To Kate's surprise, the lower part of the house was deserted, but there was an unusual activity on the floor above, and the sound of heavy steps. There were alien marks of dusty feet on the scrupulously clean passage, and on the first step of the stairs a spot of blood. With a sudden genuine alarm that drove her previous adventure from her mind, she impatiently called her sister's name. There was a hasty yet subdued rustle of skirts on the staircase, and Mrs. Hale, with her finger on her lip, swept Kate unceremoniously into the sitting-room, closed the door, and leaned back against it, with a faint smile. She had a crumpled paper in her hand.
“Don't be alarmed, but read that first,” she said, handing her sister the paper. “It was brought just now.”
Kate instantly recognized her brother's distinct hand. She read hurriedly, “The coach was robbed last night; nobody hurt. I've lost nothing but a day's time, as this business will keep me here until to-morrow, when Manuel can join me with a fresh horse. No cause for alarm. As the bearer goes out of his way to bring you this, see that he wants for nothing.”
“Well,” said Kate expectantly.
“Well, the 'bearer' was fired upon by the robbers, who were lurking on the Ridge. He was wounded in the leg. Luckily he was picked up by his friend, who was coming to meet him, and brought here as the nearest place. He's up-stairs in the spare bed in the spare room, with his friend, who won't leave his side. He won't even have mother in the room. They've stopped the bleeding with John's ambulance things, and now, Kate, here's a chance for you to show the value of your education in the ambulance class. The ball has got to be extracted. Here's your opportunity.”
Kate looked at her sister curiously. There was a faint pink flush on her pale cheeks, and her eyes were gently sparkling. She had never seen her look so pretty before.
“Why not have sent Manuel for a doctor at once?” asked Kate.
“The nearest doctor is fifteen miles away, and Manuel is nowhere to be found. Perhaps he's gone to look after the stock. There's some talk of snow; imagine the absurdity of it!”
“But who are they?”
“They speak of themselves as 'friends,' as if it were a profession. The wounded one was a passenger, I suppose.”
“But what are they like?” continued Kate. “I suppose they're like them all.”
Mrs. Hale shrugged her shoulders.
“The wounded one, when he's not fainting away, is laughing. The other is a creature with a moustache, and gloomy beyond expression.”
“What are you going to do with them?” said Kate.
“What should I do? Even without John's letter I could not refuse the shelter of my house to a wounded and helpless man. I shall keep him, of course, until John comes. Why, Kate, I really believe you are so prejudiced against these people you'd like to turn them out. But I forget! It's because you LIKE them so well. Well, you need not fear to expose yourself to the fascinations of the wounded Christy Minstrel—I'm sure he's that—or to the unspeakable one, who is shyness itself, and would not dare to raise his eyes to you.”
There was a timid, hesitating step in the passage. It paused before the door, moved away, returned, and finally asserted its intentions in the gentlest of taps.
“It's him; I'm sure of it,” said Mrs. Hale, with a suppressed smile.
Kate threw open the door smartly, to the extreme discomfiture of a tall, dark figure that already had slunk away from it. For all that, he was a good-looking enough fellow, with a moustache as long and almost as flexible as a ringlet. Kate could not help noticing also that his hand, which was nervously pulling the moustache, was white and thin.
“Excuse me,” he stammered, without raising his eyes, “I was looking for—for—the old lady. I—I beg your pardon. I didn't know that you—the young ladies—company—were here. I intended—I only wanted to say that my friend—” He stopped at the slight smile that passed quickly over Mrs. Hale's mouth, and his pale face reddened with an angry flush.
“I hope he is not worse,” said Mrs. Hale, with more than her usual languid gentleness. “My mother is not here at present. Can I—can WE—this is my sister—do as well?”
Without looking up he made a constrained recognition of Kate's presence, that embarrassed and curt as it was, had none of the awkwardness of rusticity.
“Thank you; you're very kind. But my friend is a little stronger, and if you can lend me an extra horse I'll try to get him on the Summit to-night.”
“But you surely will not take him away from us so soon?” said Mrs. Hale, with a languid look of alarm, in which Kate, however, detected a certain real feeling. “Wait at least until my husband returns to-morrow.”
“He won't be here to-morrow,” said the stranger hastily. He stopped, and as quickly corrected himself. “That is, his business is so very uncertain, my friend says.”
