CHAPTER XIII.
Miss Clara Vanderlyn and her Pet Bears—A Misadventure and a Friendly Hand in Time—The Question of Courage—Halstead Rowan and Mrs. Brooks Cunninghame on Geography—The Dead Washington, the Flume and the Pool—With the personal relations weaving at that juncture.
Breakfast was over at the Profile, on the next morning; the stages had rolled away for Littleton, the Crawford and Plymouth; and preparations were in progress for a ride of two or three wagon-loads down the glen to the Flume,—when "H. T.," cigar in mouth, passed out from the bar-room to the piazza and thence across the plateau in front, towards the billiard-room and ten-pin-alley, standing a hundred yards away to the right, and at the very bottom of the slope of the mountain. He had seen, in the dusk and afterwards in the moonlight of the night before, that a couple of the rough pets of the mountain region were sojourning at the Notch, in the shape of half-grown black bears, chained to stakes some twenty feet apart, with a dog-kennel for their joint retreat, perhaps a hundred feet from the house and immediately in front of it, where their antics could be discerned and enjoyed from the piazza and the front windows. He had seen, too, going out earlier that morning, that they did not appear yet old enough to be dangerously vicious, and that they seemed very playful for that description of beast. Everybody was feeding them, from early morning to dusk, with nuts, raisins and crackers surreptitiously taken from the table for that purpose; and the youngsters no doubt consumed in feeding the young Bruins, quite as much food as they themselves managed to devour.
Just then not less than a dozen persons were surrounding the household favorites, feeding them, putting them through their clumsy evolutions which principally consisted in sitting erect or climbing a short post to get a nut placed on the top,—or developing the usual human propensity for teazing. Most of them were ladies, and among the others, as he went by at a short distance, he recognized Miss Clara Vanderlyn, his fellow-passenger of the day before,—her face rosy with the excitement of a just-accomplished morning walk, her bonnet on arm, and her whole countenance radiant with amusement as she plied the dusky pets with her pocket full of nuts and raisins. She seemed to have acquired a wonderful ascendancy over the beasts in a very brief acquaintance; for while all the others shrank from coming absolutely within reach, she not only fed them without fear but rubbed their black coats and patted their gristly noses as if they had been pet kittens. Two or three men were lounging near, evidently admiring the new lady accession to Profile society, but none claiming an acquaintance.
"H. T.," who either had a propensity for ten-pins that morning, overbalancing the admiration of Miss Vanderlyn which he had shown the day before, or a still stronger attraction for company whom he knew to be at the alley—"H. T." was just passing on when Margaret Hayley, accompanied by the inevitable Captain Hector Coles, came out of the door of the billiard-room and advanced towards the bear-stakes. It must remain a mystery whether this appearance from the door did or did not make a change in his own necessity for exercise: suffice it to say that he stopped, turned partially around and joined the group who were making levee to the Bruins.
At that moment, when Clara Vanderlyn had succeeded in luring one of the bears to the top of his "stool of repentance" (the short post), and was bending close above him, feeding and fondling what few other female hands dared touch,—a new actor came upon the scene, in the shape of Master Brooks Brooks Cunninghame, accompanying his "Mommy." He had not died the night before as might have been expected from his surfeit, but the freckled appearance of his face was materially improved by a ground hue of greenish white which his short sickness had imparted. His careful mamma had dressed him for that gala-day in a complete plaid suit of blue and white, with a cap of the same material and a black feather; and he looked scarcely less ornamental than useful. Evidently, sick as he had really been, he was all alive and awake that morning and might be safely calculated upon for adding to the general comfort by prowess of mouth and fingers. And the company were not obliged to wait very long for proof that the scion of the house of Cunninghame was aware of the duties of his position and quite equal to them. He left the maternal hand, spite of the clutching of the latter, at the moment of arriving at the bear-stakes, and spying what he rightly judged to be a good opportunity, stepped rapidly round behind the bear, caught him by the stumpy tail, and gave him a sharp twitch which nearly threw him from the top of the post.
In an instant the playful nature of the bear was gone, and with one sudden growl he raised his heavy paw with its sharp claws and struck full at the face of Miss Vanderlyn, not two feet from him. Every one present saw the blow, but no one seemed to have enough presence of mind or courage to shield her from a stroke which, falling full in her unprotected face, must certainly have disfigured her for life.
No one—it has been said: no one of those known to be present, most of whom were women or children; and neither "H. T." nor Captain Hector Coles had yet come near enough to be of any possible service. Yet the blow did not reach Clara Vanderlyn. A hand and arm were suddenly dashed between the paw and the threatened face, with such force that while the sharp claws tore the skin and flesh in ribbons from the back of the hand and split the coat-sleeve as if it had been paper,—the bear was knocked backward off his perch and rolled over in a ball on the ground at the side of the kennel. When any of the company sufficiently recovered from their astonishment to glance at the face of the lucky yet unlucky preserver, they saw that it was that of the bluff arrival of the evening before, Halstead Rowan.
With the exception of three persons, all present rushed up at once, under the impression that Rowan's hand must be seriously injured. One of these exceptions was "H. T.," who made a movement to dart forward, even from his distance, when he saw the blow impending, but who the instant that it had fallen turned and walked back towards the ten-pin alley. The second was Margaret Hayley, who had recognized the personality of both the conversationists of the previous evening, and who naturally stopped in blank surprise to see one of two persons whom she supposed to be intimate friends, turn away the moment that the other was wounded. The third was Captain Hector Coles, who really had no power to do otherwise than obey the check laid upon him by the lady's hand.
All who saw knew that the injury must be severe, but it might have been the scratch of a pin for any effect which it seemed to produce on the Illinoisan. The blood was streaming profusely from the wound, but almost before any one saw it the other hand was inserted in a side-pocket, and a white handkerchief drawn thence and wrapped around the injured member.