IN WHICH I SUFFER FOUR SHOCKS, THREE OF THE EARTH AND ONE FROM THE SKY, AND FIND ANOTHER MAID A-FISHING
Now that has come to pass of which I had a premonition the first time I sat on the top of old Baldy and hugged my knees. In consequence thereof I write to-night with my left wrist rudely bandaged, from a hurt I took this morning. The day has been full of adventure and surprise, and I find it difficult to harness my leaping brain as I start about my record of events. Truly I have encountered enough to set my mind buzzing, and two long, full pipes since supper have failed to tranquilize and soothe. But the happenings of the day must be transcribed before I go to bed.
I went to the post-office soon after breakfast, to see if a reply had come from 'Crombie. A package and a letter awaited me. The thought came to me to run on up the hill and inquire about Beryl Drane, but I didn't. I can't say why I didn't. But I merely asked the sloth-like storekeeper about her instead, and learned from him that she was "putty peart," and was up and about the house. When I passed the blacksmith shop I saw the door was open, but there was no one within. I started to ask the storekeeper where Buck was, but refrained on second thought, and betook myself up the railroad instead, intending to reach home by a circuitous route. By this time I was fairly familiar with the lay of the country, and I had a natural longing for exploration anyway. Then, too, deep in the bottom of my mind, I had laid a plan to come down the huge spur back of Lessie's house, and surprise her with a short visit.
I followed the railroad for perhaps a mile, made some calculations as to distance and location, then descended into a heavily wooded ravine and continued my way in a northeasterly course. I had never been in this part of the knobs before, and I found the country more rugged, if possible, than that to which I was accustomed. As I proceeded, I closely scanned the ground before me and on either side as far as my eyes would go. I had scant hope of finding the life-plant here, because one of its requisites was sunshine, and the shade was so dense that I walked in a sort of cool, green gloom, wonderfully attractive to the senses. Now and again a sun-shaft would come trembling and swaying down, brightening the brown forest floor with shining, shaking spots of pale yellow. But no green stemmed plant with golden leaves rose up from the mold to confront me. I have begun to think my quest is almost as elusive as that for the Holy Grail, but, like Sir Launfal, I shall persevere.
I became engrossed in the natural beauty of the hollow I was traversing, and forgot my secret determination to go by Granny's house. After a time the ravine opened and broadened into a little amphitheater, grass-set, jungle-like in its wildness. But few tall trees were here. Dozens of smaller ones grew on every side, and many of these were covered with the odorous green mantle of the wild grapevine. The birds had likewise sought out this spot, and the air was musical with chirp, and twitter, and song. I stopped to regale myself with Nature's prodigal loveliness, and as I drew a deep breath of satisfaction and appreciation I heard something which had come to my ears once before. A long-drawn bird note, shrill but sweet, and ending with a quick upward inflection. I started guiltily, and knew that my whole body was a-tingle. Then I stared about, trying to locate the sound. Again I heard it, and again I thrilled. Straight ahead, beyond that bosky wall of herbage. Eagerly I started forward, my pulse bounding. I reached the screening leaves and thrust out one hand to make a way, but a vagrant gust of wind at that moment formed a lane for my eyes, and the next instant I was staggering back, choking, muttering crazily, my face afire, my chest tight as though bound by constricting bands of steel. God above! Suppose I had crashed through, as I would have done a second later! With gritted teeth and set eyes I tiptoed away—away—anywhere, so that spot was left to Nature and to her!
She was there, bathing in a sheltered pool in the secluded heart of the everlasting hills. My one swift glance had showed me the Dryad in her haunts. The curling mass of her copper-gold hair she had piled regardlessly on top of her small, shapely head; she was almost entirely immersed; her back was toward me, and I saw only her head with its bewildering crown, one ivory shoulder upthrust from the water, gleaming like wet marble in the sunlight, and a naked, outheld arm whereon sat the tiny bird she had summoned. Small cause for wonder that I reeled, grew dizzy with the hard-pumped, hot blood which deluged my brain, and crept like a thief from that hidden pool—crept crouching, with rigid face and bated breath. Dear Christ! How thankful I was that the protecting water had covered her! Had it been otherwise; had my unwilling gaze dwelt upon her revealed beauty from head to foot, I think I could have taken my own life from shame. Certain it is I never again could have looked into those honest Irish gray eyes. It was what might have been, rather than what was, which planted the volcano in my breast, and sent me trembling and quaking through the bird-sung silence of that secret, sacred glen. As I went, I heard a bubbling laugh, and the tinkle of falling water drops.