Only Kate noticed the slip; but she noticed also that her sister was apparently unconscious of it. “You think,” she said, “that Mr. Hale may be delayed?”
He turned upon her almost brusquely. “I mean that it is already snowing up there;” he pointed through the window to the cloud Kate had noticed; “if it comes down lower in the pass the roads will be blocked up. That is why it would be better for us to try and get on at once.”
“But if Mr. Hale is likely to be stopped by snow, so are you,” said Mrs. Hale playfully; “and you had better let us try to make your friend comfortable here rather than expose him to that uncertainty in his weak condition. We will do our best for him. My sister is dying for an opportunity to show her skill in surgery,” she continued, with an unexpected mischievousness that only added to Kate's surprised embarrassment. “Aren't you, Kate?”
Equivocal as the young girl knew her silence appeared, she was unable to utter the simplest polite evasion. Some unaccountable impulse kept her constrained and speechless. The stranger did not, however, wait for her reply, but, casting a swift, hurried glance around the room, said, “It's impossible; we must go. In fact, I've already taken the liberty to order the horses round. They are at the door now. You may be certain,” he added, with quick earnestness, suddenly lifting his dark eyes to Mrs. Hale, and as rapidly withdrawing them, “that your horse will be returned at once, and—and—we won't forget your kindness.” He stopped and turned towards the hall. “I—I have brought my friend down-stairs. He wants to thank you before he goes.”
As he remained standing in the hall the two women stepped to the door. To their surprise, half reclining on a cane sofa was the wounded man, and what could be seen of his slight figure was wrapped in a dark serape. His beardless face gave him a quaint boyishness quite inconsistent with the mature lines of his temples and forehead. Pale, and in pain, as he evidently was, his blue eyes twinkled with intense amusement. Not only did his manner offer a marked contrast to the sombre uneasiness of his companion, but he seemed to be the only one perfectly at his ease in the group around him.
“It's rather rough making you come out here to see me off,” he said, with a not unmusical laugh that was very infectious, “but Ned there, who carried me downstairs, wanted to tote me round the house in his arms like a baby to say ta-ta to you all. Excuse my not rising, but I feel as uncertain below as a mermaid, and as out of my element,” he added, with a mischievous glance at his friend. “Ned concluded I must go on. But I must say good-by to the old lady first. Ah! here she is.”
To Kate's complete bewilderment, not only did the utter familiarity of this speech, pass unnoticed and unrebuked by her sister, but actually her own mother advanced quickly with every expression of lively sympathy, and with the authority of her years and an almost maternal anxiety endeavored to dissuade the invalid from going. “This is not my house,” she said, looking at her daughter, “but if it were I should not hear of your leaving, not only to-night, but until you were out of danger. Josephine! Kate! What are you thinking of to permit it? Well, then I forbid it—there!”
Had they become suddenly insane, or were they bewitched by this morose intruder and his insufferably familiar confidant? The man was wounded, it was true; they might have to put him up in common humanity; but here was her austere mother, who wouldn't come in the room when Whisky Dick called on business, actually pressing both of the invalid's hands, while her sister, who never extended a finger to the ordinary visiting humanity of the neighborhood, looked on with evident complacency.
The wounded man suddenly raised Mrs. Scott's hand to his lips, kissed it gently, and, with his smile quite vanished, endeavored to rise to his feet. “It's of no use—we must go. Give me your arm, Ned. Quick! Are the horses there?”
“Dear me,” said Mrs. Scott quickly. “I forgot to say the horse cannot be found anywhere. Manuel must have taken him this morning to look up the stock. But he will be back to-night certainly, and if to-morrow—”
The wounded man sank back to a sitting position. “Is Manuel your man?” he asked grimly.
“Yes.”
The two men exchanged glances.
“Marked on his left cheek and drinks a good deal?”
“Yes,” said Kate, finding her voice. “Why?”
The amused look came back to the man's eyes. “That kind of man isn't safe to wait for. We must take our own horse, Ned. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
The wounded man again attempted to rise. He fell back, but this time quite heavily. He had fainted.
Involuntarily and simultaneously the three women rushed to his side. “He cannot go,” said Kate suddenly.
“He will be better in a moment.”
“But only for a moment. Will nothing induce you to change your mind?”
As if in reply a sudden gust of wind brought a volley of rain against the window.
“THAT will,” said the stranger bitterly.
