then said:
“Mr. Packard, this is wonderful air, so crisp and invigorating. I feel better already. Honestly, I’ll confess now, the last two days on the train I feared you would have to carry me off when we got here, but now”—the lad paused and took a long breath of the mountain air—“I feel as though I had been given a new lease on life.”
The older man laid a bronzed hand on the boy’s sleeve.
“Dan,” he said, “you have. When you leave here in three months you’ll be as well as I am, and that’s saying a good deal.”
Then the lad surprised Jane by exclaiming: “Perhaps I won’t want to leave. There’s a fascination to me about all this.”
He waved his free arm out toward the mountains. “And your native characters, Mr. Packard, interest me exceedingly. You see,” Dan smilingly confessed, “my ambition is to become a writer. I would like to put ‘Gabby’ into a story.”
Mr. Packard’s eyes brightened. “Do it, Dan! Do it!” he said with real enthusiasm. “Personally I can’t write a line, not easily, but I have real admiration for men who can, and I am a great reader. Come over soon and see my library.”
Then he cautioned: “I told you to write, but don’t begin yet. Not until you are stronger. Stay outdoors for a time, boy. Climb to the rim rock, take notes, and then later, when you are strong, you will find them of value.”
While they had been talking, the stage had started down a steep, narrow canon. The mountain walls on both sides were almost perpendicular, and for a time nothing else was to be seen. It was more than a mile in length, and they could soon see the valley opening below them.
“Redfords proper,” Mr. Packard smilingly told them as he nodded in that direction. “It is not much of a metropolis.”
The young Abbotts looked curiously ahead, wondering what the town would be like.
“Is that all there is to the town of Redfords?” Jane gasped when the stage, leaving Toboggan Grade, reached a small circular valley which was apparently surrounded on all sides by towering timber-covered mountains. A stream of clear, sparkling water rushed and swirled on its way through the narrow, barren, rock-strewn lowland. The rocks, the very dust of the road, were of a reddish cast.
“That road yonder climbs your mountain in a zig-zag fashion, and then circles around it to the old abandoned mining camp.” Then to Gerald, he said: “Youngster, if you’re pining for mystery, that’s where you ought to find one. That deserted mining camp always looks to me as though it must have a secret, perhaps more than one, that it could tell and will not.”
“Ohee!” squealed Julie. “How interesting! Gerry and I are wild to find a mystery to unravel. Why do you think that old mining camp has secrets, Mr. Packard?”
Smiling at the little girl’s eagerness, the rancher replied: “Because it looks so deserted and haunted.” Then to Dan, “You heard what Gabby said at the depot. Well, he did not exaggerate. A rich vein of gold was found on the other side of your mountain, and a throng of men came swarming in from everywhere, and just overnight, or so it seemed, buildings of every description were erected. They did not take time to make them of permanent logs, though there are a few of that description. For several months they worked untiringly, digging, blasting, searching everywhere, but the vein which had promised so much ended abruptly.
“Of course, when the horde of men found that there was no gold, they departed as they had come. For a time after that a wandering tribe of Ute Indians lived there, but the hunting was poor, and as they, too, moved on farther into the Rockies, where there are many fertile valleys. Only one old Indian, of whom Gabby spoke, has remained. They call him Slinking Coyote. Why he stayed behind when his tribe went in search of better hunting grounds surely is a mystery.”
Julie gave another little bounce of joy. “Oh, goodie!” she cried. “Gerry, there’s two mysteries and maybe we’ll find the answers to both of them.”
“I would rather find something to eat,” Jane said rather peevishly. “I never was obliged to wait so long for my breakfast in all my life. It’s one whole hour since we left the train.” She glanced at her wrist watch as she spoke.
Mr. Packard looked at her meditatively. The other three Abbotts were as amiable as any young people he had ever met, but Jane was surely the most fretful and discontented. Although he knew nothing of all that had happened, he could easily see that she, at least, was in the West quite against her will.
“Well, my dear young lady,” he said as he reached for her bag, “you won’t have long to wait, for even now we are in the town, approaching the inn.”