Now I was speedily destined to another shock, almost as great. How far I had gone I cannot say, but all at once I knew that I was looking down upon a plant about a foot in height, with green stem and yellow leaves. I halted as though turned to stone, but I did not think. I couldn't think. My mind refused its office, and in the face of what I took to be a momentous discovery, stood still. Almost simultaneously with my finding this significant growth the third shock came, as important in its way as either of the other two, and far more ominous.
"Whut 'n' hell yo' doin' prowlin' 'roun' here?"
The voice was harsh and deep; indignation and rage ran through it.
The savage tones brought me to myself; they acted on my senses as a battery might on my flesh. I stood erect and threw my head up. The smith was not a dozen steps away. Where he had come from, how he had got there, and why he was there I could not guess. He was dressed as I had seen him at the forge on the occasion of my first visit to Hebron; plainly he had not come courting in that garb. One hand held a large club, in a position almost of menace. I brought a serious, determined expression to my face, and looked him squarely in the eyes. In that moment as we stood in silence, a darkness spread over the glen, and a cool breath as from a summer storm cloud blew upon us; I saw it lift and drop the brown hair on the forehead of the man facing me. He had me at a disadvantage. He had doubtless seen me coming from the direction of the pool, and weaker circumstantial evidence than this has condemned many a man. If he supposed for a moment that I had been spying upon the privacy of the girl he loved—and that this idea was in full possession of his mind I did not doubt—then mischief was brewing, and from his standpoint, justly so. Had our positions been reversed, had I seen him skulking away from that fringe of greenery, I doubt if I would have given him the chance he offered me. All this raced swiftly through my brain in that short period following his hard question, and though my first feeling, a very human one, was of cold and haughty resentment, I quelled this immediately as both dangerous and unjust, and decided to speak him fairly and honestly. So I said:
"I might ask the same of you, Buck Steele."
I purposely pitched my voice low. Not that I feared she would hear it, for I realized the pool must be out of earshot from where we stood, but there is a certain low tone which permits of modulation and inflection carrying greater convincing power than when spoken in a higher key. I paused only long enough to take breath after my first sentence, then resumed.
"It's none of your business what I am doing here, but I am going to tell you, because, in a way, you have a right to know."
There flashed upon me the thought that I must play for time. If Lessie had not left the pool she would leave soon, for a storm impended. In what direction she would go to reach home I had no notion. She might come straight down the glen where we were. In any event, if blows were to be struck, and in my heart I believed they would come before we parted, it would be better if the girl was not in the neighborhood. This train of reasoning came and passed without interrupting my flow of speech.
"It's not my fault we're not friends. I came to these knobs a total stranger, intending to treat everybody right. But when I spoke to you in Hebron, you turned your back on me. Why did you do that? I know why, and in a measure I forgive it. But it was not a manly thing to do. I'm going to talk plainly to you, Buck. I'm glad of this chance to have it out right here in the woods. But before we go any further tell me this—what's that thing?"
I pointed at the plant before me.
My audacity stupefied him. He blinked at me with scowling forehead—at me and at the plant—probably deeming me crazy.
"I mean it," I insisted; "I'm not fooling with you. Tell me what that thing is, if you know, and then I'll tell you what I'm doing out here in the wilderness."
"That's a May apple," he said, suddenly and reluctantly.
"May apple!" I gasped, my high hopes shattered and gone. "I didn't know; I'm obliged to you."
Then I told him the object of my stay in the hills, not sparing words to prolong my story, and ended by asking him if he had ever seen the life-plant, ever heard of it, or ever heard of anybody that had heard of it. He shook his head to each question, then said, emphatically:
"They ain't no sich thing!"