“The rain?”
“A mile from here it is SNOW; and before we could reach the Summit with these horses the road would be impassable.”
He made a slight gesture to himself, as if accepting an inevitable defeat, and turned to his companion, who was slowly reviving under the active ministration of the two women. The wounded man looked around with a weak smile. “This is one way of going off,” he said faintly, “but I could do this sort of thing as well on the road.”
“You can do nothing now,” said his friend, decidedly. “Before we get to the Gate the road will be impassable for our horses.”
“For ANY horses?” asked Kate.
“For any horses. For any man or beast I might say. Where we cannot get out, no one can get in,” he added, as if answering her thoughts. “I am afraid that you won't see your brother to-morrow morning. But I'll reconnoitre as soon as I can do so without torturing HIM,” he said, looking anxiously at the helpless man; “he's got about his share of pain, I reckon, and the first thing is to get him easier.” It was the longest speech he had made to her; it was the first time he had fairly looked her in the face. His shy restlessness had suddenly given way to dogged resignation, less abstracted, but scarcely more flattering to his entertainers. Lifting his companion gently in his arms, as if he had been a child, he reascended the staircase, Mrs. Scott and the hastily-summoned Molly following with overflowing solicitude. As soon as they were alone in the parlor Mrs. Hale turned to her sister: “Only that our guests seemed to be as anxious to go just now as you were to pack them off, I should have been shocked at your inhospitality. What has come over you, Kate? These are the very people you have reproached me so often with not being civil enough to.”
“But WHO are they?”
“How do I know? There is YOUR BROTHER'S letter.”
She usually spoke of her husband as “John.” This slight shifting of relationship and responsibility to the feminine mind was significant. Kate was a little frightened and remorseful.
“I only meant you don't even know their names.”
“That wasn't necessary for giving them a bed and bandages. Do you suppose the good Samaritan ever asked the wounded Jew's name, and that the Levite did not excuse himself because the thieves had taken the poor man's card-case? Do the directions, 'In case of accident,' in your ambulance rules, read, 'First lay the sufferer on his back and inquire his name and family connections'? Besides, you can call one 'Ned' and the other 'George,' if you like.”
“Oh, you know what I mean,” said Kate, irrelevantly. “Which is George?”
“George is the wounded man,” said Mrs. Hale; “NOT the one who talked to you more than he did to any one else. I suppose the poor man was frightened and read dismissal in your eyes.”
“I wish John were here.”
“I don't think we have anything to fear in his absence from men whose only wish is to get away from us. If it is a question of propriety, my dear Kate, surely there is the presence of mother to prevent any scandal—although really her own conduct with the wounded one is not above suspicion,” she added, with that novel mischievousness that seemed a return of her lost girlhood. “We must try to do the best we can with them and for them,” she said decidedly, “and meantime I'll see if I can't arrange John's room for them.”
“John's room?”
“Oh, mother is perfectly satisfied; indeed, suggested it. It's larger and will hold two beds, for 'Ned,' the friend, must attend to him at night. And, Kate, don't you think, if you're not going out again, you might change your costume? It does very well while we are alone—”
“Well,” said Kate indignantly, “as I am not going into his room—”
“I'm not so sure about that, if we can't get a regular doctor. But he is very restless, and wanders all over the house like a timid and apologetic spaniel.”
“Who?”
“Why 'Ned.' But I must go and look after the patient. I suppose they've got him safe in his bed again,” and with a nod to her sister she tripped up-stairs.
Uncomfortable and embarrassed, she knew not why, Kate sought her mother. But that good lady was already in attendance on the patient, and Kate hurried past that baleful centre of attraction with a feeling of loneliness and strangeness she had never experienced before. Entering her own room she went to the window—that first and last refuge of the troubled mind—and gazed out. Turning her eyes in the direction of her morning's walk, she started back with a sense of being dazzled. She rubbed first her eyes and then the rain-dimmed pane. It was no illusion! The whole landscape, so familiar to her, was one vast field of dead, colorless white! Trees, rocks, even distance itself, had vanished in those few hours. An even shadowless, motionless white sea filled the horizon. On either side a vast wall of snow seemed to shut out the world like a shroud. Only the green plateau before her, with its sloping meadows and fringe of pines and cottonwood, lay alone like a summer island in this frozen sea.
