Told in the Hills: A Novel Read online

  CHAPTER IV.

  BANKED FIRES.

  She did not look masculine, however, as she stood there, slender, andbrown from the tan of the winds; the unruly, fluffy hair clusteringaround a face and caressing a neck that was essentially womanly in everycurve; only, slight as the form seemed, one could find strong points inthe depth of chest and solid look of the shoulders; a veteran of theroads would say those same points in a bit of horse-flesh would denotecapacity for endurance, and, added to the strong-looking hand and themockery latent in the level eyes, they completed a personality that shehad all her life heard called queer. And with a smile that reflectedthat term, she watched those two married lovers stroll arm in arm towhere the freshly-killed deer lay. Glancing at the group, she missed theface of their guide, a face she had seen much of since that sunrise inthe Kootenai. Across the sward a little way the horses were picketed,and Mowitza's graceful head was bent in search for the most lusciousclusters of the bunch-grass; but Mowitza's master was not to be seen.She had heard him speak, the night before, of signs of grizzlies aroundthe shank of the mountain, and wondered if he had started on a lone huntfor them. She was conscious of a half-resentful feeling that he had notgiven her a chance of going along, when he knew she wanted to seeeverything possible in this out-of-door life in the hills.

  So, in some ill-humor, she walked aimlessly across the grass whereClara's lecture on the conventionalities had been delivered; and pushingahead under the close-knit boughs, she was walking away from the rest,led by that spirit of exploration that comes naturally to one in awilderness, and parting a wide-spreading clump of laurel, was about towedge her way through it, when directly on the other side of that greenwall she saw Genesee, whom she had supposed was alone after a grizzly.Was he asleep? He was lying face downward under the woven green roofthat makes twilight in the cedars. The girl stopped, about to retraceher steps quietly, when a sudden thought made her look at him moreclosely, with a devout prayer in her heart that he was asleep, andasleep soundly; for her quick eyes had measured the short distancebetween that resting-place and the scene of the conversation of a fewminutes ago. She tried wildly to remember what Clara had said about him,and, most of all, what answers Clara had received. She had no doubt saidthings altogether idiotic, just from a spirit of controversy, and herethe man had been within a few feet of them all the time! She felt likesaying something desperately, expressively masculine; but instead ofeasing her feelings in that manner, she was forced to complete silenceand a stealthy retreat.

  Was he asleep, or only resting? The uncertainty was aggravating. And averitable Psyche, she could not resist the temptation of taking a last,sharp look. She leaned forward ever so little to ascertain, and thuslost her chance of retreating unseen; for among the low-hanging brancheswas one on which there were no needles of green--a bare, straggling limbwith twigs like the fingers of black skeletons. In bending forward, shefelt one of them fasten itself in her hair; tugging blindly and wildly,at last she loosened their impish clutches, and left as trophy to thetree some erratic, light-brown hair and--she gave up in despair as shesaw it--her cap, that swung backward and forward, just out of reach.

  If it only staid there for the present, she would not care so much; butit was so tantalizingly insecure, hanging by a mere thread, and almostdirectly above the man. Fascinated by the uncertainty, she stood still.Would it stay where it was? Would it fall?

  The silent query was soon answered--it fell, dropped lightly down on theman's shoulder, and he, raising his head from the folded arms, showed aface from which the girl took a step back in astonishment. He had notbeen asleep, then; but to the girl's eyes he looked like a man who hadbeen either fighting or weeping. She had never seen a face so changed,telling so surely of some war of the emotions. He lay in the shadow, onehand involuntarily lifting itself as a shade for his eyes while helooked up at her.

  "Well!" The tone was gruff, almost hoarse; it was as unlike him as hisface at that moment, and Rachel Hardy wondered, blankly, if he wasdrunk--it was about the only reasonable explanation she could giveherself. But even with that she could not be satisfied; there was toomuch quick anger at the thought--not anger alone, but a decided feelingof disappointment in the man. To be sure, she had been influenced by noone to have faith in him; still--someway--

  "Are you--are you ill, Mr. Genesee?" she asked at last.

  "Not that I know of."

  What a bear the man was! she thought; what need was there to answer acivil question in that tone. It made her just antagonistic enough not tocare so much if his feelings had been hurt by Clara's remarks, and sheasked bluntly:

  "Have you been here long?"

  "Some time."

  "Awake?"

  "Well, yes," and he made a queer sound in his throat, half grunt, halflaugh; "I reckon I--was--awake."

  The slow, half-bitter words impelled her to continue:

  "Then you--you heard the--the conversation over there?"

  He looked at her, and she thought his eyes were pretty steady for adrunken man's.

  "Well, yes," he repeated, "I reckon--I--heard it."

  All her temper blazed up at the deliberate confession. If he had seemedembarrassed or wounded, she would have felt sorry; but this stoicismangered her, as the idea of drunkenness had done--perhaps because eachset herself and her feelings aside--I do not know, but that may havebeen the reason; she was a woman.