I knew that the Dryad was safe and away by this time, so now I came back to the topic of the moment. Indeed, the smith had listened to my speech with ever increasing restlessness. I think he suspected I was trying to delay my explanation, but I doubt if he guessed the true reason for it.
"You asked me at the beginning what I was doing here, and I'm going to tell you, and tell you the truth; mind you that—the truth. I've never told a lie since I was old enough to know how base a thing it was." I took two steps toward him. "You suspect me, Buck Steele, of the lowest, most contemptible, hell-born, dastardly trick one who calls himself a man could commit. I'm not going to put it into words, because it's too damnably vile!"
The smith began to move forward as I spoke; short, hurried steps, like one takes when about to spring. But whatever his impulse he checked himself, and waited, his broad chest heaving in troubled breaths, his face contorted, his eyes veined and bulging. I knew that I fronted a deadly peril. I knew the man was surely insane that moment; that reason, argument or logic could find no place in his perceptions. He had grasped the idea that I had knowingly and willingly violated the sanctity of this secret place, and nothing that I could say would sweep that illusion from his disordered brain. He saw red. The blood-lust was on him in all its primal force; in every lineament of his twisted countenance was written the word—"kill."
A strong gust of wind tore down the glen, shuddering among the murmuring leaves, and with its coming the gloom deepened. The shape before me assumed a more formidable aspect in the lessened light, but I felt no fear. I thought of my revolver—and was ashamed. Still it might serve a purpose. It might help bring this madman to his senses. I drew it quickly from my pocket, and holding it out in the palm of my hand, said:
"I could kill you, man; I could shoot you down, and no one would ever guess I did it. You're bent on trouble; you're prepared not to believe anything I say. But for this revolver I am unarmed. I am not going to take an unfair advantage of you. See?" I broke the weapon, emptied its chambers, then put the cartridges and revolver in separate pockets.
The act had no apparent effect. It may be the look of ferocity deepened; certainly there was no recognition of my attempt to place our relations upon an equal basis. Now I knew that nothing short of physical violence would bring about a reaction to sanity, and for an instant I hesitated. The temptation to evade the whole truth assailed me wickedly. Something within told me that I could not cope with this giant in a personal encounter; that death or disablement awaited the revelation I was contemplating. The something which gave this warning also suggested the remedy—the lie whereby I might pass Buck Steele with a whole skin and an outraged conscience. I believe I wavered. I believe that for the shortest time I came near to yielding, then my manhood asserted itself in a swift rush, before Buck's words stung my blood hot.
"Go on, yo' damn sneak'n' fox!—Whur'd yo' ben w'en I seen yo'?—Whur?—Whur?"
I stripped off my coat as I answered, for I knew there was work ahead. And Buck laughed as I cast the garment aside; a hoarse, growling laugh in which dwelt no note of mirth. It was simply an indication that he was pleased with the meaning of the act; that the pagan desire to give and take blows which possessed him would be satisfied.
"I'm going to tell you. I went to Hebron this morning, and started home by the railroad. I don't know this country as well as you, and as I was making my way back toward Lessie's house—for I wanted to have a word with her—I stumbled into this place."
A malevolent grin of disbelief greeted this speech. The fellow's insolence nettled me, but I went on.
"I heard a bird-call which I knew—which I had heard her give before. I went to look for her. I came to the line of bushes which fringe the pool; I was preparing to pass through them in my search for her, when the wind blew the leaves aside and I saw——"
With a roar like a wounded bull he was on me. He had been holding himself back for this confession. Too late I realized that I had blundered. I might have approached the denouement more circumspectly; I might have prepared him for things as they actually had been, instead of allowing him, by my extreme candor, to suppose that matters were worse than they really were. He swung his club as he rushed, and it hissed above me. I crouched and leaped aside, striking up blindly with all my might. I had flung my left arm out to balance myself, and the descending club caught my wrist a slanting blow. I am sure now it scarcely more than touched it, but an arrow of acute pain shot through my entire arm. The bludgeon hit the earth with a force which splintered it into a dozen pieces, and Buck wheeled more than half around, for my fist had found his ribs. Even as he turned with a harsh, bellowing, wordless oath, I was at him. I thrust deliberately, coolly, but with all my concentrated power, aiming over his shoulder at his neck. He saw the stroke coming, but, in the attitude where my former blow had forced him he could parry but ineffectually. His shoulder went up, off and over it my fist slid and with all the weight of my body behind it caught him on the ear. Then back he staggered, his windmill arms waving hugely, aimlessly, his knees wobbling, his feet slithering uncertainly over the short grass. Back and back he went, seeming to try to stop, but couldn't, till fifteen paces must have separated us. I did not follow him, though I suppose I should have done so. I think I was a trifle dazed at my success, and the spectacle of the great body of the smith moving crazily backward with wide arms threshing the air over his head, must have unconsciously served as a check for any further assault.