“What?” Jane’s eyes were wide and unbelieving. “Is this wretched log cabin place the only hotel?” She peered out of the stage window and saw two cowboys lounging on the porch, and each was chewing a toothpick. They were picturesquely dressed in fringed buckskin trousers, soft shirts, carelessly knotted bandannas and wide Stetson hats. Their ponies were tied in front, as were several other lean, restless horses.
Mr. Packard nodded. “Yes, this is the inn and the general store and the postoffice. Across the road is another building just like it and that has a room in front which is used as a church on Sunday and a school on weekdays, while in back there is a billiard room. There are no saloons now,” this was addressed to Dan, “which is certainly a good thing for Redfords.”
“Billiard room, church and a school house all in one building,” Jane repeated in scornful amazement. “But where are the houses? Where do the townspeople live?”
Mr. Packard smiled at her. “There aren’t any,” he said. “The ranchers, cowboys, mountaineers and summer tourists are the patrons of the inn and billiard rooms. But here we are!” The stage had stopped in front of the rambling log building and reluctantly Jane followed the others.
Mr. Packard held the screen door open for the young people to pass, then, taking Jane’s arm, he piloted her through the front part of the building, which was occupied by the postoffice and store, to the room in the rear, where were half a dozen bare tables. Each had in the center a vinegar cruet, a sugar bowl, salt and pepper shakers. At least they were clean, but the dishes were so coarse that had not Jane been ravenously hungry, she told herself, she simply could not have eaten. Mr. Packard led the way to the largest table, at which there were six places, and as soon as they were seated a comely woman entered through a swinging green baize door.
“Howdy, Mr. Packard?” she said in response to the rancher’s cordial greeting. “Jean Sawyer, your foreman, was in last night an’ left your hoss for yo’. He said as how he was expectin’ yo’ in some time today. You’ve fetched along some visitors, I take it.” The woman looked at the older girl with unconcealed admiration. The blood rushed to Jane’s face. Was this innkeeper’s wife going to tell her that she had never seen but one other girl who was more beautiful? But Mrs. Bently made no personal comment.
When Mr. Packard explained that his companions were the young Abbotts, and that they were to spend the summer in a cabin on Redford Mountain, her only remark was: “Is it the cabin that’s been standin’ empty so long, the one that’s a short piece down from where Meg Heger lives?”
“Yes, that’s it, Mrs. Bently.” Then the man implored: “Please bring us some of your good ham and eggs and coffee and——”
“There’s plenty of waffle dough left, if the young people likes ’em.” The woman smiled at Julie, who beamed back at her.
“Oh, boy!” Gerald chimed in. “Me for the waffles!”
The cooking was excellent and even the fastidious Jane thoroughly enjoyed the breakfast.
When they emerged from the inn, Dan said, regretfully: “The sun is high up. We’ve missed our first sunrise.”
“We were on the Toboggan Grade when the sun rose,” Mr. Packard told them. He then shook hands with Jane and Dan as he said heartily:
“Here is where we part company. That is my horse over yonder. A beauty, isn’t he? Silver, I call him. By the way, Dan, I want you to meet Jean Sawyer. He is just about your age, and a fine fellow, if I am a judge of character. I would trust him with anything I have. In fact, I do. I send him all the way to the city often, to get money from the bank to pay off the men. I know he isn’t dishonest, and yet, for some reason, he ran away from his home. You know, we have a code out here by which each man is permitted to keep his own counsel.
“We ask no one from whence he came or why. We take people for what they seem to be, with no knowledge of their past.”
Then, breaking off abruptly, the older man repeated: “I would, indeed, like you to meet Jean and tell me what you think of him. Come over to our place soon, or, better still, since that is a rough trip until you get hardened to the saddle, I’ll send him over to call on you next Sunday.”
Dan’s face brightened. “Great, Mr. Packard; do that! A chap whom you so much admire must be worth knowing. Have him take dinner with us. Goodbye, and thank you for being our much-needed guide.”
