CHAPTER XV. MEG HEGER
To the surprise of the young people, almost as soon as the sun had set,night descended upon them. Dan had helped the children clean the lampsand lanterns. Their grandmother, at their father's prompting, hadremembered to put kerosene on their list and also candles.
Jane chose one of the latter to light her to bed. She simply detestedkerosene lamps, she declared when Dan had asked if she didn't want to situp with them a little while and read some of the books their father andmother had left in the cabin. "No, thank you!" had been the emphaticrefusal. "The nights here are bitterly cold. In bed at least I can keepwarm."
"Gee-whiliker," Gerald said when the girl to whom everything seemeddistasteful had retired. "Ain't she a wet blanket?"
Before Dan could rebuke him for criticizing his elders, Julie burst inwith, "Why, Gerry Abbott, didn't you promise Dad you wouldn't ever sayain't, and there you said it."
The boy squirmed uncomfortably. "It's an awful long time since I said itbefore," he tried to excuse himself. "I bet you I won't do it again. Yousee if I do."
Dan was looking at the empty hearth. "We should have cut some wood andhad a roaring fire tonight. Let's do it tomorrow and make it morecheerful for Jane, if----" He paused as though he had said more than hehad intended, but his alert companions would not let a sentence gounfinished.
"If what, Dan?" Julie asked curiously.
The boy was not yet ready to tell, even these two, that he might think itbest to start Jane and Julie on their homeward way the next day. He knewthat the older girl would be overjoyed, but the younger would be sodisappointed that it seemed almost a cruel thing to contemplate. "I'lltell you tomorrow noon," he compromised, when he saw both pairs of eyeswatching him as though awaiting his answer.
In a very short time the children were nodding sleepily and Dan was gladwhen Julie took a candle and Gerry a lantern and bade him good-night.
"We're going to get up to see the sunrise," Julie said.
"If you wake up," Dan laughingly told them. Then, putting out theremaining lights, he, too, retired to his cot on the porch. He placed hisloaded gun in the corner, back of him, where it could not be reached byanyone else without awakening him.
For long hours he lay with wide eyes watching the sky, which seemed to bea canopy close above him, brilliant with stars. A slight wind kept themosquitos away and, as it rustled through the pine boughs that were sonear, a sense of peace stole into his heart--his fears were banished andhe seemed to know that all was well.
It was long after sunrise when he wakened and no one else was astir inthe cabin. Very quietly he arose and dressed. Then he went to thekitchen, and a fragrance of coffee was what finally awakened the twochildren. They bounded from bed, ashamed of their laziness, and when theyjoined their big brother he had a good breakfast spread on the table intheir out-of-door dining-room.
"Julie, will you see if Jane is awake?" the older lad asked, and thesmall girl cautiously opened the door into her sister's room. Then sheentered and went to the bedside. "You've got one of your dreadfulheadaches, haven't you, Janey?" The younger girl was all compassion. Sheknew well how Jane suffered when these infrequent headaches came. Whatshe did not know was that they always followed a spell of anger or ofworry. "I'll draw the curtains over this window so the sun can't come inand I'll fetch you your breakfast."
Julie liked nothing better than to be mothering someone, but Jane showedno sign of appreciation. Her only comment was, "Have the coffee hot."
Dan was sorry to hear that Jane had neuralgia, and, from past experience,he knew that she would be unable to travel that afternoon, and so shewould be obliged to wait until the following Tuesday, when the stagewould again pass that way. He felt elated at the thought, but first hemust find out if it were safe for the girls to remain. Directly afterbreakfast he drew Gerald aside and asked him if he would stay at thecabin while he (Dan) went up the mountain road to interview the trapper.Although the small boy would much rather have accompanied Dan, he alwayswanted to do his share, and so he consented to remain.
Dan waited until he was sure that Meg Heger had passed on her way to theRedfords school before he began the ascent of the mountain road. He couldnot have explained to himself why he did not want to meet the girl. Itmight have been a feeling that he had lacked in chivalry on the daybefore, when he had listened to the conversation in which she hadprobably revealed a secret which she would not wish strangers to share.He sauntered along by the brook, his gun over his shoulder, stoppingevery few feet to examine some rock or growth or just to gaze out overthe valley, seeing new pictures at each changed position.
It was a glorious morning, but with the invigorating chill yet in theair. He breathed deeply and walked with shoulders thrown back. Birds sangto him, squirrels in the pine boughs over his head, or scurrying amongthe dry soft carpet of needles, chattered at him; some were curious, manywere scolding, but he laughingly told them that he was a comrade. Hestopped on a level with one protesting bushy-tailed fellow to say, "Mr.Bright-Eyes, I wouldn't harm you, not for anything! This gun is merely tobe used on something that would harm me, if it got the chance first. Idon't believe in taking life from a little wild creature that enjoysliving just as much as I do." Then, as he continued his walk, he thought,"I must tell Gerry not to kill any harmless creature unless we need itfor food."
Coming to a sudden sharp descent of about fifteen feet, he saw that thebrook became a waterfall and just below it was a large pool which wouldmake an excellent swimming hole. The water was as clear as crystal andwas held in a smooth, red rock basin. After standing for some time,watching the joyous waterfall on which broken sunlight flashed, the ladglanced at his watch. It was after nine and so he could safely take tothe road without fear of encountering the mountain girl. She was surely,by now, reciting to that kindly old man, Teacher Bellows. After anotherdownward scramble, the road was reached. The ascent was gradual and Dan'sthoughts wandered on without his conscious direction. He wondered howthat mountain girl had happened to have a thirst for knowledge. That, initself, proved to him that the old Ute was not her father, but, if hewere not, why did he pretend that he was? What could be his reason? Toobtain what money he could by making her think it her duty to help carefor him. Dan had just decided this to be the most plausible explanationof the whole thing, when he was greatly startled by hearing the suddenreport of a gun from the high rocks at his right. He looked up and beheldthe girl about whom he had been thinking, every muscle tense, a smokinggun still against her shoulder. It was pointed at the bushes directly athis left. "Don't you move!" she shouted the warning. "Maybe I didn't killit."
Dan whirled toward the rocks and low-growing bushes at his left and whathe saw reassured him. A mountain lion lay there, evidently dead, itsposition showing that it had been just about to spring upon him. Heturned to thank the girl, but she had disappeared. She, too, hadevidently been convinced that the animal was dead. On examining itcloser, the boy saw that the bullet had entered the creature's head at amost vulnerable spot, and being thus assured that it was not playingpossum, he went on his way.
Already Meg Heger had won a right to his chivalry. She had saved hislife. How he wished that in turn he might do something to save her fromher tormentor.