When nearly a score of yards lay between us Buck came to himself. His arms dropped, he shook his shoulders, felt his damaged ear, now covered with blood,—and saw me. Instantly he made ready to rush me. He possessed to the full that instinct held by all fighting animals which does not allow them to give up. As long as he could stand on his feet he would do battle. I squared myself and awaited his onslaught. My temporary advantage had not deceived me. I knew too well that chance had a hand in the operations just concluded, and that if I ultimately succeeded in whipping Buck Steele it would be a miraculous happening. I saw him bend his body to advance, then earth and sky and air became blended in one burning, blinding, deafening, fiery chaos. My eardrums vibrated under a volume of sound such as I would not have deemed possible; a white sword of dazzling brightness was laid across my eyes, searing the balls and scattering a myriad colored sparks dancing and ricocheting through my brain. Vaguely I seemed to see an oak tree back of Buck slough its bark as a snake does its skin—shake it out and away from its white trunk; saw it rip off its own limbs and cast them down; saw it take its leaves by vast bunches, strip them from their hold, and scatter them abroad like feathers. Accompanying this phenomenon I saw my enemy sink down in his tracks. It all happened within the fractional part of a second, for on the heels of the crash and the awful light, a great blackness and silence settled over me.
I awoke with a quivering, indrawn breath, and knew that the little fists of a heavy rain were pounding me in the face. Slowly my mind grasped the situation. Struggling to my hands and knees, my arms trembling under my weight, I looked at Buck. He lay perfectly still. He had been much nearer the tree which had received the bolt than I, and the fear that he was dead took hold of me. Painfully I dragged myself toward him over the wet grass, my head buzzing and swimming, and throbbing with queer, unnatural pains. I reached his side and grasped his wrist, sliding the tips of my fingers back of the small bone where the pulse manifests itself. I held my breath in fear, at once conscious of no perceptible movement. A few moments longer I waited, but the signal of life failed to come. Then I firmly seized the shirt where it opened at the neck, and ripped off the remaining buttons with a quick jerk. A big, deep chest, covered with black hair, was revealed. I know a moan came from me as I drew my body over his, and fell across him with my ear pressed to his heart. As I lay the pounding rain revived me more and more, the thrumming in my head ceased, and then, muffled, weak, but real, I heard the feeble beating of the engine of life. There was nothing I could do for him, but I sat there and waited his return to consciousness, knowing that it would be wrong to leave him absolutely helpless. My strength came back momentarily, and when Buck began to stir I was capable of standing erect. So presently I went away, realizing that his iron constitution would quickly right him.
I did not have the heart to get dinner, but ate what cold stuff I could find, then went to the seat under the tall pine, and thought. I was not scared. Fright did not enter into my feelings in the smallest way, although, when I reviewed the incident, I was confident Buck would have worsted me had it not been for the unexpected and startling intervention. He was unquestionably the stronger man, and had I defeated him, it would have been due to my skill in fisticuffs. I was not a stranger to the science of the ring, while abhorring prize-fighting. I believe it every man's duty to himself and those he loves to equip himself physically for life's battles. So I had trained, and kept myself in training. But the smith had been transformed into a raging demon of a man; his great natural power had been doubled, quadrupled, and had his clutching hands once found me I would have fared as Carver Doone fared at the hands of John Ridd.
