AN EXCITING EXPERIENCE
I had never been left entirely without human companionship before, not even for a night, and I soon began to wonder at the amount of loneliness that can be compressed into a few hours. Before the afternoon was half spent I was mentally reviewing the history of Robinson Crusoe, and was feeling an intense sympathy for that resourceful castaway.
I lingered over my evening tasks, and, sooner than seemed possible, dusk came and night was at hand, so at last I reluctantly closed and made fast the kitchen door. Reluctantly, for to-night, this common and necessary precaution seemed, somehow, to cut me adrift from all chance of human aid, and by this time my mind was running on wild tales of bandits, of lonely camps, and the far sweep of the cattle ranges where, in darkened hollow or at the foot of shadowy buttes, great gray wolves lay in wait for their midnight prey, indifferent as to whether the prey consisted of cattle or cattleman.
Still, I am sure that I was not really cowardly; it was only the unusual situation that set me thinking of these things. Father’s light rifle hung in its accustomed place over the kitchen fireplace, and, as a last precaution, I took it down, and, after ascertaining that it was properly loaded, put it near the head of the bed, within reach of my hand. To be expert with firearms is almost a matter of course for girls on Western ranches, and I was an unusually good marksman. As it would, to my fancy, but intensify the emptiness and loneliness of the house if I were to light a lamp, I decided to go straight to bed without a light, and, if possible, forget my troubles in sleep. But I had hardly reached this sensible conclusion when I became convinced that I was thirsty. It is not in the least probable that I should have even thought of needing a drink if it had not suddenly occurred to me that there was no water in the house. I had used it all, and had neglected to fill the pail again. There is no surer provocative of thirst than the knowledge that there is no water to be had, and, as I thought the matter over, my lips grew dry and my throat parched. It was unendurable. In desperation I slipped on the shoes that I had just taken off, and, taking the empty pail from the kitchen sink, unlocked the door and made a hurried trip to the spring, a few rods west of the house.
Returning with a brimming pailful, and disdaining to acknowledge, even to myself, that my knees were shaking, I set the pail on a chair by the bed-room window. I was determined to have water close at hand, in case my thirst became torturing during the night. The cat was mewing plaintively on the kitchen doorstep. I re-opened the door and let her in, then re-locked the door and, disrobing, crept quickly into bed. Curled down snugly under the blankets I was almost dozing when a sudden recollection caused me to laugh softly to myself, there in the darkness. In spite of my terrible thirst I had entirely forgotten to take a drink after the water was at hand. “I’ll get up after a while if I find that I can’t get along without it,” I told myself, sleepily, and with the sense of amusement still upon me, I was far away into dreamland.
I suppose that very few people have escaped the unpleasant, breathless sensation of awakening suddenly and completely under the spell of some unknown challenge, a warning of some impending danger passed by the alert mind to the slumbering senses of the body. I had slept far into the night when I awoke, seemingly without cause, to find myself sitting upright in bed, listening intently. For a moment I heard nothing but the soft padded foot-fall of the cat as, stealing from her place on the foot of the bed, she moved restlessly about the room. “It must have been her springing off the bed that awoke me,” I thought, nestling back into the pillows again. I closed my eyes, but opened them quickly as a soft rustling outside of, and almost directly underneath the bed-room window, came to my ears.
The window-shade was pulled down, but it was hung several inches below the top of the window, which had been left open for ventilation. Through this uncurtained space the moonlight streamed into the room; by its light I saw the cat retreating into a corner farthest from the window, her tail swelled out like that of a fox, her hair bristling, and her yellow eyes glaring vindictively. She disliked strangers, and commonly resented their presence in just this manner. I wondered, as my eyes followed the cat’s movements with growing apprehension, if she would act this way because of the vicinity of any large prowling animal. I was sure now, as I crouched tremblingly under the blankets, that the increasing noise that I heard was not made by any harmless midnight prowler. If it had been, the cat, being a great hunter, would have shown an eager desire to get outside the window, instead of away from it. Accustomed to the knowledge that there were wild animals in plenty up on the mountain slopes and in the encircling forests above us, and having abundant reason to know that they often made stealthy visits to the valley settlements at night, I soon reasoned myself into quietude. Whatever the beast might be, I was in no personal danger; the cows were safe in the high-walled corral, and the poultry-house securely locked. Reassured, as I recalled these facts, I did not get up to make any investigation as to the cause of the noise. “If it’s a bear, it isn’t mine,” I told myself, drowsily; “as Joe says, ‘I ain’ los’ no bear ’roun’ yer.’”
