For once he made no mistake in taking a short cut. He reached the old pine safely, and felt like congratulating himself. Then a disconcerting thought occurred to him as he contemplated the trail down which he must proceed. The girl had a long way to go, and he had hurried desperately. She wouldn’t be up at the church for some time yet. He felt annoyed with himself for always doing things in such a hurry. It was quite absurd. Now he would have either to remain where he was, kicking his heels about, or go on down to the church, and make it look as though he were purposely lying in wait for her.
He felt that would be a mistake. She might resent it. She might regard it as an impertinence. He couldn’t afford to offend her, he was much too anxious for her approval. He remembered her resentment at their first meeting, and—laughed. But he told himself she was quite right. She thought he had been spying on her. If he had been it would have been a low-down trick. Anyway he would take no chance now. He would wait right there, and——
A sudden commotion in the scrub beside him abruptly changed the trend of his thought. He was startled. The commotion went on. Then with a rush and whirr of wings, and a hoarse-throated squawk, a large bird flew up, clutching the ruffled body of a lesser one in its fierce claws, its great flapping wings brushing his sleeve as it swept on past him.
His wondering blue eyes followed the bird’s flight until it passed beyond the tree tops, and became hidden by the trunk of the old pine. Then he looked down into the bush, searching for the nest of fledglings he felt sure the hawk had robbed of a mother.
He was absurdly grieved that his gun was still with his missing baggage. It would have delighted him to have brought the lawless pirate to book, and restored the mother to her panic stricken chicks.
He peered into the bush searching for the nest, but the foliage was dense, and though he groped the boughs aside he could discover no signs of it. Still, the thought of those motherless chicks had stirred him, and he persisted.
Breaking his way in among the boughs he searched more carefully. But at last, after wasting nearly a quarter of an hour upon his tender-hearted sympathy, he finally decided that he must be wrong. There was no nest of fledglings. He really felt quite disappointed. Just as he was about to abandon his search something fluttered at the very roots of the bush. It was of a grayish blue. With a lunge he made a grab, caught it, and stood up. It was a ball of paper, loosely crumpled.
With an exclamation of disgust he made his way out of the bush and found himself confronted by the laughing gray eyes of Helen Seton.
“For goodness’ sake, Mr. Bryant!” the girl exclaimed, “whatever are you playing at? Is it Injuns, or—or are you busy on one of your short cuts? I’m nearly scared to death. I surely am.”
Bill looked into that laughing face, and slowly one great hand went up to his perspiring brow. It was the action of a man at a loss.