I was sick at heart because of what these things which had just transpired foretold. Would Buck voice his hellish belief in my poltroonery to Lessie? A shiver shook me at the thought; it seemed as if a thousand-legged worm with feet of ice was laid along my spine. Then my neck and face burned, and my throat grew tight, so that my breath came hard. What ailed me? Never before had such a sensation possessed me. Why did it matter so very greatly what Buck told? I knew that I was entirely innocent of any wrong—what else mattered? I know the good opinion of our fellow creatures is worth striving for and maintaining, but why should I be so concerned as to what these hill people thought of me? A few months more and I would be gone, would never see them again in all my life. Why—then suddenly, in the midst of my reflections the Dryad's face swam before my mind, and I saw it as it would look when Buck, crudely but earnestly, told her what he believed to be true. I saw the expression on her face when she heard the hateful words; the swift, responsive blood bathing her cheeks into red peonies—the terror and shame in her eyes—the anguish of betrayed faith—and in that moment I knew that I cared more for what Buck should say to Lessie than for anything else in all the world. I got up, breathing fast, and looked out over the great valley of billowing trees. In former days this sight had a magical effect; it brought a sweet calm and content. This afternoon I did not feel the response to which I was accustomed. Instead, I knew that war was in my breast, and that every passing moment loosened a lurking devil with a shape of fear. Peace cannot come from without when there is strife within. Had Buck already told her? I found myself wondering. Had he gone direct to her after he recovered, and poured out the poisoned tale? He would do it, I felt assured. His passion had reached a stage which not only suggested, but declared this course, and he, rough, untrained, with no restraining leash of civilization and refinement to hold him back, would make instant capital of his supposed discovery to further his wooing. If I could see her first—
Down my hill of refuge I tore, bareheaded, coatless. Along the familiar route I ran, to Dyrad's Glade, to the creek which flowed south, to the tree spanning the creek. Midway across the tree sat the object of my quest, fishing. A pool of some depth spread out beneath her, and here her hook was cast. Her rod was a slender hickory pole, while a rusty tin can at her side held her bait—the fishing-worms of our boyhood. As I appeared she drew up and at once became engaged in impaling a fat bait on the hook. With the greatest nonchalance she drew the wriggling thing over the barb, and sighted me just as the operation was concluded. She smiled, and the relief wave which swept over me threatened to inundate me root and branch. By this I knew I had reached her first. Then, as I climbed eagerly up, she deliberately pursed her lips and spat on that worm!
"Hello!" she said, and cast her line.
I did not say hello, nor anything else for a time—for an appreciable time. I felt foolish; light-headed, light-footed, light all over. Something inside my breast seemed spreading and spreading, and I wanted to sing—to shout insanely. This most candid confession will probably arouse grave suspicions in the mind of the reader, but that is so much in favor of a narrative which always sticks closely to the truth. Had I intended to practice any deception, just here is where I would have begun, for I realize, after writing the above, that I am laying myself liable to almost any charge one would care to bring along the line of general idiocy. Just why the ordinary sight of a girl on a log fishing—a back country girl at that—should make a man of the world who has long since left the adolescent stage behind feel like singing and dancing and yelling, is beyond my ability to explain. Let him who reads draw his own conclusions.
"You did that for luck, didn't you?" I asked, when I was seated tailor fashion beside her. It had been a boyhood belief of mine; I had simply outgrown it. She was still primitive.
She nodded, and put a finger on her lips, turning to me wide eyes of warning. She evidently harbored the other belief that fish won't bite if you talk. I turned to her cork—an old bottle stopper—and saw that it was bobbing; short little ducks sideways which suggested a minnow to me. But the Dryad was all engrossed with the prospects, and watched the stopper's movements intently. Presently it went under in a slanting sweep, and the pole came up promptly and vigorously. A sun perch the size of a small leaf glinted and leaped at the end of the line. Dexterously the girl swung her prize within reach, skilfully removed the hook from its hold in a gill, and dropped her catch in a tin milk bucket at her other side.
"I tol' you!" she said, triumphantly, referring to her treatment of the worm before committing it to the stream.
At once her tapering fingers began burrowing in the dirt which half filled the can, in search of more bait.
"Hold on, Dryad!" I whispered. "Let up on fishing a few minutes, unless you'll allow me to talk, too. I've something to tell you. Don't you know it seems an age since I saw you last?"