I was half asleep again when a curious sensation, as of a bright light playing over my closed eyelids caused me to open them suddenly. Then I bounded out of bed, uttering a scream that might, I should think, have been heard a mile. A broad sheet of yellow flame was streaming up beside the house and over the uncurtained window space. Obeying an impulse as irresponsible as the one that had caused that useless scream, I seized the loaded rifle at my bedside, and sent a bullet whistling and crashing through the window panes. The impression that some prowling wild animal was about was probably still strong upon me, and, in any case, the shot was not without effect. My shriek and the report of the rifle rang out almost at the same instant. Following them came a cry, a smothered oath, and the sound of running footsteps. Throwing down the yet smoking gun, I ran to the window, tore down the obstructing shade with one sweep of my impatient hand, and leaned forward, scanning the hillside. The flames reached toward me greedily through the opening that my bullet had made, but, although their hot breath half blinded me, I saw a man running swiftly for the shelter of the hillside pines. I glanced toward the rifle—I was a good shot, then. “Thou shalt not kill,” I said aloud, but it had occurred to me also, that the gun was not loaded. An instant more and I was throwing water on the fire from the pailful beside the window ledge. After all, as I soon found, the bullet had done more apparent harm than the fire, for the heap of inflammable rubbish underneath the window was quickly drenched and the fire extinguished. To make all doubly secure, however, I reloaded the gun and with that faithful friend in hand brought water and poured over the rubbish until it ceased even to smoke. The heap was composed of pine needles, pine cones, and resinous pitch pine, and once fairly started would have set the house on fire, past all saving, in a very short time. When the blackened pile was so thoroughly drenched that I could poke around in the ashes with my bare hands I gave up pouring water on it, went back into the house, locked the door, tacked a heavy blanket up over the dismantled window, and, shivering with cold and excitement, again crept into bed. As I lay with my finger on the trigger of the rifle, with its muzzle trained on the window, I was surer of nothing than that there was no more sleep for me that night. But, soothed by the sensation of returning warmth, and by the feeling of security that the touch of the rifle gave, I closed my eyes—not to sleep, but the better to think. Sleep! I could not sleep. Nevertheless—
The sunlight was pouring into the adjoining room when I again opened my eyes. Night with its terrors was a thing of the past. I heard the imprisoned cows lowing for their milk-maid and realized with a pang of self-reproach that I had slept later than I ought. Sitting up in bed I looked around, blinking sleepily. The light from the window was effectually excluded by the thick blanket, and my slumber had been so peaceful that I had scarcely stirred; my relaxed hand had merely dropped away from the trigger of the rifle lying beside me. The cat was in her old place at my feet, and I smiled to see her trying to thrust an inquisitive paw into the muzzle of the gun. Finding the hole too small for that purpose she wriggled around lazily until she had brought an eye to bear on the cavity that she seemed to suspect might contain a mouse. When I had dressed and gone outside I was filled with wonder at the narrowness of the escape that the house had had. There had been no rain for weeks; scarcely a drop, indeed, since the dreadful accident that had left us fatherless—and everything was as dry as tinder. Once started, a fire would have devastated the whole valley. In the retrospect the danger that we had escaped seemed even more terrifying than in the hurry and excitement of the fire itself. And—how came that heap of combustible stuff under the window? Who was that man whom I had seen running up the hillside as if pursued by the furies?
The morning’s chores done, I procured broom and rake and set about clearing away the unsightly heap from under the window. I was raking industriously, when my eye was suddenly attracted by a small glittering object near the outer edge of the pile. Stooping, I picked it up. It lay in the hollow of my hand, and I stood looking at it for a long, long time. “All things come to him who waits.” The origin of the fire was no longer a mystery, but there were other things. We had suffered nearly five years of petty, relentless persecution, and had never, never by any chance, been able to produce any direct evidence against our enemy. The wind sweeping through the pine boughs on the hillside above had, to my fancy, the sound that a great fire makes; a great fire that, rioting unchecked, leaves suffering and death in its wake. “Much harm would have been done to others besides us if I had not been here to put the fire out,” I thought, gravely regarding the thing in my hand. “Much harm; and the law punishes any one convicted of setting a fire, here in the mountains in a dry time, very severely.” Then I went into the house to put the glittering trifle safely out of sight.