Chapter II: Part 2

Forrest settled himself in one of his easy attitudes in front of the fire. "It reminds me of a trip I made last year over the new railroad in Oregon." He paused and his listeners waited, expectantly. He had a deep, pleasing voice and the gift of the story teller. "They had taken me aboard a construction train. There are points on the Columbia where the slopes rise abruptly eight hundred feet, and the soil is loose with a perilous mixture of boulders. They had scores of Chinamen at work to bulkhead these places, and the big timbers up there looked like scaffoldings of toothpicks. But a whole crew of track-walkers couldn't keep the danger off, and we were speeding along when suddenly there was a terrific sound. It was like musketry multiplied by echoes on echoes. Then looking up we saw ahead an immense rock moving down the mountain. The engineer reversed his lever and jumped. The next instant the boulder struck the engine and hurled it into the river."

She caught her breath. "And you, Paul?"

"I?" He turned to her with his smile of the eyes. "Why, I was in the caboose. The coupling broke and separated the rest of the train from the engine. It was the closest shave I ever had."

"And you never told me."

"The greatest devastator is the frost," he said after a moment. "It drives the wedge ready for the heavy rains. But I remember a place on the Snoqualmie that has been crossed by an avalanche of snow. It has left a clean-swept track through the timber, and the trees, hurled with incredible force, block the river from bank to bank. It's the most terrible jam ever heard of. You know the place, Eben?"

But the settler answered only with a gentle nod. He sat with his chin on his breast, holding his empty pipe on his knee. Martha nudged him, but he slept placidly on.

Alice lifted her glance once more to the shadowy slope. Presently she began to sing in a sweet undertone, "The Day Is Done." And after the first measure Forrest took up the song, and the two voices, rising, swelling, started a refrain from cliff and spur. The last echo drifted and died in a far canyon. A great hush rested on the wilderness. There was a soft illumination on a high peak, then every crest and shoulder was silvered by the rising moon.

The song was followed by many; the parts of old operas which they had been accustomed to sing with her sister and Philip, on winter evenings in Judge Kingsley's parlor, or in summer time becalmed aboard the _Phantom_. And at last it was Schubert's "Serenade."

Forrest rose to his feet and stood with his arms resting on the top of the trunk behind her. This song had always been a favorite; they sang it well together. But a new personality crept into the familiar tones; an awakened sadness. And the romance of the place, the mystery of night and the near heavens, gave setting to his part and spoke for him.

She took up the song, but it became suddenly, for the first time, too difficult to sing. Her notes faltered and broke. He finished the part alone.

*CHAPTER IV*

*"THER BIGGEST COWARD IN THER WOODS"*

Forrest was lying on his blanket, his feet to the camp-fire, hands clasped under his head, his wakeful face raised to the near stars. An arm's-length from him Myers slumbered, audibly. Stillness rested on the small white tent. But presently his horse tramped uneasily, pulling on his picket rope, and the young man rose and went over to him. "So, Colonel," he said softly, "restless, too, are you? Steady, now, steady, we'll work it off, old fellow, so."

He found the bridle and, mounting without a saddle turned up the lofty slope. The horse flung his head, and with some airy stepping by the white tent, set himself willingly to the ascent. The firelight, as he passed, brought out the silver star between his intelligent eyes, the one marking, from the tips of his sensitive ears to his nimble hind feet, in a handsome, jet-black coat.

The settler stirred and rose on his elbow with an inquiring "Hello!" And Forrest called back, "I'm just going up to the summit for another look around, and to try to shape a course for the day's tramp."

Myers laughed and settled back comfortably to his blanket. "I 'low," he told himself, yawning, "he ain't likely ter see much more'n fog."

Half way up the hill Forrest halted, breathing his horse on a level spur, and looked down over the tops of the firs. "It's a natural town site," he said aloud; "and when the country opens it's bound to be a mining center. There's a fortune in that water power, but I should set up my own stamp mills there at the falls, and build cottages for the men to the right on that knoll. And meantime--meantime--what an Eden it would make." He turned with a quick upward lift of his head. "Come, Colonel, come," he said, "we must keep a tighter rein. It's summer now, and she isn't over the novelty; but it won't last through the first September rains. Even if she loved me--I could never ask her to bury herself up here in the wilderness; her--with her ideals and dreams, and all those nice, luxurious ways."

He rode on in silence. The moon paled; there were no longer stars, and, as he reached the summit and looked eastward, he saw the first streak of light broadening and toning to green on the horizon. The peaks and shoulders of the Cascades loomed against it purplish black, but all their base, the valleys, foothills, sank in a white fog that lifted slowly to meet the dawn. The sky warmed to yellow; a far spur flushed. He felt the rising moisture in the air, drew a damp breath. A belt of high cloud crimsoned, and he saw nothing more.

The fog closed in, billow on billow, flooding the canyon, lapping the ledge where he stopped. Then for a moment the white sea parted, and the granite tower hung tilting over the abyss. It stood solitary, like a lighthouse on a stormy coast, and in another instant was blotted out.

He dismounted, and with his hand on his horse's neck, his hat pushed back, stood watching these waves, flowing, separating, rolling together, rushing out. "And it's something you can't grapple with, or put down," he said at last. "You've got to push into it, blind, or wait for it to break. It's like the future. That's it; I could give a year or two to the grind at Freeport, easily enough, if I was only reasonably sure. But it's all a chance. A chance that no other man will stumble on my find, or want this section, or the water power, a chance,--" he began to smooth the black's mane gently,--"a chance, old boy, that she will care enough for me, some day, to wait for me."