  "And you deliberately lay there and listened," she burst out wrathfully,"and let us say all sorts of things, no doubt, when it was your place asa gentleman to let us know you were here? I--I would not have taken youfor an eavesdropper, Mr. Jack Genesee!" And with this tirade she turnedto make her way back through the laurel.

  "Here!"

  She obeyed the command in his voice, thinking, as she did so, how quickthe man was to get on his feet. In a stride he was beside her, his handoutstretched to stop her; but it was not necessary, his tone had donethat, and he thrust both hands into the pockets of his hunting coat.

  "Stop just where you are for a minute, Miss," he said, looking down ather; "and don't be so infernally quick about making a judge and jury ofyourself--and you look just now as if you'd like to be sheriff, too. Imake no pretense of being a gentleman of culture, so you can saveyourself the trouble of telling me the duty of one. What little polish Iever had has been knocked off in ten years of hill life out here. I'mnot used to talking to ladies, and my ways may seem mighty rough to you;but I want you to know I wasn't listening--I would have got away if Icould, but I--was paralyzed."

  "What?" Her tone was coldly unbelieving.

  His manner was collected enough now. He was talking soberly, if ratherbrusquely; but--that strange look in his face at first? and the eyesthat burned as if for the lack of tears?--those were things not yetunderstood.

  "Yes," he continued, "that's what I was, I reckon. I heard what shesaid; she is right, too, when she says I'm no fit company for a lady. Ihadn't thought of it before, and it started me to thinking--thinkingfast--and I just lay still there and forgot everything only those words;and then I heard the things you said--mighty kind they were, too, but Iwasn't thinking of them much--only trying to see myself as people ofyour sort would see me if they knew me as I do, and I concluded I wouldpan out pretty small; then I heard something else that was good for me,but bitter to take. And then--" His voice grew uncertain; he was notlooking at the girl, but straight ahead of him, his features softened,his eyes half closed at some memory.

  "And then what, Genesee?" She felt a little sorry for him as he wasspeaking--a little kinder since he had owned his own unworthiness. Atouch of remorse even led her to lay a couple of fingers on the sleeveof his coat, to remind him of her presence as she repeated: "And then?"

  He glanced down at the fingers--the glance made the hand drop to herside very quickly--and then he coolly brushed his sleeve carefully withthe other hand.

  "Then for a little bit I was let get a glimpse of what heaven on earthmight mean to a man, if he hadn't locked the door against hi
mself anddropped into hell instead. This is a blind trail I'm leading on, is it,Miss?--all tsolo. Well, it doesn't matter; you would have to drop intoa pretty deep gulch yourself before you could understand, and you'llnever do that--the Almighty forbid!" he added, energetically. "Youbelong to the mountains and the high places, and you're too sure-footednot to stay there. You can go now. I only stopped you to say that mylistening mightn't have been in as mean a spirit as you judged. Judgingthings you don't understand is bad business anyway--let it alone."

  With that admonition he turned away, striding through the laurel growthand spruce, and on down the mountain, leaving Miss Hardy feeling morelectured and astonished than she had often been in her life.

  "Well, upon my word!"

  It is not an original exclamation--she was not equal to any originalthought just then; but for some time after his disappearance that wasall she could find to say, and she said it standing still there,bare-headed and puzzled; then, gathering up her faculties and herskirts, she made her way back through the low growth, and sat down whereClara and herself had sat only a little while before.

  "And Clara says he doesn't talk!" she soliloquized, with a faint smileabout her lips. "Not talk!--he did not give me a chance to say a word,even if I had wanted to. I feel decidedly 'sat upon,' as Hen would say,and I suppose I deserved it."

  Then she missed her cap, and went to look for it; but it was gone. Sheremembered seeing it in his hand; he must have forgotten and taken itwith him. Then she sat down again, and all the time his words, and theway he had said them, kept ringing in her head--"Judging things youdon't understand is bad business."

  Of course he was right; but it seemed strange for her to be taken totask by a man like that on such a subject--an uncouth miner and hunterin the Indian hills. But was he quite uncouth? While he made her stopand listen, his earnestness had overleaped that slurred manner of speechthat belongs to the ignorant of culture. His words had been clearer cut.There had been the ring of finished steel in his voice, not the thud ofiron in the ore, and it had cut clear a path of revelations. The man,then, could do more than ride magnificently, and look a Launcelot inbuckskin--he could think--how deeply and wildly had been shown by thehaggard face she had seen. But the cause of it? Even his disjointedexplanation had given her no clue.

  "Tsolo," she thought, repeating the Chinook word he had used; "thatmeans to lose one's way--to wander in the dark. Well, he was right. Thatis what I am doing"; and then she laughed half mockingly at herself asshe added: "And Mr. Jack Genesee has started me on the path--and startedme bare-headed. Oh, dear, what a muddle! I wonder where my cap is, and Iwonder where the man went to, and I wonder--I wonder what he meant by aglimpse of heaven. I haven't seen any signs of it."