A sudden desire to view this phenomenon more closely, and to learn for herself the limits of this new tethered life, completely possessed her, and, accustomed to act upon her independent impulses, she seized a hooded waterproof cloak, and slipped out of the house unperceived. The rain was falling steadily along the descending trail where she walked, but beyond, scarcely a mile across the chasm, the wintry distance began to confuse her brain with the inextricable swarming of snow. Hurrying down with feverish excitement, she at last came in sight of the arching granite portals of their domain. But her first glance through the gateway showed it closed as if with a white portcullis. Kate remembered that the trail began to ascend beyond the arch, and knew that what she saw was only the mountain side she had partly climbed this morning. But the snow had already crept down its flank, and the exit by trail was practically closed. Breathlessly making her way back to the highest part of the plateau—the cliff behind the house that here descended abruptly to the rain-dimmed valley—she gazed at the dizzy depths in vain for some undiscovered or forgotten trail along its face. But a single glance convinced her of its inaccessibility. The gateway was indeed their only outlet to the plain below. She looked back at the falling snow beyond until she fancied she could see in the crossing and recrossing lines the moving meshes of a fateful web woven around them by viewless but inexorable fingers.
Half frightened, she was turning away, when she perceived, a few paces distant, the figure of the stranger, “Ned,” also apparently absorbed in the gloomy prospect. He was wrapped in the clinging folds of a black serape braided with silver; the broad flap of a slouch hat beaten back by the wind exposed the dark, glistening curls on his white forehead. He was certainly very handsome and picturesque, and that apparently without effort or consciousness. Neither was there anything in his costume or appearance inconsistent with his surroundings, or, even with what Kate could judge were his habits or position. Nevertheless, she instantly decided that he was TOO handsome and too picturesque, without suspecting that her ideas of the limits of masculine beauty were merely personal experience.
As he turned away from the cliff they were brought face to face. “It doesn't look very encouraging over there,” he said quietly, as if the inevitableness of the situation had relieved him of his previous shyness and effort; “it's even worse than I expected. The snow must have begun there last night, and it looks as if it meant to stay.” He stopped for a moment, and then, lifting his eyes to her, said:—
“I suppose you know what this means?”
“I don't understand you.”
“I thought not. Well! it means that you are absolutely cut off here from any communication or intercourse with any one outside of that canyon. By this time the snow is five feet deep over the only trail by which one can pass in and out of that gateway. I am not alarming you, I hope, for there is no real physical danger; a place like this ought to be well garrisoned, and certainly is self-supporting so far as the mere necessities and even comforts are concerned. You have wood, water, cattle, and game at your command, but for two weeks at least you are completely isolated.”
“For two weeks,” said Kate, growing pale—“and my brother!”
“He knows all by this time, and is probably as assured as I am of the safety of his family.”
“For two weeks,” continued Kate; “impossible! You don't know my brother! He will find some way to get to us.”
“I hope so,” returned the stranger gravely, “for what is possible for him is possible for us.”
“Then you are anxious to get away,” Kate could not help saying.
“Very.”
The reply was not discourteous in manner, but was so far from gallant that Kate felt a new and inconsistent resentment. Before she could say anything he added, “And I hope you will remember, whatever may happen, that I did my best to avoid staying here longer than was necessary to keep my friend from bleeding to death in the road.”
“Certainly,” said Kate; then added awkwardly, “I hope he'll be better soon.” She was silent, and then, quickening her pace, said hurriedly, “I must tell my sister this dreadful news.”
“I think she is prepared for it. If there is anything I can do to help you I hope you will let me know. Perhaps I may be of some service. I shall begin by exploring the trails to-morrow, for the best service we can do you possibly is to take ourselves off; but I can carry a gun, and the woods are full of game driven down from the mountains. Let me show you something you may not have noticed.” He stopped, and pointed to a small knoll of sheltered shrubbery and granite on the opposite mountain, which still remained black against the surrounding snow. It seemed to be thickly covered with moving objects. “They are wild animals driven out of the snow,” said the stranger. “That larger one is a grizzly; there is a panther, wolves, wild cats, a fox, and some mountain goats.”
“An ill-assorted party,” said the young girl.
“Ill luck makes them companions. They are too frightened to hurt one another now.”
“But they will eat each other later on,” said Kate, stealing a glance at her companion.
He lifted his long lashes and met her eyes. “Not on a haven of refuge.”
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg