Quill's Window

by George Barr McCutcheon

He was looking now into the tops of several tall sycamores that rose from the low ground at the foot of the hill. Extending far to the north along the river was a fringe of these much be-sung trees. The space between the straight face of the cliff and the edge of the ledge on which he stood was not more than seven or eight feet. It was possible, he perceived, for one to continue along and down this natural path to the bottom of the hill, coming out among the trees in the low ground. The descent, however, was a great deal more precipitous than the ascent from the other direction.

Now that he was immediately below the cave known as Quill's Window, he was surprised to find that the cliff was not absolutely perpendicular. There was quite a pronounced slant; the top of the wall was, at a guess, ten feet farther back than the foot. His gaze first sought the strange opening three-fourths of the way to the top,—a matter of eighty or ninety feet above the spot on which he stood. There it was,—a deep, black gash in the solid rock, rendered narrow by fore-shortening and a slightly protruding brow. He could think of nothing more analogous than an open mouth with a thick upper lip and the nether lip drawn in.

Then he saw what surprised him even more,—something that none of the chroniclers had mentioned: a series of hand-cut niches up the face of the cliff, leading directly to the mouth of the cave. He had been given to understand that there was no other means of reaching Quill's Window save from the top of the rock. These niches or "hand-holds" were about two feet apart. He examined the lower ones. They were deeply chiselled, affording a substantial foothold as well as a grip for a strong, resolute climber. Most of them were packed with dirty, wind blown leaves from the trees nearby,—so tightly packed by the furious rains that beat against the rock that he had difficulty in removing the substance. Higher up they appeared to be quite clean and free from obstruction.

He scraped the leaves out of five or six of the slits, one after the other, as he climbed a short distance up the wall. Further progress was checked, not so much by lack of desire to go to the top, but by an involuntary glance over his shoulder. He was not more than ten feet above the trail, but the trail was shockingly narrow and uneven. So down he came, quite thrilled by his discovery, to lean against the rock and laugh scornfully over the silly tales about Quill's Window and its eerie impregnability. Anybody could climb up there! All that one needed was a stout heart and a good pair of arms. Closer inspection convinced him that these niches were of comparatively recent origin,—certainly they were not of Quill's time. David Windom? Had that adventurous lad hewn this ladder to the cave long before the beautiful Alix the First came to complete the romance of his dreams?

No matter who cut them, they were still there to prove that Quill's Window was accessible. According to tradition, no one had put foot inside the cave since David Windom, in his youth, had ventured to explore its grisly interior. Courtney promised himself that one day he would enter that unhallowed hole in the wall!

Retracing his steps over the trail, he soon found himself in the village. He was more cheerful now. He had talked himself into a better frame of mind....She was shy. She had reached the turning point,—the inevitable point where women tremble with a strange mixture of alarm and rapture, and are as timid as the questioning deer. What a fool he was not to have thought of that!

There was a small package in his lockbox at the postoffice—and two or three letters. The package was from New York, addressed in his mother's hand.

He stopped at the general delivery window for a chat with Mrs. Pollock.

"I had forgotten all about my birthday," he said, "but here's mother reminding me of it as usual. She never forgets,—and, hang it all, she won't let ME forget." He fingered the unopened package lovingly.

"Goodness me, Mr. Thane,—is this your birthday?" she cried excitedly. "We must have a celebration. We can't allow—"