  But she had seen it--seen it and laughed mockingly, unbelievingly, whilethe man had by the sight been touched into a great heart-ache ofdesolation. And yet it was a commonplace thing they had seen; only twolives bound together by the wish of their hearts and a wedding ring--anaffection so honest that its fondness could be frankly shown to theworld.

  * * * * *

  That evening Genesee came back to camp looking tired, and told Ivansthere was a grizzly waiting to be skinned in a gully not far off. He hadhad a hard tussle after it and was too tired to see to the pelt; andthen he turned to Miss Hardy and drew her cap from his pocket.

  "I picked it up back there in the brush, and forgot to give it to youbefore going out," he said.

  That was all--no look or manner that showed any remembrance of theirconversation. And for the next two days the girl saw very little oftheir guide; no more long gallops ahead of the party. Mr. Genesee hadtaken a sedate turn, and remained close to the rest, and if any of theladies received more of his attention than another it was Mrs. Hardy.

  He had for her something approaching veneration. In her tender, half-shylove of her husband she seemed to him as the Madonna to those of theRoman church--a symbol of something holy--of a purity of affectionunknown to the rough man of the hills. Unpretentious little Tillie wouldhave been amazed if she had suspected the pedestal she occupied in theimagination of this dark-faced fellow, whose only affection seemed to belavished on Mowitza. Clara always looked at him somewhat askance; and inpassing a party of the Indians who were berry-hunting in the mountains,she noted suspiciously his ready speech in their own language, and thedecided deference paid him by them; the stolid stare of the squawsfilled her with forebodings of covetousness for her raiment--of whichseveral of them rather stood in need, though the weather was warm--andthat night was passed by her in waking dreams of an Indian massacre,with their guide as a leader of the enemy.

  "Do you know them very well?" asked Miss Hardy, riding up to Genesee."Is it entirely Chinook they are talking? Let me try my knowledge of it.I should like to speak to them in their jargon. Can I?"

  "You can try. Here's a Siwash, a friend of mine, who is as near a Boston(American) man as any of them--try him."

  And, under Genesee's tuition, she asked several questions about theberry yield in the hills, and the distance to markets where pelts couldbe sold; and the Indian answered briefly, expressing distance as much bythe sweep of his hand toward the west as by the adjective"siah-si-ah;" and Miss Hardy, well satisfied with her knowledge, wouldhave liked to add to her possessions the necklace of bear's claws thatadorned the bronze throat of the gentleman who answered her questions.

  The squaws slouched around the camp, curious and dirty, here and there ahalf-breed showing the paler blood through olive skin. The younger womenor girls were a shade less repulsive than their mothers, but none showedmaterial for a romance of Indian life. They were as spiritless asill-kept cattle.

  Back of some tethered ponies Miss Hardy noticed a dark form dodging asif to avoid being seen. A squaw possessed of shyness was such a directcontradiction of those she had seen, that the white girl found herselfwatching the Indian one with a sort of curiosity--in fact, she rode herhorse over in the direction of the ponies, thinking the form she had aglimpse of was only a child; but it was not, for back of the ponies itlay flat to the ground as a snake, only the head raised, the eyesmeeting those of Miss Hardy with a half scowl, and the bright-beadeddress outlining the form of a girl perhaps twenty years old, and dressedmuch neater than any she had seen in the camp. By the light tinge ofcolor she was evidently a half-breed, and the white girl was about toturn her horse's head, when, with a low exclamation, the other seized ablanket that had slipped from a pony, and quick as a flash had rolledher plump form in it, head and heels, and dropped like one asleep, facedownward, in the trampled grass.

  Wondering at the sudden hiding and its cause, Miss Hardy turned away andmet Genesee, who was riding toward her.

  "Shaky-looking stock," he commented, supposing she was looking at theponies. "The rest are going on, Miss; we have to do some traveling toreach our last camp by night-fall."

  As they rode away, Miss Hardy turned for a last look at thatmummy-looking form by the ponies. It apparently had not moved. Shewondered if it was Genesee the girl was hiding from, and if so, why? Wastheir guide one of those heroes of the border whose face is a thing ofterror to Indian foe? And was the half-breed girl one of the few timidones? She could not answer her own questions, and something kept herfrom speaking to Genesee of it; in fact, she did not speak to him ofanything with the same freedom since that conversation by the laurelbushes.

  Sometimes she would laugh a little to herself as she thought of how hehad brushed off that coat-sleeve; it had angered her, amused her, andpuzzled her. That entire scene seemed a perplexing, unreal sort of anaffair to her sometimes, especially when looking at their guide as hewent about the commonplace duties in the camp or on the trail. Anundemonstrative, prosaic individual she knew he appeared to the rest;laconic and decided when he did speak, but not a cheery companion. Toher always, after that day, he was a suggestion of a crater in which thefires were banked.