When their neighbor and friend had swung into his saddle and had ridden away, Jane said fretfully: “I don’t see why you asked that Jean Sawyer, who may be an outlaw, for all we know, to come over to our place for dinner.” Then, when she saw the expression of troubled disappointment in her brother’s face, again the small voice within rebuked her, and she implored: “Oh, Dan, don’t mind me! I know I am horridly selfish, but I am so tired, and these people are all so queer. What are we to do next?”
The older lad knew what an effort Jane was making, and he held her arm affectionately close as he replied: “Mr. Packard said that the stage would call for us at 8:30. We will have half an hour to purchase our supplies. Grandmother made out a list of things we would need. Julie has that. Jane, here is my wallet. I wish you would take charge of our funds. You won’t be climbing around as I will. It will be safer with you.”
Together the girls went into the store and purchased the supplies they would need. Then they rejoined the boys, who had waited outside. Gerry wanted to look in the school house.
The Abbotts found the door of the rambling log cabin across from the inn standing open, and they peered in curiously. The room was long and well lighted by large windows, but it was quite like any other country school. There were eight rows of benches, one back of the other, with a shelf-like desk in front of each. These had many an initial carved in them. The teacher’s table and chair faced the others, with a blackboard hanging on the wall at the back. Near the door was a pail and a dipper. Dan smiled. “It doesn’t look as though genius could be awakened here, does it?” he was saying, when a pleasant voice back of them caused them to turn.
“You’re wrong there, my friend.” The young people saw before them a withered-up little old man with the whitest of hair reaching to his shoulders. Noting their unconcealed astonishment, he continued, by way of introduction, “I am Preacher Bellows on Sunday and Teacher Bellows on weekdays. Now, as I was saying, having overheard your remark, this little schoolroom and the teacher who presides over it are proud to tell you that your statement is not correct. It may not look as though genius could be awakened here,” he smiled most kindly. “I’ll agree that it does not, but that is just what has happened. Meg Heger, one of my mountain girls, has written some beautiful things. Her last composition, ‘Sunrise From the Rim-Rock,’ is truly poetical.”
Jane turned away impatiently. Was she never to be through with hearing about Meg Heger? “Brother,” the manner in which she interrupted the conversation was almost rude, “isn’t that the stage returning? I am so tired, I do want to get up to our cabin.” She started to cross the street. Dan quickly joined her. He did not rebuke her for not having said goodbye to the teacher.
“He’s a nice man, isn’t he, Dan?” Gerald skipped along by his brother’s side as he spoke. “He loves mountain people, doesn’t he?”
Dan smiled down at the eager questioner. “Why, of course, he must, if he practices what I suppose he preaches; the brotherhood of man.”
“Well, I certainly don’t want to claim people like the ones we have met in Redfords as any kin of mine,” Jane snapped as they all crossed to the stage that awaited them. Again the four white horses drooped their heads and the driver slouched on his high seat, as though at every opportunity they took short naps. But the horses came to life when the driver snapped his long whip and with much jolting they forded the stream.
“Oh, my; I’m ’cited as anything!” Julie squealed. “Wish something, Gerald, ’cause this is the first time we’ve ever been up our very own mountain road.”
“There’s just one thing to wish for,” the small boy said with the seriousness which now and then made him seem older than his years, “and that’s that Dan will get well. What do you wish, Jane?”
“Why, the same thing, of course,” the girl replied languidly.
Gerald continued his questioning. “What do you wish, Dan?”
The boy thought for a moment and then he exclaimed, “I have a wonderful thing to wish. Wouldn’t it be great if we could find the lost gold vein on our very own ten acres? Then Dad could pay the rest that he owes and be free from all worry?”
“Me, too,” Julie cried jubilantly. “Now, we’ve all wished and here we go up the mountain.”
The road was narrow. In some places it was barely wide enough for the stage to pass, and, as Jane looked back and down, she shuddered many times.
At last, when nothing happened and the old stage did stick to the road, Jane consented to look around at the majestic scenery, about which the others were exclaiming. Beyond the gorge-like valley in which was Redfords, one mountain range towered above another, while many peaks were crowned with snow, dazzling in the light of the sun that was now high above them.
The air was becoming warmer, but it was so wonderfully clear that even things in the far distance stood out with remarkable detail.
