“All safe?” queried Judge Dale, as he came up.
“A little thin over the channel, but all safe if you cross a-foot.”
“Suppose we walk across the island,” suggested the Judge, who occasionally overcame his indolence in spasmodic efforts to counteract his growing portliness, “and our friend Hank will meet us here in the morning.”
So it was agreed. The little party straggled gayly across the bridge. The walk across the island was far from irksome. The air was still bracing, though rags of smoky cloud were beginning to obscure the sun. The gaunt cottonwoods stood out in sombre silhouette against the unsoftened bareness of the winter landscape. Louise was somewhat thoughtful and pensive since her little attempt to challenge intimacy had been so ungraciously received. To Gordon, on the other hand, had come a strange, new exhilaration. His blood bounded joyously through his veins. This was his day—he would live it to the dregs. To-morrow, and renunciation—well, that was to-morrow. He could not even resent, as, being a man, he should have resented, the unwelcome and ludicrous attentions of the drunken singer to the one woman in the crowd, because whenever the offender came near, Louise would press closer to him, Gordon, and once, in her quick distaste to the proximity of the man, she clutched Gordon’s coat-sleeve nervously. It was the second time he had felt her hand on his arm. He never forgot either. But the man received such a withering chastisement from Gordon’s warning eyes that he ceased to molest until the remainder of the island road had been traversed.
Then men looked at each other questioningly. A long, narrow, single-plank bridge stretched across the channel. It was not then so safe as report would have it. The boards were stretched lengthwise with a long step between each board and the next. What was to be done? Hank had gone long since. No one coveted the long walk back to Kemah. Every one did covet the comfort or pleasure upon which each had set his heart. Gordon, the madness of his intoxication still upon him, constituted himself master of ceremonies. He stepped lightly upon the near plank to reconnoitre. He walked painstakingly from board to board. He was dealing in precious freight—he would draw no rash conclusions. When he had reached what he considered the middle of the channel, he returned and pronounced it in his opinion safe, with proper care, and advised strongly that no one step upon a plank till the one in front of him had left it. Thus the weight of only one person at a time would materially lessen the danger of the ice’s giving way. So the little procession took up its line of march.
Gordon had planned that Louise should follow her uncle and he himself would follow Louise; thus he might rest assured that there would be no encroachment upon her preserves. The officious songster, contrary to orders, glided ahead of his place when the line of march was well taken up—usurping anybody’s plank at will, and trotting along over the bare ice until finally he drew alongside Louise with an amiable grin.
“I will be here ready for emergencies,” he confided, meaningly. “You need not be afraid. If the ice breaks, I will save you.”
“Get back, you fool,” cried Gordon, fiercely.
“And leave this young lady alone? Not so was I brought up, young man,” answered Lawson, with great dignity. “Give me your hand, miss, I will steady you.”
Louise shrank from his touch and stepped back to the end of her plank.