CHAPTER XXIX
THE HOUSE IN THE BLUFFS
The cleft in the bluff was both narrow and steep, but it gave them passage. At the upper end Natalie's reserve strength suddenly deserted her, and she sank down on the grass, labouring for breath, feeling unable to advance a step farther. The days and nights of excitement, coupled with lack of food and sleep, had left her physically weakened; now suddenly, even her will and courage both gave away.
"No, it is nothing," she explained in a whisper. "I am just completely tired out, I guess. You go on, Matt, and find some place of shelter. Leave me to lie here; I'll not move, and you can find me easily. All I want now is to rest a few moments. Afraid! no I'll not be afraid. Why, what is there to fear? this is a civilized country, isn't it? I'll just sit where I am now until you come back—only—only don't go very far away."
She held out her hand, and endeavoured to smile.
"Desert me! Of course you are not, dear. I am bidding you go. I shall not mind being left here alone. I am so tired."
They were at the summit of the bluff, looking out over the lake, now a mere darker blot. They could hear the dash of waves below them along the edge of sand. But in the opposite direction rose a somewhat higher ridge on which trees grew, completely excluding the view beyond. Between the branches the distant sky still retained a purple tinge from the sinking sun, leaving the impression that it was much lighter up there. West felt the importance of gaining a view inland before the closing down of night obscured everything, and therefore reluctantly left her alone there while he made his way to the top of the ridge. Once there he could look across the promontory of land, down into a little cove on the opposite side. It was well sheltered, and already wrapped in gloomy shadows, yet his eyes detected the outline of a boat of some size drawn up on the sandy beach. Beyond the dim certainty of what it was he could perceive nothing with which to identify the craft, and deeming it some fishing boat, gave its presence there no further heed.
Glancing back to assure himself that Natalie was still safe where he had left her, he picked his way swiftly forward through the thick fringe of forest trees, until he came to the western edge of the wood, and could view the country beyond in the last spectral glow of the dying day. It was a wild, broken country thus revealed to his gaze, a land of ridges and ravines, rugged and picturesque, but exhibiting no evidence of roads, or inhabitants. Its very roughness of outline, and its sterile soil, explained the barrenness and desolation—a no-man's land, impossible of cultivation, it remained neglected and unused. At first he was sure of this, his heart sinking at the deserted landscape. They must plunge blindly forward in the dark over that rough, trackless country, seeking some possible shelter beyond. Weakened and exhausted as they both were the task seemed almost an impossible one. Then his eyes caught a thin spiral of smoke rising from out a narrow valley almost directly beneath where he stood, the depths of which were totally concealed from sight. As he stared at this, uncertain of its reality, a single spark of light winked out at him through the darkness. There was certainly a habitation of some kind hidden away down there—a fisherman's hut likely—but it would at least afford temporary shelter for the night; and there must be a road or path of some kind leading from it to the nearest village. If he could only leave Natalie there in safe hands, in the security of a home, however humble, food would give him strength to push on alone. The one thought in his mind now was to telegraph McAdams, so as to circumvent the plans of those rascals in Chicago. This must be done, and it must be done at the earliest moment possible. Perhaps the fisherman might possess a horse, or would carry the necessary message into town himself. West turned and hastened back through the woods, clambering down the slope of the ridge in darkness to the spot where he had left the girl. For the moment he could not distinguish her presence in the gloom, and, fearing he might have gone astray, called her name aloud.
"Yes," she answered. "I am here; to your right. I am, standing up. Have you discovered anything?"
"There is a house of some kind over yonder in a hollow just beyond the ridge—more than likely a fisherman's hut, as there is a boat of some kind beached in the cove the other side of this promontory. We will have to stumble along through the dark. Do you think you can make it?"
"Of course, I can," and she placed her hand confidingly in his. "I am all right now; really I am; I guess all I needed was to get my breath. Do we go up here—the way you came back?"
"I presume so; I know no other passage, and found no path."
"But," she urged. "If there is a boat on the beach, isn't it likely there would be a trail from there to this fisherman's hut?"
"Why, of course; it was stupid of me not to think of this before. The sooner we start, the quicker we shall arrive. I want most of all to telegraph McAdams."
"Who?"
"McAdams, the detective I told you about in Chicago, an old army buddy of mine. He'll have Hobart located by this time, no doubt, and will put the screws on him when he learns what has happened to us."
"I see," she agreed softly, "and if he does know the whole story we need not be so crazy to get back. He will attend to everything."
"Yes; we can wait up here until morning at least; you need a night's rest, and no wonder."
He grasped her arm, helping her to clamber up the steep bank, suddenly becoming aware that the sleeve felt dry.
"Why, Natalie, your clothes seem to have all dried off already; mine are soaked through," he exclaimed in surprise. "What necromancy is this?"