The defiance faded from his face. He took his lariat coil, and seating himself on a rock, allowed the horse to go the length of the rope, seeking a scant forage. Presently he breathed a whistle; it settled into a definite tune:

He went over it again and again, with variations that were not the notes of a flute, nor yet of a thrush but something of each and more; an expression so sweet, so tender, so full of subtlety, that you must have guessed the meaning even though you had never heard the words of the song.

He broke off finally and sat for a long interval looking absently into the fog. When he started to his feet a brisk wind was blowing and overhead the mist was like pulverized gold. "Come, Colonel," he said, "we must get out of this; I can't afford to wait any longer and you must put me back in camp inside an hour."

But suddenly, as he turned his horse, picking up the thread of trail which on rock and heather was repeatedly lost, a broad shaft of sunshine struck the hilltop, and directly the crest of Mt. Rainier rose like a phantom from the rushing sea. Then everywhere, through the fog that parted and closed, and parted again like a rent curtain in the wind, dome and pinnacle gleamed opal or rose in the full glory of the morning. And the sun went with him down the slope, touching the higher spurs, the tops of the firs, and finally the small white tent in the open, and the edge of the dense undergrowth that followed the watercourse.

Myers welcomed him with a long "Hello," and the teacher waved her hand and stood for a moment watching him as he wound down between the great boles, then she turned her attention to the broiling trout which she herself had caught below the falls. The soft flush of the early morning was on her cheek; its sparkle was in her eyes.

But during breakfast he had little to say to her; he seemed more interested in the settler and his views of homestead and pre-emption rights, timber laws and government surveys.

"I 'low," said Eben, "you ain't countin' on takin' up ord'nary land, yourself? You're jest huntin' fur a gold mine."

"There's nothing I would like better than to find and open up my lost prospect," answered Forrest, "but, if I could spare the time now, to-day, I should file on this section, right here in the heart of the red firs. It's the best vacant piece I know of."

"Do you mean," asked Alice, with awakened interest, "that you would homestead it, like any settler?"

"Yes; and put a timber filing on the quarter adjoining to take in those fine old trees up the slope. It's one of the best stretches of red fir in the whole Washington forest."

"But," she said thoughtfully, "there is plenty of fine standing timber close to the Sound, where transportation to the lumber mills is easy; here it would be a tremendous problem."

"True, and I shouldn't think of spoiling this park for years. It's just a good section to hold for the future. And, well, I'm fond of the place; I shall be sorry to know any other man has taken possession."

"I see," she said after a moment, "I see. And of course you would secure the water power at the same time. And while you lived here you would be close at hand to carry on your prospecting, perhaps development."

"Yes, that's what I've wanted to do, but"--he shook his head and looked at her with his smile of the eyes,--"that position at the Freeport mills was too good to refuse; and if I do find my mine, it's going to call for capital at the start. I can't expect to interest other money until I am able to make some sort of a showing."

He rose to his feet and stood looking off to a high shoulder of the hills. Then, presently, he and Eben were starting on their tramp, the day of search for the lost prospect. The sun fell in long shafts between the boughs and her glance followed him from light to shade. Martha also, standing a few steps away, looked in the same direction, her head bent a little forward, her knotted fingers shading her anxious eyes.

"Ther ain't many like him," she said at length, dropping her hand.

"No," answered the teacher, absently, "no; walking or riding, it's a pleasure to watch him. He is so strong, so self-reliant and yet so--kind; in every way he is the finest man I know. He stands alone."

"I meant Eben," said Martha with her shadowy smile. She paused, watching the teacher's face, for she flushed hotly to the ears. "He's good-looking, an' he's got consider'ble grit when he gets started. He's always a plannin' an' a studyin', but he ain't ever hed er show. Ef he hed, I don't s'pose I'd ever a got him."

"I'm sure," said Alice warmly, "Mr. Myers himself won a great prize. Why, you plow, sow, reap; you milk and drive the herds. You carry on the whole farm. He never could do without you."

"He always 'lowed I was a good worker," and Martha turned to gather up the breakfast things.

Presently the teacher asked, "With a clear trail, about how long would it take to ride from here to the schoolhouse?"

"Why, I jedge you could do it in erbout five hours. It's roundabout, you see, an' you'd hev ter go clear to our place an' ercross."

"But with a new branch cut directly through?"

"Land, you could do it in half ther time, an' take er stepper like Colonel, he could make it in two hours, or likely one an' er half."

The teacher began to walk back and forth through the open. Her hands were clasped loosely behind her, she looked off absently through the trees, and her swift thoughts alternately clouded and brightened her speaking face. After a while she approached Forrest's picketed horse. He lifted his head from the luscious grass and she stood for a moment smoothing his ruffled mane. "If we only could do it," she said softly, "if we only could, Colonel; it would pay your hire."

Later, while they were walking to the river, she, herself, displayed a sudden interest in homestead laws, gathering from Mrs. Myers both small and valuable detail as to the methods of clearing land and building a cabin.

Martha found a seat below the falls and took out her knitting, a sock for Eben, while the teacher chose a place a little down-stream and opened her sketchbook. She began to outline the cataract, but she studied the perspective less and less and finally not at all. Then for an idle interval she leaned on the boulder at her elbow and looked dreamily up through the great park. When she bent again to her work, behold, the torrent was but a background for a figure, young, well-knit, in short sack coat and trousers bound in leggins. And so engrossed was she in producing those strong lines of brow and chin, the quiet, searching, humor-haunting eyes, the mouth severe yet tender, that she did not know that Martha had risen quickly, and stood listening with her alert gaze searching the jungle directly behind her. She was only roused by the close snapping of a branch and a sudden sense of peril.

