CHAPTER XII
A BULLET IN ARCADIA
"It's time you were in bed," said Diane. "Johnny's out staring at themoon and that's the final chore of the evening. Besides, it's nineo'clock."
"I shan't go to bed," Philip protested. "Johnny spread this tarpaulinby the fire expressly for me to recline here and think and smoke andb'jinks! I'm going to! After buying me two shirts yesterday andtobacco to-day--to say nothing of bringing home an unknown chicken forinvalid stew, I can't with decency offend him."
"I can't see why he's taken such a tremendous shine to you!" complainedDiane mockingly.
"Nor I!" agreed Philip, knocking the ashes from his pipe.
"You've been filling his pockets with money!" accused Dianeindignantly. "It's the only explanation of the demented way he trotsaround after you."
"Disposition, beauty, singular grace and common sense all pale in theface of the ulterior motive," Philip modestly told his pipe. "What amoon!" he added softly. "Great guns, what a moon!"
Beyond, through the dark of the trees, softly silvered by the moonabove the ridge, glimmered the river, winding along by peaceful forestand meadows edged with grass and mint. There was moon-bright dew uponthe clover and high upon the ridge a tree showed dark and full againstthe moon in lonely silhouette. It was an enchanted wood of moonlitdepth and noisy quiet, of shrilling crickets, the plaintive cries oftree frogs, the drowsy crackle of the camp fire, or the lap of water bythe shore, with sometimes the lonely hoot of an owl.
"A while back," mused Diane innocently, "there was a shooting starabove the ridge--"
"Yes?" said Philip puffing comfortably at his pipe.
"I meant to call your attention to it but 'Hey!' and 'Look!' weredreadfully abrupt."
"There is always--'Philip!'" insinuated that young man. Diane bit herlip and relapsed into silence.
"You didn't tell me," said Philip presently, "whether or not you foundany more flowers this morning."
"Only heaps of wild blackberry," Diane replied briefly. "But the treeswere quite as devoid of new birds as Johnny's detective trip of clues."
"Too bad!" sympathized Philip. "I'll go with you in the morning."
"The bump on your head," suggested Diane pointedly, "is growingmalignant!"
"By no means!" said Philip lazily. "With the exception of certainmemory erasures, it's steadily improving."
"Why," demanded Diane with an unexpected and somewhat resentful flashof reminiscence, "why did you tell me your motor was deaf and dumb andinsane when it wasn't?"
"I didn't," said Philip honestly. "If you'll recall our conversation,you'll find I worded that very adroitly."
Thoroughly vexed Diane frowned at the fire.
"Was it necessary to affect callow inexperience and such ahappy-go-lucky, imbecile philosophy?" she demanded cuttingly.
"Hum!" admitted Philip humbly. "I'm a salamander."
"And you said you were waiting to be rescued!" she accused indignantly.
Philip sighed.
"Well, in a sense I was. I saw you coming through the trees--and thereare times when one must talk." He met her level glance of reproachwith one of frank apology. "If I see a man whose face I like, I speakto him. Surely Nature does not flash that subtle sense of magnetismfor nothing. If I am to live fully, then must I infuse into my insularexistence the electric spark of sympathetic friendship. Why impoverishmy existence by a lost opportunity? If I had not alighted that dayupon the lake and waited for you to come through the trees--" he fellsuddenly quiet, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the ground besidehim.
"The moon is climbing," said Diane irrelevantly, "and Johnny is waitingto bandage your shoulder."
"Let him wait," returned Philip imperturbably. "And no matter what Ido the moon will go on climbing." He lazily pointed the stem of hispipe at a firelit tree. "What glints so oddly there," he wondered,"when the fire leaps?"
"It's the bullet," replied Diane absently and bit her lip with a quickflush of annoyance.
"What bullet?" said Philip with instant interest. "It's odd I hadn'tnoticed it before."
"Some one shot in the forest last night while Johnny was off chasingyour assailant. Likely the second man he saw cranking the car. Itstruck the tree. Johnny and I made a compact not to speak of it and Iforgot. My aunt is fussy."
"Where were you?" demanded Philip abruptly.
"By the tree. It--it grazed my hair--"
Philip's face grew suddenly as changeless as the white moonlight in theforest.
"Accidental knives and bullets in Arcadia!" said he at length. "Itjars a bit."
"I do hope," said Diane with definite disapproval, "that you're notgoing to fuss. I didn't. I was frightened of course, for at first Ithought it had been aimed straight at me--and I was quite alone--butstartling things do happen now and then, and if you can't explain them,you might as well forget them. I hope I may count on your silence. Ifmy aunt gets wind of it, she'll conjure up a trail of accidental shotsto follow me from here to Florida and every time it storms, she'll likeas not hear ghost-bullets. She's like that."
"Florida!" ejaculated Philip--and stared.
"To be sure!" said Diane. "Why not? Must I alter my plans forsomebody's stray bullet?"
Philip frowned uneasily. The instinctive protest germinatingirresistibly in his mind was too vague and formless for utterance.
"I beg your pardon," he stammered. "But I fancied you were merelycamping around among the hills for the summer."
The girl rose and moved off toward the van looming ghostlike throughthe trees.
"Good night--_Philip_!" she called lightly, her voice instinct withdelicate irony.
Philip stirred. His voice was very gentle.
"Thank you!" he said simply.
Diane hastily climbed the steps at the rear of the van and disappeared.
"I hate men," thought Diane with burning cheeks as she seated herselfupon the cot by the window and loosened the shining mass of herstraight black hair, "who ramble flippantly through a conversation andturn suddenly serious when one least expects it."
By the fire, burning lower as the moon climbed higher, Philip lay veryquiet. Somehow the moonlit stillness of the forest had alteredindefinably. Its depth and shadows jarred. Fair as it was, it hadharbored things sinister and evil. And who might say--there was peaceof course in the moon-silver rug of pine among the trees, in thegossamer cobweb there among the bushes jeweled lightly in dew, in thefaint, sweet chirp of a drowsy bird above his head--but the moon-raywhich lingered in the heart of the wild geranium would presentlycascade through the trees to light the horrible thing of lead which hadmenaced the life of his lady.
Well, one more pipe and he would go to bed. Johnny must be tired ofwaiting. Philip slipped his hand into his pocket and whistled.
"So," said he softly, "the hieroglyphic cuff is gone! It's the firstI'd missed it."
"Like as not it dropped out of my pocket when I fell last night," hereflected a little later. "I'd better go to bed. I'm beginning tofuss."