At a curve, Gerald pointed to the road where it circled above them. “Gee-whiliker! Look-it!” he cried excitedly. “How that boy can ride.” The others, turning, saw a pony which seemed to be running at breakneck speed, but as the stage appeared around the bend, the small horse was halted so suddenly that it reared. When it settled back on all fours, the watchers saw that, instead of a boy, the rider was a girl, slender of build, wiry, alert. She drew to one side close to the mountain, to permit the stage to pass. She wore a divided skirt of the coarsest material, a scarlet blouse but no hat. Her glossy black wind-blown hair fluttered loosely about her slim shoulders. Her dusky eyes looked curiously out at them from between long curling lashes. Dan thought he had never before seen such wonderful eyes, but it only took a moment for the stage to pass.
They all turned to look down the road. The pony was again leaping ahead as sure-footed, evidently, as a mountain goat, the girl leaning low in the saddle. Jane’s lips were curled scornfully. “Well, if that is their mountain beauty, I think they have queer taste! She looked to me very much like an Indian, didn’t she to you, Dan?”
The boy replied frankly: “I should say she might be Spanish or French, but I do indeed think she is wonderfully beautiful. I never saw such eyes. They seem to have slumbering soul-fires just waiting to be kindled. I should like to hear her talk.”
Jane shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I certainly should not. I have heard enough of this mountain dialect, if that’s what you call it, to last me the rest of my life. I simply will not make the acquaintance of that—Oh, it doesn’t matter what she is—” she hurried on to add when she saw that Dan was about to speak. “I don’t want to know her, and do please remember that, all of you!”
“Gee, sis,” Gerald blurted out, “you don’t like the West much, do you? I s’pose you wish you had stayed at home or gone to that hifalutin watering place.”
Jane bit her lips to keep from retorting angrily. Julie was still watching the small horse that now and then reappeared as the zigzagging mountain road far below them came in sight.
“That girl’s going to school, I guess. Though I should think it would be vacation time, now it’s summer,” she remarked.
“I rather believe that winter is vacation time for mountain schools. It’s mighty cold here for a good many months and the roads are probably so deep in snow that they are not passable.”
Dan had just said this when Gerald, who had been kneeling on the seat, watching intently ahead, whirled toward them with a cry of joy. “There’s our log cabin on that ledge up there! I bet you ’tis! Gee-whiliker, we’re stopping. Hurray! It’s ours.”
It was quite evident that the picturesque log cabin which nestled against the side of the mountain on a wide, overhanging ledge was indeed their own. The road curved about twenty feet below it, and crude steps had been hewn out of the rocks. The small boy tumbled out of the stage almost before it came to a standstill.
“Oh, Julie, look-it, will you! We’ve got a real stairway leading right up to our front door. I’ll beat you to the cabin.”
Julie, equally excited, scurried up after her brother and reached the top almost as soon as he did. Then they turned and shouted joyfully to the two below them: “Jane! Dan! Look at us! We’re top of the world.”
“Oh, boy!” Gerald capered about, unable to stand still. “I’m glad I came. I bet you, Julie, we’ll have a million adventures, maybe more.” But Dan was calling and so they scampered back down the rocky flight of stairs.
The older lad laughed at their enthusiasm. “I know just how you feel,” he told them. “If I weren’t afraid of shocking your sedate sister here, I believe I would—well—I don’t know just what I would do.”
“Stand on your head,” Gerald prompted. “Do it, Dan. I’ll dare you.”
But the older boy was needed just then to tell the surly driver where the trunks were to be put. “Let me help you, Mr. Wallace.” Dan made an attempt to take one end of a trunk, but the husky man, with the unchangeable countenance, merely grunted his dissent, and swinging a trunk up on his broad shoulders, he began the ascent of the steep stone stairs quite as though it were not a herculean task.
Dan followed. “Just leave them on the porch until we get our bearings,” he directed. “We can move them in after we have unpacked.” Then, from the loose change that he had in his pocket, he paid the man. A few moments later the stage rumbled on its way up the road, which circled the mountain and then descended to a hamlet in the valley on the other side.