She started to her feet, dropping the book, and faced the thicket. The color went from her lips. There, in a tangle of hazel, tawny, handsome, with swaying tail and brilliant eyes fixed on her, stood a well grown cougar.

The next instant Martha reached her side. She had caught up from the ground a stout bough, and she swung it, thrust it at the brute, shouting. Alice, quick to grasp the expedient, armed herself with another fallen branch. The beast gave back a step, another, and the two women pressed him slowly, cautiously. At length he turned and slunk reluctantly away into the timber.

"Ef Eben hed left ther gun," said Martha, wiping the perspiration from her face, "it 'ud saved us consider'ble bother. But I jedge we best get back ter the open an' hev er look at ther horses."

Alice stood with her eyes fixed on the point where the cougar had disappeared. Her breast heaved with deep, quick breaths and she still grasped her heavy hemlock bough with both hands. At last she dragged her gaze away and met Martha's serious glance. She could not speak but her spirit rose and recognized in silent tribute, the great soul of the pioneer.

Martha put her shoulder to an encroaching bough and led the way back to the stream. Presently she stooped and picked up the sketchbook, and, having smoothed the leaves, gave it to the artist. Then Alice said slowly, "I shall always remember--as long as I live--what you did."

"Oh, land," and Martha smiled, "it wa'n't much ter do. An' a cougar's ther biggest coward in ther woods. He wouldn't dast ter tech er man, lest he was cornered or hungry; but I 'low he hed er pretty good chanct when he kem ercross you."

A little farther on she possessed herself of her dropped knitting, and, having gained the path, she moved towards camp, setting her needles and picking up lost stitches. But her knotty fingers worked mechanically; they trembled slightly, and her anxious eyes repeatedly swept the jungle. She knew that a cougar, hunting, does not so easily abandon his quarry. Though cautious, hesitating, he trails his game for hours, constantly preparing for, while he is diverted from an attack. She also knew that, like the human coward, once assailed and cornered, he becomes a fury.

In the open they found Ginger standing with hoofs planted like a figure in stone; but the black, in his terror, had circled and recircled the alder to which he was tied, winding his lariat, and, reduced to an arm's-length of rope, he made short and frenzied plunges to break free. Suddenly he stopped, dragged back the limit of the line, and stood trembling.

Instantly Martha understood. She ran forward, dropping her knitting, and picked up another bough. The cougar had reached a vine maple a few rods from the black. She saw his tawny body outstretched on the great curving branch of the parted bole. "Pile them pieces o' spruce on ther fire," she said coolly. "Make er smoke. Then slack up Colonel's rope an' get him back behind it."

She stepped between the horse and the cougar, again lifting the heavy limb, swinging it, thrusting it, but avoiding direct contact with the beast, and renewing her shouts. Before she had finished her directions Alice had caught up a resinous branch and thrown it on the embers. It crackled noisily and sent out a great cloud of smoke, which the wind, setting from the river, carried directly into the eyes and nostrils of the panther. He began to retreat, snarling, along the maple. Presently he dropped to the ground, and while Martha pressed him, step by step, the girl, who had succeeded in loosening the lariat, urged the horse around the fire.

Again the cougar turned and disappeared. Colonel was finally picketed near the old cedar trunk, and they piled fresh boughs on the fire, still pursuing the panther with thick, pungent smoke. Then they rested, gathering themselves, in the brief reprieve, for his certain return.

The black, less panic-ridden, continued to listen or tug at his rope. The other horse began to browse. The suspense pressed. Then, suddenly, a rifle shot startled the solitudes. And while the two women stood marking the puff of smoke, which rose a few yards off, there came a clamor of snarls. Two hounds slunk through the underbrush into the open and waited, shaking. A second report rang through the hills, then, the cries having ceased, one of the dogs plucked up courage and sounded a clarion. After a moment his mate returned into the thicket, alert, cautious, feeling ground. The first hound crept in his wake, and directly their baying, multiplied as by a score of throats, filled the wood.

The dogs were Laramie's, and the women followed them, seeking their master, but the hunter was Mose. The cougar was stretched in his death throes before him, on a bed of trampled fern and broken boughs.

"Saprie," he exclaimed as the teacher approached, "if I ees have dat gun of Laramie's I doan' have some trouble to keel heem de firs' shot. But dis gun dat Yelm Jim ees lend to me, he ees buy long tam 'go to de Hudson Bay Companee; an' for sure dey ees sell heem one no 'count Injun gun."

"Oh," said Alice, her voice shaking, "it was a grand shot--Mose. And you--you came--just--in time."

"Monjee, Mees, ees it dis cougar ees give you some trouble, a'ready?"

She could not speak again directly; she could only nod her head, affirmatively. But Martha smiled grimly. "Wal, yes," she said; "he's be'n er trailin' us, off 'n on, fur a good spell; an' Eben, he's prospectin' down ther canyon with ther rifle."

"So," said Mose, "so, but it ees good t'ing I come 'long den. You see dose dogs ees track me las' night to Yelm Jim's cabane, an' I ees keep dem to hunt some mowitch to-day. Dey ees fine dogs for trail de deer, ya-as, but A'm mooch shame how dey ees scare' of dis cougar. Cultus Pichou." He paused to cuff aside one of the snuffing hounds. "So you ees come back now, hey? You ees have de brave heart now dat you ees see dis cougar ees be keel. Nawitka, Mees, you doan' have to be some more 'fraid. Dis sacre cougar," and he thrust his foot against the lax body, "he ees sure 'nough dead."