"I tol' you not to come no more," she said, eyeing me closely to see the effect of her words.
"But you didn't believe I would stay away!" I retorted, and her face instantly lighted with laughter. "You rogue!" I went on; "I have stayed longer than I should as it is."
One of the quick transitions which marked her now took place, and in a twinkling she was serious, and her eyes grew darker, as still water changes when a cloud hides the sun.
"If Buck sees you here there'll be trouble; you'd better 'a' kep' to Baldy."
"Buck saw me to-day, and there was trouble," I answered. "Now let me tell you all about it."
How frightened she was, although I endeavored to speak in a matter-of-fact way. She regarded me as though she found it difficult to believe that I really existed after "trouble" with Buck, and her face turned white, leaving her freckles oddly prominent. Her pole dipped, too, so that its further end went under the water. So she sat, her hands in her lap, her feet with the ugly, shapeless little shoes swinging, and listened to my story. I told it with absolute truthfulness, but very carefully, even condoning Buck's jealous frenzy. She remained very still while I was talking, but when I came to the place where I had inadvertently glimpsed her in the pool she dropped her head with a short, shuddering gasp, and grew crimson. I, too, looked away then, and tried to tell her how sorry I was of the incident, at the same time endeavoring to make it plain that I was the victim of an accident. I did not dwell upon the situation, but soon hurried on to my encounter with the smith.
"I wanted you to hear just how it was," I ended; "because Buck will tell you another story. You believe me, don't you, Dryad; and we are good friends still, aren't we?"
I did not get an immediate reply. Her head remained sunk, and I could not see much of her face. The portion which I saw was still flushed, but not violently. I waited, knowing that I had stated my case as well as I could, and believing that further argument would be dangerous. The spot where we sat was the natural abode of silence. Now I could hear only the gentle breath of the low wind rustling the leaves, the musical gurgle of water, and the sweet song of a thrush hidden in the foliage to my left. I grew restless as the silence continued: apprehensions arose, and the sinister form of fear cast its shadow over my heart. Was she offended past forgiveness? Had Fate prepared this trap for me to rob me of—what was I thinking? What was this girl to me that I should wait her next words with set teeth and softly drawn breath? That I should now behold the wonder of her hair and the marvel of her face with inward quaking, fearing that they might depart from me forever? That the echo of her voice became a mocking, maddening refrain to my consciousness, and the sorcery of her simple presence made my brain swim? This waif of the woods; this fragment from one of the lower stratas of civilization; this half wild, ignorant, nameless, plebeian creature—what was she to chill my blood with the dread thought that from this meeting we went as strangers? I cannot answer. Leave the solution to biologist or sociologist. I only know the fact as it existed. I had rather have seen those gray eyes flashed upon me in perfect trust that moment than to have seen the sun rise the next morning!
What was she thinking? No movement, no sound, no sign. Like an image fashioned of flame and snow and draped with a moss-green garment, there she sat by my side, so close—so close. Then I knew something of what Tantalus felt when the cool water arose just beneath his cracked and burning lips, and receded as he bent to drink. So close I could have drawn her to me with a sweep of my arm, but mute and changeless as though made of stone.
Presently I could stand it no longer. I placed my palms upon the tree on either side of me, and leaned forward.
"Dyrad—Lessie—little girl! For God's sake—speak!"
Then came the miracle.
Again she started, as from a revery rudely interrupted. Her head was lifted quickly, gladly, and her big moist eyes gazed into mine glowing with tender faith. I know the dawn of an eternal Day will never thrill me as did this. I drew my face closer to hers.
"Then you—do forgive? Why were you silent so long, Dryad?"
"I's thinkin' 'bout—if Buck—ur th' light'n'—had killed you!"
"Who-a-a-a—Lessie! Who-a-a-a—Lessie! Whur air yo'?"
We jumped, and a revulsion of feeling which came near to suffocating me swelled in my throat. Granf'er was coming down the winding path from the house. He had a brown jug in one hand. He had halted to give his hail, and an instant later Lessie was on her feet, waving her sunbonnet and sending back a lusty yell.