As soon as the four young Abbotts were alone, Dan, slipping an arm about Jane, exclaimed: “Think of it, sister! Isn’t it almost beyond comprehension that we have such magnificence right in our front door-yard.” He took a long breath. The pine trees, though not large, were spicily fragrant. Then, whirling toward her, he caught both of her hands, and there were actually tears in his eyes as he said, “Jane, I’m going to live! I know that I am!”
Selfish as the girl was, she could not but respond to her brother’s enthusiasm. The younger children had raced away on a tour of discovery. Their excited voices were heard exclaiming about something they had discovered beyond the cabin. Clear and high Gerry’s voice rang out: “Dan, Jane, come quick! We’ve found Roaring Creek, and it isn’t making a terrible lot of noise at all.”
But the older boy had noted the extreme weariness on his sister’s face. He well knew that she had sacrificed herself to come to a country which did not appeal to her; where she had to meet people whom she considered far beneath her, and she had done it all to help him get well. Instantly the boy decided that he would make Jane’s comfort his first care, that her stay with him might be as pleasant as possible, and so he called back: “After a time, Gerald. Come on; I’m going to unlock the door. Don’t you want to see what’s on the inside of our cabin?”
“Oh, boy, don’t I, though!” Gerry, closely followed by Julie, raced back to the wide front porch, which was made of logs. Dan took from his satchel a very large key and holding it up, he called merrily, “The key to health and happiness.”
“You left out something,” Gerry prompted. “It’s health, wealth and happiness. Maybe we’ll find that lost mine, who knows?”
Dan merely laughed at that. “Now,” he said, as he put the key in the lock, “what do you suppose we’ll find on the other side of this door?”
What they saw delighted the hearts of three of the young people. A large log cabin room with a long window on either side of the door. At the back was a crude fireplace made of rocks. There was no window on that side of the room, as a wall of the mountain came so close to the cabin that there would have been no view.
The rafters were logs with the bark still on, and the furniture had been made of saplings. There were leather cushions in the chairs, but the thing that made Gerald caper about, mad with joy, was a bearskin on one of the walls.
“Oh, look-it, will you, Dan? What kind of a bear is it? Do you think it is a grizzly, and do you s’pose it’s that one Dad said came right down here to our ledge? Do you, Dan?”
The older boy looked at the rather small bearskin and shook his head.
“No, it isn’t a grizzly,” he said. “I think it is the skin of a black bear. But here is another on the floor in front of the fireplace. That’s Dad’s bear, I remember now. This old fellow was the grizzly who was unfortunate enough to come down here to try to help himself to Dad’s supplies.”
Jane had dropped wearily into a big chair that really was comfortable with its leather-covered cushions, and Dan, noting how tired she was, exclaimed:
“Jane, I’ll unlock the packing trunk and get out some of the bedding, and if you wish, you may lie down for a while. Dad said there were two good beds here and several cots.”
Gerald and Julie had darted through a door at one side and, reappearing, they beckoned to their big brother.
“We’ve found one of ’em,” the younger lad announced. “It’s in a dandee room! I bet you Jane will choose it for hers.”
Then Julie chimed in with: “Jane, please come and see it.”
The older girl, who was feeling terribly sorry for herself, rose languidly and went with the small sister. The boys followed.
“Why, what a nice room this is!” Dan, truly pleased, remarked. Then anxiously, and in his voice there was a note that was almost imploring, he asked: “Jane, dear, don’t you think you can be comfortable in here?”
The girl’s heart was touched by the tone more than the words, and she turned away that she might not show how near, how very near, she had been to crying out her unhappiness. It was hardship to her to be in a log cabin where there were none of the luxuries and conveniences to which she had been used. She smiled at her brother, but he saw her lips tremble. He was tempted to tell her to go back to civilization, since it was all going to be so hard for her, but something prompted him to wait one week. Inwardly he resolved: “If Jane is not happy here by one week from today, I am going to insist that she return to Newport and to the friend Merry for whom she cares so much.”
But Jane, too, had been making a resolve, and so when she spoke her voice sounded more cheerful.
