It was long after sunrise when he wakened and no one else was astir in the cabin. Very quietly he arose and dressed. Then he went to the kitchen, and a fragrance of coffee was what finally awakened the two children. They bounded from bed, ashamed of their laziness, and when they joined their big brother he had a good breakfast spread on the table in their out-of-door dining-room.
“Julie, will you see if Jane is awake?” the older lad asked, and the small girl cautiously opened the door into her sister’s room. Then she entered and went to the bedside. “You’ve got one of your dreadful headaches, haven’t you, Janey?” The younger girl was all compassion. She knew well how Jane suffered when these infrequent headaches came. What she did not know was that they always followed a spell of anger or of worry. “I’ll draw the curtains over this window so the sun can’t come in and I’ll fetch you your breakfast.”
Julie liked nothing better than to be mothering someone, but Jane showed no sign of appreciation. Her only comment was, “Have the coffee hot.”
Dan was sorry to hear that Jane had neuralgia, and, from past experience, he knew that she would be unable to travel that afternoon, and so she would be obliged to wait until the following Tuesday, when the stage would again pass that way. He felt elated at the thought, but first he must find out if it were safe for the girls to remain. Directly after breakfast he drew Gerald aside and asked him if he would stay at the cabin while he (Dan) went up the mountain road to interview the trapper. Although the small boy would much rather have accompanied Dan, he always wanted to do his share, and so he consented to remain.
Dan waited until he was sure that Meg Heger had passed on her way to the Redfords school before he began the ascent of the mountain road. He could not have explained to himself why he did not want to meet the girl. It might have been a feeling that he had lacked in chivalry on the day before, when he had listened to the conversation in which she had probably revealed a secret which she would not wish strangers to share. He sauntered along by the brook, his gun over his shoulder, stopping every few feet to examine some rock or growth or just to gaze out over the valley, seeing new pictures at each changed position.
It was a glorious morning, but with the invigorating chill yet in the air. He breathed deeply and walked with shoulders thrown back. Birds sang to him, squirrels in the pine boughs over his head, or scurrying among the dry soft carpet of needles, chattered at him; some were curious, many were scolding, but he laughingly told them that he was a comrade. He stopped on a level with one protesting bushy-tailed fellow to say, “Mr. Bright-Eyes, I wouldn’t harm you, not for anything! This gun is merely to be used on something that would harm me, if it got the chance first. I don’t believe in taking life from a little wild creature that enjoys living just as much as I do.” Then, as he continued his walk, he thought, “I must tell Gerry not to kill any harmless creature unless we need it for food.”
Coming to a sudden sharp descent of about fifteen feet, he saw that the brook became a waterfall and just below it was a large pool which would make an excellent swimming hole. The water was as clear as crystal and was held in a smooth, red rock basin. After standing for some time, watching the joyous waterfall on which broken sunlight flashed, the lad glanced at his watch. It was after nine and so he could safely take to the road without fear of encountering the mountain girl. She was surely, by now, reciting to that kindly old man, Teacher Bellows. After another downward scramble, the road was reached. The ascent was gradual and Dan’s thoughts wandered on without his conscious direction. He wondered how that mountain girl had happened to have a thirst for knowledge. That, in itself, proved to him that the old Ute was not her father, but, if he were not, why did he pretend that he was? What could be his reason? To obtain what money he could by making her think it her duty to help care for him. Dan had just decided this to be the most plausible explanation of the whole thing, when he was greatly startled by hearing the sudden report of a gun from the high rocks at his right. He looked up and beheld the girl about whom he had been thinking, every muscle tense, a smoking gun still against her shoulder. It was pointed at the bushes directly at his left. “Don’t you move!” she shouted the warning. “Maybe I didn’t kill it.”
Dan whirled toward the rocks and low-growing bushes at his left and what he saw reassured him. A mountain lion lay there, evidently dead, its position showing that it had been just about to spring upon him. He turned to thank the girl, but she had disappeared. She, too, had evidently been convinced that the animal was dead. On examining it closer, the boy saw that the bullet had entered the creature’s head at a most vulnerable spot, and being thus assured that it was not playing possum, he went on his way.
Already Meg Heger had won a right to his chivalry. She had saved his life. How he wished that in turn he might do something to save her from her tormentor.