They went back to the open, but in a little while, when Mose had been shown the maple where the cougar had crept in ambush, and the clump of hazels where he had first appeared, the boy returned to secure the pelt. Martha joined him, but Alice stopped at the old cedar trunk and sank down into its chairlike arms. On a log near her Mrs. Myers had left the provision bag, and not far from it, against a fir, Mose had stood the musket. She felt a security in the gun and in having him within call, and she closed her eyes, relaxing her strained muscles and nerves.

She was roused by some moving body in the underbrush, and she started up instantly, at tight tension once more. A man was retreating from the open into the jungle, riverward. He looked back, scowling over his shoulder at her, and she recognized the shaggy, unkempt head and gaunt face of Slocum. The next moment he was gone, and with him had disappeared the food supply and Yelm Jim's musket.

She ran, calling Mose, and met him returning with the pelt. But there was nothing he could do. It was useless, unarmed, to trail the trespasser. He stood staring in the direction the man had taken; the color glowed in his cheeks. He dropped the skin in a heap on the ground and clenched his hands, slowly, twice, as he had the day at school when Laramie struck him. But his volubility died. The Indian in him wakened and effaced the White. His lips set in a thin line; his face became a mask through which his eyes only flamed heat. Presently he turned and stalked swiftly away, towards the settlement. He stopped once to whistle the dogs, but when Alice followed him, calling him back, it was as though he had not heard.

"Oh," she said, returning to Martha, "Yelm Jim will blame him. He may punish him, cruelly."

"Land, no," answered Martha. "Ef it hed be'n Laramie's gun, I 'low Mose 'ud get licked in an inch o' his life, but Yelm Jim ain't goin' ter blame him. He's more likely ter watch fur a good chanct to take it out'n some white man. Don't matter who, long's he's white."

She went over and picked up the cougar skin and spread it on the earth, showing it from tip to tip. "Mose took him here in the shoulder," she said, "an' his second shot fixed him right atween ther eyes. Measures 'bout nine feet."

But the teacher had turned away. She went back to the cedar stump and stood leaning weakly on it, looking off in the direction of the canyon. It seemed very far off.

Presently Martha joined her. She had prepared a pointed stick by holding it in the fire, and the end of it still smouldered. "I'm goin' down-stream ter dig wapato," she said. "Them two prospectors is goin' ter be terrible hungry when they get back, an' it'll taste pretty good."

Alice had seen this edible root, which is a favorite food among the Indians; it grew in profusion along the watercourse. "I will go with you and help," she said, "unless I had better stay to watch the horses."

Martha stood a thoughtful moment looking at the black. "I dunno," she said, "how Dick Slocum kem to leave Colonel. He hed er mighty good chanct to take er horse that 'ud carry him out er ther country, easy. But he was mighty scared o' makin' er noise, an' got erway in er terrible hurry. I jedge he didn't 'low ther was only one gun in ther crowd; he hedn't located Eben an' ther rifle."

But evidently the outlaw had located the rifle, for, lifting her keen eyes Martha discovered Forrest, the gun in the curve of his arm, coming swiftly down the glade. His glance swept the open anxiously, as he approached, but at sight of the girl, unharmed, the tense lines softened in his face. "I thought I heard a shot," he said, and his look again searched the place for the hunter; "I fixed it at about here. But I see I was mistaken. The truth is," he shook his head, smiling at his folly, "I got it into my head that you needed me. I couldn't think of anything else. You see you were so incautious yesterday, at the river; then, too, I blamed myself for leaving you without the protection of Eben's rifle. And I had forgotten to give you your book. You dropped it yesterday at the canyon, and I was afraid the time would drag without anything to read."

He drew the little volume from his pocket, and flushing, conscious of the shallowness of his excuse, looked off, riverward.

"I jedge," said Martha briefly, "ef you head right off fur ther river, up-stream, you kin hit Dick Slocum's trail. He's jest gone off 'ith ther rations, bag an' all. Keep ther rifle handy; he's took Mose Laramie's gun."

Then for the first time Forrest looked straight at the girl. The line drew black between his brows. He saw that her face was grimy with smoke and moisture; that the hand which had taken the book was scratched, bruised, stained. "Slocum? Then I did hear a shot." His voice was quiet, but it took a new quality, the streak of iron outcropping in the man. "He did not offer to touch you?"

"No, oh, no." She swayed a little on her feet; it was difficult to find words. "The shot you heard was Mose's. He--"

But that was enough. Forrest was off, pushing swiftly towards the river, picking up the fugitive's trail. Martha followed him a short distance, then turned down-stream. It was not her way to wait in idleness for the chance rescue of the provision bag, and she began industriously to dig the wapato. Presently she selected a more stubborn plant and dropped to her knees. "He kem back jest ter bring that ther book," she said slowly, thrusting the sharpened stick deep into the earth, "an' mebbe ther rifle. Lost 'bout half er day's prospectin'. An' he 'lowed he only hed one ter spare. Ef it don't beat all."

But the complete day was lost. The rich ledge, of which he had once found strong indications, remained locked in that secret passage of the hills for any chance comer to stumble upon. The search for Slocum also proved fruitless. Even Myers, who sauntered into camp an hour after Forrest, to learn what kept the young prospector, failed to trail the outlaw beyond a rocky point half a mile up-stream, where he presumably had taken advantage of low water to push up the gravelly bars of the river bed.