“It is a nice room,” she said. “That wide window has a wonderful view of the mountains and the valley.” It was hard to keep from adding, “If anyone cares for such a view, which I do not.”
But instead she looked up at the rafters. “What are those great bundles that are hanging up there?” she inquired.
Dan laughed. “Why, those bundles, Dad said, contain the mattress and bedding which he and mother stored away. They are wrapped in canvas and so he expected that we would find them in good condition.”
“But how are we to get them?” Julie wanted to know.
Gerald’s quick eyes found the answer to that.
“Look-it!” he cried, pointing. “There’s a ladder nailed right against the back wall. I’ll skin up that in two jiffs. Give me your knife, Dan. I’ll cut the ropes.”
The boy was soon sliding along a rafter. “Out of the way down below there!” he shouted the warning. “Here they come!”
There was a soft thud, followed by another as the two great bundles fell to the floor. An excellent mattress was in one of them and clean warm blankets in the other.
“Now, I’ll get the sheets from the packing trunk and a pillow case, and in less than no time at all we’ll have a fine bed in our lady’s chamber.”
Dan led Jane to another large comfortable though rustic chair as he said:
“The rest of us are going to pretend that you are a princess today and we are going to wait upon you. By tomorrow, when you have had a long sleep, perhaps you will want to be a mountain girl.”
Again there was the yearning note in his voice. How he hoped that Jane would want to stay, but a week would tell.
Jane was quite willing to pretend that she was a princess and be waited upon, and so half an hour later, when the bed in her room was made, she consented to lie down and try to make up the many hours of sleep that she had lost on the train. Hardly had her head touched the pillow before she was sound asleep. Two of her windows, that swung inward, were wide open and a soft mountain breeze wafted to her the scent of the pines. Even though she was not conscious of it, the peace of the mountains was quieting her restless soul. She had supposed that, as soon as she were alone, she would sob out her unhappiness, but her weariness had been too great, and not a tear had been shed.
Julie reported that Jane had gone right to sleep and Dan’s face brightened. Surely his sister-pal would feel better when she awakened and how could she help loving it all, so high up on their wonderful mountain.
The younger children had gone on another trip of exploration, and soon burst back into the big living-room with the information that on the other side of the cabin there were two smaller bedrooms and a real kitchen.
Dan held up a warning hand and framed the word “quiet” with his lips, and so the excited children took his hands and dragged him from the deep easy chair where he had sought to rest for a moment and showed him what lay behind the two doors on the other side of the cabin. “Aren’t these little bedrooms the cunningest?” Julie whispered. “See the front one has a bed in it like Jane’s and the other has the cot. But there are three of us, so what shall we do?” Julie’s brown eyes were suddenly serious and inquiring.
“That’s easy!” Dan told her. “Dad said there were several cots. See, there they are, hanging up on the rafters. I shall take one of those and put it out on the wide front porch. That’s where I want to sleep. I don’t want to be shut in by walls. And Julie may have this pretty front room with the bed and Gerald the other. Now, let’s get them made up, just as quietly as we can. Then we will unpack the supplies that you got from the store, Julie, and prepare a noon meal.”
The cots were untied from the rafters and one was placed on the porch in the position chosen by Dan, then the bedding was put on all of them and it was 11 o’clock and the sun was riding hot and high above the mountain when Julie, suddenly becoming demure, announced that she wanted Dan to go to sleep also, and that she and Gerald would get the lunch.
The older boy did not require much urging and when he saw the eager light in the eyes of the little girl, who had in the beginning supposed that she alone was to be the one to take care of him, he decided to do as she wished. Julie had had six months’ training with her grandmother, who believed that a girl could not begin too young to learn how to cook, and she had often boasted that she had a very apt pupil.
He soon heard the children whispering and laughing happily at the back of the cabin, then a door was closed softly and the lad heard only the soughing in the pine trees close to the porch and the humming of the winged insects far and near. Then he, too, fell into a much needed slumber.
The kitchen of the log cabin had one window and a door which opened out into what Gerry called the “back-yard part of their ledge.” It was only about fifty feet to the very edge, and Gerry crept on hands and knees to look over, that he might see where their “back-yard went.” He lifted a face filled with awe and beckoned his sister to advance with caution. Lying flat, the two children gazed over the rim of the ledge, straight down a wall of rock, far below which the road could be seen curving. “Ohee!” Julie drew back with a shudder. “What if our cabin should slide right off this shelf that it’s built on?”
“It can’t, if it wants to,” the boy told her confidently. “We’re safe here as anything. That’s two ways a bear can’t come,” he continued; “but on the other side, where the creek is, and in front, where the stone steps are, I suppose the bear came in one of those two ways.”
The small girl looked frightened. “Oh, Gerry,” she said, “what if a bear should come again? What would we do?”
“Why, Dan would shoot it, just the way Dad did,” the boy replied with great assurance. His big brother was his hero, and that he could not perform any feat required was not to be thought of for one moment.
“But Dan hasn’t a gun, has he?” Julie was not yet convinced.
“Indeed he has, silly. Do you s’pose Dad would let us come into this wild country without guns? Dan has two in his trunk. One’s a big fellow! Dad let me hold it once, and, Oh, boy, I’m telling you it’s a heavy one. I most had to drop it, and I’ve got bully muscle. Look at what muscle I’ve got!”
Gerry crooked his bare arm, but his sister turned away impatiently, saying: “Oh, I don’t want to! You make me feel what muscle you’ve got most every day.”
Julie returned to the kitchen, but Gerry followed, and, if he were offended by her lack of interest in his brawniness, he did not show it. He was far too interested in the subject under discussion. “That big gun I was telling you about is the very one Dad used when he shot the grizzly, and if it shot one bear, then of course it can shoot another bear.”
The little girl was convinced. That seemed clear reasoning, but she interrupted when the boy began again, by saying: “Gerald Abbott, do stop telling bear stories, and help me clean up this kitchen. Jane won’t be any more use than nothing and we might as well do things and pretend she isn’t here, the way I wish she wasn’t.”
“I sort of wish she hadn’t come, myself,” Gerry confessed. “Now, let’s see. Here’s a cupboard all nailed up. I guess I can pull out the nails, but first I’d better make a fire in this old stove. I’ll have to fetch in some wood.”
“No, you won’t! Not just at first. There’s a box full behind the stove. Big, knotty pieces; pine, I suppose; but maybe we do need some kindling. Then bring me some water from the creek and I’ll wash up everything. Dad said we’d find some dishes in the cupboard, if they hadn’t been stolen.”
“Gee, I hope they haven’t!” The boy, who was as handy about a home as was his small sister, soon had a fire in the stove, and then, having found a pail, he went to the creek, stealing around past the front porch and under his sister’s window as quietly as he possibly could. Although dry twigs creaked and snapped, the two sleepers did not waken.
Such fun as those youngsters had putting the kitchen in order. In the cupboard they found all of the dishes which their father had mentioned. Although the china was coarse, the green fern pattern was attractive. Gerald, standing on a chair, handed it out, piece by piece, to the small girl, who put them in hot, sudsy water and then dried them till they shone. Gerald, meantime, was washing the shelves. Then they replaced the dishes and stood back to admire their handiwork.
“Oh, aren’t we having fun?” Julie chuckled. “Now, we’re all ready to get the lunch.”
It was one o’clock when Julie went to waken Jane, and Gerald, at the same time, went out on the porch where Dan had been sleeping, but the older boy was sitting up on the edge of his cot drinking in the beauty of the scene which, to him, was an ever-changing marvel. He sprang up, wonderfully refreshed, and going to the packing trunk, he procured a towel.
“Hello, Jane,” he called brightly to the tall girl, who appeared in the open door. Then he gave a long whistle. “Sister,” he exclaimed, love and admiration ringing in his voice, “I hope that Jean Sawyer, who is coming to dine with us day after tomorrow, has a heart of adamant. I pity him if he hasn’t! I honestly never saw anyone so beautiful as you are, with the flush of slumber on your cheeks and your eyes so bright.”