Part 29 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXIV

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE LAKE

Shortly before dusk on the night following Jerkline Jo's revel in Ragtown, the empty wagons of her train rumbled to the highest point in the mountain pa.s.s and were drawn up side by side, like an artillery organization in ”battery-front” formation, on the sh.o.r.es of the mountain lake.

Jo's fireless cooker had been working for her throughout the trip, and while her bantering skinners cared for the teams and greased the great axles in preparation for the morrow's journey, the girl made ready the evening meal.

At last supper was over, and, as was their custom, the men helped her wash the dishes. Thus the task became a short one. The men settled down to their smoking about the crackling camp fire, and as light still remained at this high alt.i.tude, Jo decided on a stroll along the lake sh.o.r.e.

All about stood the tall peaks, their crests snow-mantled. Over the level lowlands about the lake the silent forests of pine and fir swept away on all sides. The lake, some two miles in length, lay like an opal in the palm of the mountains, flas.h.i.+ng fiery colors that it stole from the sunset clouds above it.

The air was chill and quiet. Not a ripple disturbed the surface of the tranquil lake, so cold and remote. Jo b.u.t.toned her coat for warmth and trudged on away from the camp, watching flocks of chattering mudhens and mallards that fed on a long spaghettilike growth which grew on the lake bottom and floated to the surface.

She walked for a mile before she turned. She was thinking of the previous night, and of the banker's unexpected proposal of marriage when she had accepted his invitation for supper after the dance. She had known Dalworth only a short time, and his ardent wooing had come as a distinct surprise.

Now she had turned back toward the winking eye of the camp fire, which threw a brilliant dagger of light across the now dark lake. In the stream of fiery color, water fowl bobbed about grotesquely. Close at hand was a grove of pines, a few trees extending down to the sh.o.r.e, though for the most part the land immediately about the lake was an open, gra.s.sy meadow. She heard a slight rustling in among the pines as she pa.s.sed them.

She had not strapped on her cartridge belt and six-shooter when leaving camp. In fact, she seldom carried the weapon, but always kept it hanging close to her hand in the wagon. Now and then she strapped it on when in Ragtown, for of late an element had been sifting in with which she was not familiar. It represented the riffraff from the cities--men who knew nothing of construction camps and were unaware of the fact that she, because of old a.s.sociations and a thorough understanding of frontier men and frontier life, could enter a dance hall and still be respected and absolutely safe from harm. One of these had put an arm about her one night, and promptly had been rewarded with a blow on the nose; for Jo did not slap when she administered rebuke, but punched expertly and powerfully, as does a man. Next moment the offender had been pitched bodily into the street by as many rough hands as could lay hold of him. Only Jo's intervention had saved the man from being kicked into insensibility.

Once again she heard the rustling, and wished that she had her gun. It was only some animals, she told herself--a c.o.o.n or a skunk, or perhaps a wild cat or coyote prowling about to spring upon an unsuspecting mudhen that had swam too far insh.o.r.e. Still, a strange dread seized her, and she quickened her step.

Again she heard the rustle and the sound of a soft footfall. No animal would have produced that single, rather heavy tread. She glanced apprehensively toward the dark trees, and it seemed to her that she saw a black upright bulk move stealthily from one trunk to another.

Then two things happened at once. From the pines stealthily emerged the figure of a man--there was no mistaking it. But in the same instant there came a call from close at hand:

”Jo! Jo! Where are you?”

A feeling of vast relief came over the girl as she recognized the caressing voice of the man from Wild-cat Hill. Instantly the figure on her left faded; the blur of it became one with the shadows of the trees.

”Hiram!” she called gladly. ”Here I am! Hurry!”

The sound of running feet answered her, and in a little while the big form of Hiram Hooker reached her side.

Jo was breathing weakly. She could not remember of ever before having been so near a panic or fright. What had caused the unfamiliar feeling now was a mystery to her--unless the suggested menace in the sight of the dark, skulking figure had been augmented by the ghostly quietude of the black forest and the unfriendly solitude of the cold mountain lake.

”Oh, Hiram!” she cried. ”I'm so glad you're here! Hiram--I--I believe I'm sc-scared.”

How it happened neither of them knew, for all at once his powerful arms were about her, and she had crept into them as less courageous women instinctively seek the protection of the stronger s.e.x. His arms tightened and she pressed closer to him as if she were cold and seeking warmth. Hiram was ablaze with love for her and exultation. He lifted her bodily from the ground, and her lips quivered against his.

”Oh, Hiram! Hiram!” she cried then as if in terror. ”What am I doing?

What is the matter with me? You kissed me, Hiram, and--and I let you!

I must have been terribly frightened. I--I seem to have lost my reason.”

”No! No! Don't say that!” begged Hiram huskily. ”Jo, I love you!

You love me, Jo. Say you love me.”