The two searchers returning met near camp. "I jedge," said Eben dryly, "ther next time we count on doin' any prospectin', we'll leave ther women folks ter home."

Forrest made no answer and the settler put his shoulder to a clump of alders and pushed through. The late sun, slanting between the branches, was in his eyes, but across the open he saw his wife at the camp-fire, preparing her dish of wapato. "I dunno," he added, "but what Marthy's er pretty good hand ter have erlong sometimes. An' I 'low ef she hed hed ther rifle she'd er fetched that ther cougar. Marthy's er mighty fine shot."

"Cougar?" repeated Forrest, "what cougar?"

Eben stopped and looked back. "Didn't they tell you 'bout that cougar? Mose kem erlong an' killed him; they was keepin' him off with bresh. An' Mose was takin' ther pelt when Slocum sneaked in an' lit out with his gun."

Forrest asked no more. He pushed by Myers into the open, and stumbled over something damp and soft that clung to his shoes. It was the skin; the hairy side, turned back at the end where he had tripped, was of the tawny, unmistakable color familiar in those days to every woodsman on Puget Sound.

Alice was coming across the grass to meet him. He moved back a step, steadying himself with one hand on an alder. His whole young, well-knit body shook. "Alice," he said, and his voice rang, deepened, and broke. "Alice--what happened?"

"Nothing--" she looked at the skin,--"Mose killed him. Nothing happened. But Paul,--it was the closest--" she laughed a little, bravely--"'_the closest--shave--I ever had._'"

*CHAPTER V*

*STRATTON'S WAY*

"Yes, sir, he's ther great tyee, an' I've hed him spotted sence spring." Lem waded a few steps to a flat rock under the bank and seated himself disgustedly. "An' I hed him hooked, an' er clawin' fur all he was worth in er riffle, 'ithout 'nough water ter carry him over, when you kem poundin' up ther trail an' scared him clear outn his skin. Picked hisself up like er reg'lar grasshopper an' got erway 'ith er bran' new line."

"Too bad." Stratton checked his restless horse and sat looking down at the boy with his mocking smile. "But here is the price of the best tackle to be had at Yelm Station. Better luck next time."

Lem caught the piece of silver and studied it closely.

"Oh, gee!" he began but clapped his hand over his mouth, and put the coin swiftly away into his pocket. He sprawled out on the rock and trailed the toes of one bare foot sensuously in the stream, regarding the rider with a sidelong look that said plainly, "I bet you want somethin' o' me."

"I suppose," said Stratton, "that Miss Hunter, the teacher, has gone home?"

"Naw." Lem cast up his eyes with a grim smile. "She stopped ter write er letter to her sister after school; takes her a good spell, an' I kem on erhead to wait round here at ther creek. She ain't needin' me so much on ther trail sence ther timber-cruiser left his horse fur her."

"The timber-cruiser?" repeated Stratton. "I see, you mean Forrest. And he left the black for her use?"

"You bet; ther ain't nothin' half-way 'bout him; an' I 'low he thinks when it kems to ther schoolmarm ther ain't nothin' too good fur her."

"Yes?" Stratton checked his horse again, watching the boy quizzically. "What grounds have you for believing that, Jonathan?"

"My name's Lemuel; you kin call me Lem fur short." He paused long enough to give the correction weight, then said, "I dunno. He ain't ther kind ter make much show, but I bet ther roots strikes deep. An' ma, she calc'lates he thinks ther sun 'bout rises an' sets in ther school-marm."

"Yes?" repeated Stratton dryly. "Well, I should not wonder. Your mother is a shrewd and practical judge."

"Dad," the boy continued, warming to his subject, "he 'lowed ther schoolmarm must have give him ther cold shoulder that time up in ther hills. He didn't seem to care er durn 'bout losin' his hull day o' prospectin'; never said er word, an' he'd be'n countin' on findin' that ther lost mine o' his fur more'n er year. But ma, she jedged he was jest all broke up on 'count o' that cougar."

Stratton had heard the story. It was one to carry far, to gather weight with repetition, and Eben, as the settlement historian, had been particularly glad to add it to his repertoire. There was a brief silence, during which the rider waited, smiling a little, and Lem thoughtfully trailed his other foot in the current, then, "Mebbe she has took the bit in her teeth fur er spell," he went on, "but ef he jest keeps er stiff upper lip she'll kem 'round. Er girl's bound ter show some spirit ef she's any 'count. Er man's got ter handle her 'bout like that ther sorrel filly of Mill Thornton's. He kin chase her all over ther pasture fur half er day, an' she'll keep gettin' more skittish an' shy, but ther minute he lets on he don't give er durn, an' goes an' sets down by ther bars fur er rest, she'll kem nosin' over his shoulder, huntin' his pockets fur sugar. Mill hisself 'lows girls is 'bout that erway, an' he'd orter know."

"Yes? And why should he, particularly, know?"

"On 'count o' Cousin Samanthy. Ther hull settlement's be'n calc'lating what she'll do 'bout Mill, fur ther last year."

"And who is Cousin Samantha?"

"Land, don't you know? Her dad owns that ther ranch down ter the prairie, close ter Yelm Station. Likely she was tendin' Post Office, ef it was train time, when you kem past."

"Yes, yes, she was." Stratton laughed softly, and allowed his horse to pace down into the stream. "So that pretty coquette I saw at the Station is your cousin. Well, well."

"You bet. I 'low she's pretty 'nough, an' sassy, too, as ther Lord makes 'em. An' she always lets on she thinks er sight more o' that there sorrel filly than she does o' Mill."

Stratton laughed again, and the chestnut splashed on through the ford and trotted up the opposite bank. A little later he stopped at the schoolhouse, and the young man dismounted and went up to the open door.

The teacher was there, writing at her desk. She looked up, and, seeing him on the steps, continued her paragraph. She had thought over that chance meeting at the canyon a good many times, wondering at Forrest's behavior, yet assuring herself that his reason was just; it gathered weight since he had not been able to give her an explanation. Paul was not a man of moods; it was his way to see any man's best until he had strong proof of his other side. Still, this stranger was so interesting, so polished, so well accoutered, so altogether different from any she had met on the Nisqually trail, or for that matter, anywhere, it was a pity there should be something objectionable in the way of knowing him. She told herself this while she wrote her signature, and folding the sheet, fitted it in an envelope, which she sealed and addressed before she again raised her eyes.

He waited, watching her, smiling a little, interested, but embarrassed not at all. "Now may I come in?" he asked.

She did not answer, but she rose from her chair, and surprised, holding her head high, stood with the lovely color coming and going in her face, while he walked up the aisle.

"I am sure, Miss Hunter," he said, "that you must have heard all about me by now. I know your sister so well; but I have somewhere,"--he felt in one pocket, then another,--"the necessary introduction from the Captain, your brother-in-law. Ah, here it is."

So he had a letter from Philip. Of course that changed the situation. She could not be rude to him, but--she _would be careful_. And his manner in presenting the note was after all irreproachable. He had at once the grace of a Southerner, and the unhurried pose of an English gentleman; there was, too, the touch of an accent in his deliberate speech, at times almost a drawl, that made her wonder if it had been inherited, with his long black lashes, from a French or perhaps Spanish mother.

"Of course," she said, "I am always glad to meet my sister's or the Captain's friends. You must have come directly from him; perhaps you have seen her lately."

"Yes, I saw them both in Olympia the day before yesterday. In fact your sister made me the bearer of a good many messages to you. I wish I could remember them all. But, most important, she is coming out, herself, to see you within a week. The Captain is getting an outfit together for a trip to Mt. Rainier, and he hopes, if you can arrange for a short vacation, to take you and Mrs. Kingsley as far, at least, as the warm springs."

"Oh," she said, and the coolness dropped from her face like a broken mask, "it will be lovely. Lovely. I knew he would let me go. And I can arrange a week of vacation; the directors have been considering it, for the older boys are needed through harvest."

"Then," he said, and his own face seemed to catch and reflect the light in hers, "I am doubly glad that the Captain has asked me to complete the party."

Her position on the edge of the platform brought her eyes almost on a level with his, and she met his look for a steady, searching, questioning instant. "Lem is waiting for me at the creek," she said, and went down and took her hat from its peg on the wall.

*CHAPTER VI*

*MOSE*

Yelm Jim sat brooding in his lodge. He was wrapped in his blanket and an old campaign hat shaded his eyes from the fire, which was kindled on the packed earth floor, and found partial vent through an opening in the roof, around which hung haunches of drying venison and bear. The squaw Clak-la-sum-kah was cooking bread, an unleavened mixture of flour and water, in a frying-pan over the coals. At the same time she watched some fine trout, which were suspended from a rod set in forked stakes above the embers. Mose, who had caught these fish, lounged on a couch that, built of shakes, extended along three sides of the room, and was furnished with woven mats of ribbon grass or the bast of cedar. The wall behind him also was covered with this fabric, which was of the color of ripened maize.

It was one of those intervals when the boy, having incensed his father, sought refuge with his mother's people while Laramie's wrath cooled. At such times the Indian in Mose effaced the white. He bound his head in a crimson handkerchief, and wrapped himself in a blanket, which Clak-la-sum-kah had adorned with many buttons for her grandson's use. He looked a true Klickitat, straight as a young hemlock, lithe as a nearly grown cougar in the woods. His face was a bronze oval, sharply chiseled, and he had the eyes of a hawk. He recalled to the old chief his own youth, when, having a different and much hyphened name, he had been a leader among the young braves of the powerful Yakima nation beyond the Cascades; when, hunting the buffalo, he had crossed the Rockies and skirmished with the Blackfeet, or, exacting tribute from weaker neighbors, had driven home numberless horses to pasture on the vast Palouse plains. He found in the boy an appreciative and tireless listener when he recounted these past glories, and he painted them brilliantly, in sharp contrast to the colorless present. Mose had no brave companions, no followers in the hunt, no tribe.

And the whites were responsible for this; they only were to blame. Not the Hudson Bay men, who, trading for furs, brought guns and many useful things to the Indians, but the "Bostons," who came at the first to rob them of their country. From the beginning the Yakimas had understood and opposed them, and, when at last a thousand warriors had crossed the Cascades to fall on the white settlements of the salt water, Yelm Jim had been among them. They had met defeat, and he, himself, had spent breaking years in the strong house of the "Bostons," and at the end of his captivity he had found himself poor and forgotten and another tyee raised in his place. For this reason the old chief had not returned to his people, but had buried himself in the forest.

But already the white settlers pressed hard on his retreat; axes, the rasp of saws, their shrill voices scattered the deer. He must go farther and farther in search of grouse that once had nested almost at his door; and now, since Slocum had robbed Mose of the musket, the old chief must set laboriously to work and shape the miserable arrow points of agate.

When Yelm Jim thought of this final outrage he drew yet more fiercely at his pipe, and in the shadow of his ragged hatbrim his brows beetled and gloomed. It was not the right moment for young Kingsley to darken the doorway.

One of Laramie's hounds, which had again tracked Mose, sprang up growling, but at a word from the boy settled back whimpering, with his nose between his paws. His mate, snuffing suspiciously, moved to the intruder's feet.

His familiar "Clahowya," said in a big, frank voice, startled the lodge and the first dog belled a note.

"Clahowya," he repeated. "Hello."

Still no answer except a longer note from the hound.

The young man stopped in the entrance and took off his hat, using it slowly as a fan. His close-cropped hair clung in damp, blond waves to his shapely head. The tan of a brief outing had not spoiled his unusual fairness; his face in the shadows was white, but his black eyes gathered depth and brilliancy.

"I think you are the young fellow I'm looking for," he said, addressing the indifferent boy on the couch. "It's dark to one coming in from the sunlight, and that blanket and handkerchief hardly tally with the description I had of you, but you must be Mose."

The boy regarded the trout which the squaw was turning. "Nawitka," he said.

"You are? Well then, Mose, I want you to guide us to Mt. Rainier." He paused, but the boy was silent and the old chief continued to draw deeply at his pipe. "You understand," he went on, "we are going to the mountain and want you to show us the way. If the weather stays fine I mean to try for the summit. Nika cumtux?" And he repeated in Chinook with an elaborate gesture, "Copa si-yah top."

Mose expressed his appreciation of the man's attempt at the language in a fleeting smile, but he made no reply. Yelm Jim also was silent, but he drew yet more furiously at his pipe.

"Let him go with us," continued Kingsley, addressing the chief, "and you shall have that pair of brown blankets you were so interested in yesterday, at the camp."

Still another pause. "If he goes with me up the mountain you can have all my blankets, the tents, the whole outfit, when we come back," added Kingsley.

Then Clak-la-sum-kah rose from her squatting posture by the fire and said in her vehement guttural, "Wake, wake. Mose wake clatawa. Wake clatawa copa si-yah illahee. Tyee Sahgalee hyas solleks. Hy-as solleks. Mose wake clatawa."

Kingsley looked from her to the boy, puzzled. "What is it she says?"

Mose rose from his lounging position and drew his blanket close. "Clak-la-sum-kah ees say 'no.' You mus' un'stan' Tyee Sahgalee ees same you all tam call God. Dat top of Rainier ees His plas. He doan' lak it for sure, we go dare. Sacre, dat mountain ees goin' shake an' smoke an' mek mooch fire we go dare, you can beli've it. But ya-as, Yelm Jim ees see it do dat long tam 'go. He ees say Tyee Sahgalee, ees be mad, because de firs' white man ees come."

Kingsley threw back his head and laughed. "I see," he said, "I see. And your Indian God wanted to reserve this country for his favorite people. But it's all foolishness, Mose; you ought to know it. That priest of your father's, who has been coming out here every month from Olympia, must have taught you different. You don't believe any such heathen nonsense. And you will show us over the trail. You aren't afraid to try the summit with me, though I doubt there's another boy in the settlement would dare."

"I ees hunt on dat mountain, si-yah, to de red snow," answered the boy slowly; "no Indian ees go pas' de red snow."

There was another silence. Kingsley ran his hand lightly down a tawny pelt that hung in the doorway. "Miss Hunter showed me that other cougar skin," he said. "She thinks you saved her life." He paused a grave moment, still stroking the fur. "And I know the story of this one. It's the pelt of the one you faced on that log crossing over the Des Chutes. You stopped to take careful aim, with the brute snarling, and the log dipping and heaving to the freshet underneath. And when he dropped no one else would have plunged into the flood as you did; not even to save this skin."

Mose's lips parted in his fleeting smile. "Dat ees not good plas to swim by Laramie's claim; monjee, no."

Yelm Jim shook his head slowly, and for the first time broke his silence with a profound, "Ugh."

"It was all the woods afloat that day," said Kingsley, "Myers told me,--and the drift tearing down a current gone mad." He paused again and his glance moved to a great shaggy trophy against the matting on the farther wall. "And that," he added, "must be the pelt of the cinnamon bear you met up in the hills, single-handed, with just your knife."

"Nawitka." A sudden fire leaped in the old chief's eyes. "Hy-as close peltry. Mose hy-as shookum tumtum. Hy-as skookum."

"Mose has the strong heart," interpreted Kingsley. "Strong heart, yes. I tell you I'd have paid a stiff price to see that encounter."

"It ees good skin," said Mose, simply. "Oh, ya-as, for sure."

"See here, Mose,--" the young man drew nearer,--"in the face of all this you can't make me believe you're afraid of Rainier."

"A'm not 'fraid anyt'ing dese woods; bear, cougar, hi-yu water, snow, doan' mek me 'fraid. But Tyee Sahgalee, ugh." Mose drew his shoulders high in eloquent conclusion, and resuming his place on the couch, turned his face.

Kingsley laughed once more. "Oh, well, think it over. We shall start for the mountain anyway, whether we have a guide or not. We shall break camp the day after to-morrow. Let me know if you make up your mind to go, Mose; and you had better look at those blankets. They are pretty fine."

He turned away then, taking the river trail, and, as he went, his lips shaped a gay whistle. Once, as he approached his camp, he turned from the path and stepped out on a fallen fir that served as a footbridge to a green island, and looking up-stream saw the splendor of a northern sunset on the mighty dome. "I don't wonder they believe it," he said. "I don't wonder."

Almost an hour later Mose also stopped at this crossing and lifted his eyes to the mountain. It loomed, vast, white, symmetrical against the darkening east, its consecrated summit touched with a holy fire. He waited while the glory paled to opal and to a cold silver. When he turned from the log his lips set in a thin line; his eyes narrowed; his face hinted of cruelty.

Laramie's hounds had followed him; they crept through the underbrush at heel. But suddenly, on the edge of the mam trail, he stopped and laid his hand on one of them. "Back, Pichou," he said. "Monjee, down, down, so."

He remained almost hidden by a tangle of alder, while two riders passed. Neither noticed him; the teacher was talking, and Stratton, though he might have lifted his arm and touched the boy, turned his head to watch her face. They moved slowly, at a walk, until the thoroughbred, sighting the waiting figure, started, and, dancing, crowding the black, circled suspiciously by. Then, directly, both horses broke into a light canter, taking advantage of the bit of wider track.

Mose stepped out into the trail and stood looking after them, but his gaze rested on Stratton's mount. He loved the thoroughbred, coveted him, every inch of the long sleek body, the slender limbs, the swelling chest, the dappled shading, that, like a reflection of leaves on a forest pool, ran through the shining, chestnut coat. Surely there was never another like him. Even among those fine herds of which Yelm Jim boasted this horse must stand the chief, the glory of the whole Palouse plains, the envy of the proudest Yakima.

He walked on towards the bend around which the horses had disappeared. The noise of the river was in his ears. After a while the air grew resinous with burning firboughs, and finally, through the trees, he caught the glow of Kingsley's camp-fire. He and his wife had chosen to pitch their tents here on the bank of the Nisqually, rather than to share the cramped quarters of the settler.

She was seated with the teacher on a log in the full light of the blazing boughs, when Mose stopped on the edge of the open to reconnoiter, and he saw instantly their resemblance to each other. The two men, resting a little apart, listened amusedly to their eager conversation, while nearer, but to the right, Mill Thornton stood with his hand at the bit of the young sorrel, waiting for a last word with Samantha Myers.

She had joined the camp to "help an' hev er little fun." And she was a slim, graceful girl,--"all tech an' go," Eben would have told you,--with the beautiful color that is as delicate as the tints of a seashell, and yet impervious to life out-of-doors. Her hair, as fine as corn silk, was pale red, and when she bent over the tin reflector, in which she was cooking some very light rolls, her head seemed to catch the vital charm of the flames.

"But," Thornton was saying, "kem to think of it, I never see er Myers yet that wasn't er good cook. Ther's your Uncle Eben, when he's driv to it, he kin stir up a flapjack, an' turn her at eggsactly ther minute. Beats all. Yes," he resumed in afterthought, "take 'em as er fambly, ther Myerses is er pretty smart crowd; but you, well, I don't keer how many's on ther tree, Samanthy, you're ther peach."

She stood erect and flashed him a look that startled the boldness from his young eyes. "Mebbe I am, Mill," she said, gently, "but I bet, even ef you do think so, you wouldn't spare the sorrel long 'nough fur me to ride ter Rainier."

"No," he answered, flushing, "no, I wouldn't. She ain't well 'nough broke. You oughter not ask me."

"I'd resk her," she urged still, sweetly, and smiled into his troubled face; "I'd love ter ride her, Mill. But," she went on after a pause, and shrugging her shoulders, drew herself aloof, "you're jest like Jake. He's turrible 'fraid I'd get Ketchem killed."

"And yourself, too," he said warmly.

"But Uncle Eben," she added, "he 'lows I kin ride. He ain't so powerful scared 'bout--_Ginger_."

With this she laughed, her hands on her hips, her elbows shaking, and Thornton, himself laughing deeply, in keen appreciation, turned to set his foot in the stirrup. "You're all right, Samanthy," he said. "You're all right, but I 'low it wa'n't a peach I meant; it was jest er sassy sweetbrier rose. It's so blame' innercent lookin' an' soft, but er feller can't tech it 'ithout feelin' ther thorns."

The horse started, but she tripped after him a step to say softly, "Say, Mill, why don't you call it eglantine?"

He wheeled. "Who calls it eglantine?"

She laid a warning finger on her lip. "Mr. Stratton. But I never sensed what he was talkin' 'bout tell he showed me that ther sweetbrier growin' ther by the table."

"Was he meanin' you?"

She started back to the reflector, but paused to nod her head over her shoulder; a hundred imps danced in her eyes. "I'd love ter hear you call me that, Mill. My stars--eglantine!"

Her lips bubbled laughter; it followed him, teasing, taunting, as he rode on through the wood.

Mose, passing him, stalked into the open and towards the farther group. Kingsley waved his hand in careless recognition, and rising, threw back his tent-fly and drew out the blankets. "Well, Mose," he said, "what do you think of these?"

The boy bent to feel their texture gravely. "Dey ess plent' good 'nough blankets, monjee, ya-as, an Yelm Jim ees tell me--_go_. But Tyee Sahgalee ees goin' be hy-as mad. Sacre, it ees pos'ble he ees keel you. Den, merci, some more white man doan' lak go Rainier."

He turned with this and stalked swiftly back into the gloom. Alice rose in astonishment. Kingsley laughed. "If I should lose myself over a precipice," he said, "or drop into a crevasse, I suppose he would believe it was all the vengeance of his Indian God."