She laughed, a faint tinge of mockery in the sound.
"No mystery whatever; only a difference in texture, I imagine. This light stuff dries quickly, exposed to the air. Did you think you had hold of the wrong girl?"
The tone of her voice stung slightly, causing him to make a sober answer.
"That would, of course, be improbable, but I have been so completely deceived, even by daylight, that I dare not affirm that it would prove impossible. Your counterfeit is certainly a wizard."
"She must be. But as she is miles away from here, you might let the suspicion rest. Is this where we go down?"
She led the way, the action awakening no question in his mind. If he thought at all about her thus assuming the initiative, the suspicion was dismissed with the idea that probably her eyes were more keen to discover the best path. In this she was certainly successful, and he contented himself by following her closely. The night was already dark, the way irregular and confusing. She was but a dim shadow, advancing confidently, and now and then in their descent, he reached out and touched her to make sure of her presence. This action seemed to irritate for she turned once, and objected shortly.
"Oh, don't do that, please; it startles me. My nerves are all on edge."
"Of course they are, dear," he confessed apologetically. "I should have known better. It was so dark I almost thought you had slipped away. The boat I told you about must be close at hand."
"The boat; oh, yes, but it can be of no use to us now. Feel here with your feet; I am sure this must be a path that I am in, and it can lead nowhere except to that house you saw."
"Can you follow it?"
"I think so; it seems to go straight up through the ravine; see, you can trace the bluff against the sky, and there is the opening just ahead of us. You may take my arm again now," she added graciously, "and then there will be no danger of either getting lost."
He gladly did as she suggested, yet, strangely enough, continued to feel dissatisfied. Vaguely he felt that in some almost imperceptible manner she had changed her mood. He could not base his thoughts on a single word, or action, yet he felt the difference—this was not the Natalie of the raft. She was too irritable; too sharp of speech. But then, no doubt, she was tired, worn out, her nerves broken; indeed he found it hard to control himself, and he must not blame her for exhibiting weakness under the strain. So he drove the thought from him, clinging close to her arm, and vaguely wondering how she was able to trace the path so easily. They seemed to progress through an impenetrable wall of blackness, and yet the way had been cleared of obstacles, and was reasonably smooth. The slope upward was quite gradual, and the summit led directly into the mouth of a small valley. By this time even West could recognize that they were proceeding along a well used path, and he was not surprised when she announced the presence of the house before them, pointing out the dim shadow through the gloom. Otherwise his eyes might have failed to distinguish the outlines, but under her guidance he could make out enough of its general form to assure him that they were approaching no mere fisherman's shack.
"That is no hut," he exclaimed in surprise. "It looks more like a mansion."
"And why not?" pleasantly enough. "I have always heard these bluffs were filled with summer homes. Unfortunately this one appears to be deserted. But we must go on, and try to discover some inhabitant."
There was no light to guide them, yet the path was easily followed, through what apparently was an orchard, then through the gate of a rustic fence to a broad carriage drive, circling past the front door. All was silence, desolation; no window exhibited a gleam of radiance, nor did a sound greet them from any direction. They paused an instant before the front door, uncertain how to proceed.
"But there must be some one about here," West insisted. "For this was the house I saw from the ridge, and there was a light burning then in one of the windows, and there was a wisp of smoke rising from a chimney. Perhaps the shutters are all closed, or, early as it is, the people may have retired."
She stepped boldly forward, and placed her hand on the knob of the door.
"Why," she whispered, excitedly. "It is unlocked; see, I can open it.
Perhaps something is wrong here. What shall we do?"
"Knock first; then if there is no response, we can feel our way about inside. My matches are all wet."
She rapped sharply on the wood; waited for some reply, and then called out. Not a sound reached them from within. The situation was strange, nerve-racking, and she shrank back as though frightened before the black silence confronting her. West, his teeth clinched, stepped in through the open door, determined to learn the secret of that mysterious interior. With hands outstretched he felt his way forward, by sense of touch alone assuring himself that he traversed a hall, carpeted, his extended arms barely reaching from wall to wall. He encountered no furniture, and must have advanced some two yards, before his groping disclosed the presence of a closed door on the left. He had located the knob, when the outer door suddenly closed, as though blown shut by a draught of wind, and, at the same instant, his eyes were blinded by a dazzling outburst of light.
This came with such startling, unexpected brilliancy that West staggered back as though struck. For the instant he was positively blind; then he dimly perceived a man standing before him—a man who, little by little, became more clearly defined, recognizable, suddenly exhibiting the features of Jim Hobart, sarcastically grinning into his face.
"You are evidently a cat of nine lives, West," he said sneeringly. "But this ought to be the last of them."